Short Fiction - Fyodor Sologub (best romance ebooks .txt) 📗

imagine how I could have lived before without knowing you, please let me have at least the hope that when you understand how great is my love you also may begin to love me in return.”

“What foolishness!” cried Mashenka. “A perfectly unknown young man comes up to me in the street and talks like this! And what am I to do? Why should I listen to you? Please go away at once.”

V

Mashenka walked on quickly, but her companion did not go away. He spoke to her in words which vexed and confused her. Still looking into her eyes with a timid and cautious gaze he said:

“Marya Constantìnovna, please allow me to remind you that it may often happen that people who were previously unacquainted with one another suddenly become very good friends.”

“Yes, but not in the street,” said Mashenka, and now she laughed outright.

There was nothing to laugh at, of course, and Mashenka quickly recollected herself and bit her pretty full red underlip with her strong little white teeth. It seemed to her that her laugh only encouraged this importunate young man.

But he said in a beseeching tone:

“For mercy’s sake, Marya Constantìnovna, and why not in the street? Isn’t it all the same? If a man is truly in love, believe me, Marya Constantìnovna, all outward circumstances and worldly conventions cease to exist for him; he cannot think of anything else except the object of his passionate affection.”

Saying this, he pressed both his hands on his heart and then waved his left hand in the air exactly as the singer in the opera had done when he sang the declaration of Lohengrin.

Mashenka could not possibly take him seriously. She even felt a little disappointed that the adventure had nothing in it to frighten her⁠—it was simply amusing. She was a little sorry for the young man, so persistent, so incoherent in his speech. She smiled as she listened and thought to herself:

“What a redheaded Lohengrin he is, talking of love in this way!”

But he went on:

“And because my intentions are entirely honourable and exalted, I myself do not wish to meet you in the streets or in any public place, or in a private room in a restaurant. And I should be very greatly obliged, Marya Constantìnovna, if you would do me the great honour to present me to your respected mother.”

“What more will you want?” exclaimed Mashenka. “How could I present you to my mother? She would be sure to ask me where I met you first. Please go away now or I shall really be angry.”

She laughed again, however, and the young man went on:

“Do not be angry with me, Marya Constantìnovna. I shall do nothing to offend you, and if after some time you cannot feel any inclination towards me, then I will not venture to disturb you any more, but will go away into the shadow of my own poor life and only watch from afar your happiness with another, more worthy than I of your love.”

His little nose got red, his small, restless blinking eyes reddened also, and he twisted his small body so that he seemed smaller than ever and looked as if he were just going to weep.

Mashenka considered the situation and tried hard to keep a good opinion of herself as she thought:

“Now, how can I send him away! It’s impossible not to feel sorry for such a man. I can’t complain to a passerby or call a policeman.”

It was pleasant to think someone had fallen in love with her. All the young men who had paid her attentions before had either not been serious or they themselves had been odious to her. But this man was so humble and spoke with such an engaging eloquence; he simply would not leave her side, and his words reminded her of the love speeches of viscounts and marquises in a novel.

She tried to look sternly at him as she asked sharply:

“Well, and who are you?”

“I am a man who is in love with you,” answered Lohengrin.

“Yes, you’ve told me that before,” said Mashenka, “but I want to know who you are and what is your occupation.”

The thought suddenly came to her that by so speaking she was giving the young man some hope of getting to know her. She felt vexed with herself. But her companion answered:

“Pardon me, Marya Constantìnovna, why is it necessary for you to know that?”

“Ah, that’s quite true,” said Mashenka, “it’s nothing at all to do with me. I hope you’ll go away now.”

But his answer had really made her angry, and this added to her former vexation. She suddenly wished to make him see that she had a right to question him, and not being able to master this imprudent desire, she continued:

“Well, you say that you want me to introduce you to my mother; how can I do that without knowing? Shall I say to her, ‘Mother, this is a man who has fallen in love with me!’ ”

“Yes, just that,” said he.

“What foolishness!” said Mashenka. “How is that possible?”

“Why is it not possible if it’s the truth,” said Lohengrin.

VI

When the time came for them to cross the street, Lohengrin took Mashenka by the arm. She looked at him with some surprise, but did not draw herself away. Looking cautiously round so as to avoid the traffic, he silently led her across the road, now covered with a thin layer of dirty brownish snow, and striped with the marks of carriage wheels. When they reached the pavement he dropped her arm and walked alone.

She went on with the conversation.

“No, it’s impossible. That’s not the way such things are done, and after all, what need is there to introduce you to my mother?”

“Believe me, Marya Constantìnovna,” answered the young man, “I quite understand that you would like to know my occupation and my social position, and if I do not tell you all about it just now it is for very serious