Tales of the Wilderness

e village chimneypots rose straight and blue. Outside the windows was an overgrown garden, a snow-covered tree lay prone on the earth; further off w

about the house, then went out

swered. Then there came a sudden ring on the telephone;

ovich, is that you?" cried a woman's muffled voice:

who is s

ce answered quietly; then added in a higher key: "Is i

lytovna?" Polunin

precipice, so I have come to you ... across the fields, where there is snow, snow, sno

e and attentive as he b

e forgiven,

* *

es exhaled a pungent odour and the crystal sickle of the moon was sinking in the west, they bade adieu until the morrow on th

suming, protesting passion, only to desert him afterwards, abandoning him f

na, and was living alone with his books. He met her in the spring, and quickly and simply became intimate with

-ceremony, placed her trunk on a bench in the kitchen,

utiful and modest as she stood there, wiping

sky had darkened, becoming shrouded in a murky blue; bullfinches chirruped in the snow under the window

lending to her face-as Polunin thought-a greenish-yellow tint, like the skin of a peach, and infinitely beautiful. But the rays

d a moment, wondering if she should give her

aily, "you know I am an old

t offer her ha

, and smooth brows were as beautiful as ever, but now there was something reminiscent of late August in her. F

glow within. The walls and the furniture grew dim in the twilight. Polunin-grave and attentive-ho

e. 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

laid them against her cheek; for a momen

iya Ippolytovna

re 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

t I would come to you and tell you of the mice.... Paris, Nice, Monaco, costumes, English perfumes, w

d crossed t

here. The Norwegian people are like trolls. There is no better place

ached and sto

orgiven", he s

then she resumed: "The library, too, is the same as ever. Do

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,

ith wonderful beauty,

said g

has made me wonderfully tempting! By the way,

have f

h in

li

is nothing t

ossi

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

nds, then dropped them; his eyes were ve

ust not grieve,

ou lo

fellow-creature-I do,

moved to the sofa, sat down and arr

t to b

down beside her, leaning for

were

aid at last: "You hav

there is nothing terrible in that whe

.... But what about now? Why

ve. I read St. Francis d'Assisi, think about him, and grieve that such a life as his may not be lived again. I

tovna looked a

hat the baby-m

y do yo

ike human children! You have a dau

d clouds over the western horizon. The snow grew violet, and the room was filled with shadowy, purplish

dge of the ages. The bitter snow-wind crept, wound, and whirled along in spirals, loops, and ribbons, lashing the fields, whining and wailing its age-old, dismal son

* *

ock the Arkhi

eaking about foreign countries- principally Germany, which he knew and admired. They passed into the study, where they argued and conversed: they had nothing much

anner. He was unable to carry on a light, witty conversation, and was acutely conscious of his own awkwardness. From a mere trifle, something

khipov declared that Faith was unnecessary and injurious, like instinct and every other sentime

ife, for was life intelligent? he asked. He contended that without Faith there was on

ow what Though

indeed

thing? Reflect, think thrice over what you regard as s

dea

that in reserve-when I am heart-broken. For

, Vera Lvovna said in a l

othing tragical, while death is just death, when

had been listening

ra Lvovna animatedly, "Isn't the ab

that a

d l

not l

n't you

nt my

on the sofa, rose up on her knees

! Is that n

is a

uncovered a green table, set lighted candles at its corners and commenced to play leisurely a

tance came the dismal, melancholy creaking and grinding of iron. Alena came in, and

little valley hotel; a dreadful storm raged the whole while," Kseniya Ippol

ws. Kseniya stayed on until a late hour, and Alena inv

ously. The moon seemed to be leaping among the clouds; around them the green, snowy twili

blinded him. He stabled his horses; then found Alena waiting up for him in the kitch

I love only you, no one else

im in loving gratitu

e to love one only. Other men are not abl

sha began to cry; he rose, took a candle, and brought her to Alena, who nursed her. The infant looked so small, fragile,

ly broke in shades of blue; there was a murky, bluish light inside the rooms and ou

Were you still in b

was alr

he wa

es

frozen under snow ... I drove on thinking, and thinking-of the snow, you, myself, Arkhipov, Paris ... oh, Pari

re you t

Forgive me, but you could not speak like that to

e is something that unites-without the aid of speech-not on

Kseniya. "Forgive m

she has given m

iya 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 garish mus

" answered Polunin in a l

nnensky: 'We are the heisha-girls of lantern-light!'... 'And what seemed to them music brought them

unjust,

nuttered 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

lingering, cold;