Fyodor Sologub

“ Edward Roggenfeldt stroked his wife's hand tenderly as he said in a caressing tone:
"He fell in love with you the first time he saw you."
Agnes was beginning to conquer her agitation, and her voice rang out clearly and young as she continued:
"I looked at him. I knew that I was doing wrong, but I knew that in that moment I was happy. Never for one moment, dear Edward, did I love you less. But some one powerful and insidious seemed to whisper to me that the soul of man is broad and high, that the soul of man is greater than the world, and that love knows neither bounds nor measure. ”

“ Peter Antònovitch looked at Turandina and smiled:
"So that's who you are," said he, "you are a princess, and your name is Tamara."
But Turandina shook her head.
"No," said she, "I've never been called Tamara. That passport doesn't tell the truth; it's only for the police and for those people who do not know and cannot know the truth. I am Turandina, the daughter of King Turandon. Since I have lived in this world I have learnt that people here don't want to know the truth. I don't know anything about the passport. Whoever put it in my little bag must have known that I should need it. ”

“ Gurof said:
"What is the Beast to me. I have fixed my walls about me for ever, and the Beast will not find a way to me in my fortress."
At that the grey ones rejoiced and scampered round the room anew, but the Herald of the Beast cried out once more, and sharp and stern were his accents:
"Do you not see that I am here. I am here because I have found you. I am here because the curse of the walls has lost power. I am here because Timaride is waiting and tirelessly questioning. Do you not hear the gentle laughter of the brave and trusting child? Do you not hear the roaring of the Beast?" ”

“ Tortured by such thoughts Peter Antònovitch had often felt himself as unhappy as if in him there had awakened the soul of some ancient monster who had howled piteously outside the village at night. And now he thought:
"If only a fairy-tale could come into one's life and for a time upset the ordered arrangement of pre-determined Fate! Oh, fairy-tale, fashioned by the wayward desires of men who are in captivity to life and who cannot be reconciled to their captivity—sweet fairy-tale, where art thou?" ”

“ And, behold, one morning there were joyful shouts ringing through the village streets, and all the children ran about crying, "The beast is wounded! The beast is dying!"
The girls of the village clapped their hands and danced and sang, saying, "The beast is dead, is dead!"
On the banks of the river Mairure the beast lay dying, wounded by a poisoned arrow. His green eyes burned with powerless rage, and his fearful claws tore the earth and the herbage, all defiled by his foul blood. ”

“ Awe and wonder held the soul of Elèna, and she said:
"I will be worthy of my crown."
Then the princess spoke again:
"Stand always in the presence of fate as pure and brave as now thou standest here before us. Look straight into the eyes of men. Triumph over grief; fear neither life nor the approach of death. Drive far from thee all mean desires and slavish thoughts. In poverty and in bondage and in misery let thy soul be proud and free." ”

“ On the shore of the forest stream you left long since the mangled body of Timaride. The Beast has sated himself with the fine blood of your friend—he has devoured the flesh which should have tasted earthly happiness; the wonderful human form has been destroyed, and that in it which was more than human has perished, all to give a moment's satisfaction to the ever insatiable Beast. The blood, the marvellous blood, godly wine of joy, the wine of more than human blessing—where is it now? ”

“ My fate was to give my life as a sweet sacrifice to glory and in high exploit, but to you it remained to finish the work. And whilst the Beast tore my helpless body you might have run, swift-footed Aristomakh, might have gained your spear, and you might have struck the Beast whilst he was drunk with my blood. But the Beast did not accept my sacrifice; I lay before him motionless and looked up at his blood-weltering eyes, and he kept me pinned to the ground by the heavy paw on my shoulder. ”

“ Nadezhda Alexevna used to say to herself, "And this is my doing. Now he is small and he doesn't understand. But when he grows up he will know—he will compare himself with living children, he will want to live a real life, and then he will reproach me and I shall want to die."
She never thought how foolish were such thoughts in the light of reality. She could not imagine that the unborn child renounced by her had never been the habitation of a human soul. No—for Nadezhda Alexevna her unborn child lived, and tortured her heart with an endless grief. ”

“ He knew that he must die soon and that there were only two who would long remember him—his mother and his friend Elèna.
Elèna told him what had happened in the forest, and little Paul closed his eyes and sat in thought. But by and by he spoke and said, smiling happily:
"I am glad for you, my dear forest queen. I have always known that you were pure and free. Every one who can speak of himself and say, 'I,' ought to be as a conqueror upon the earth. For man can overcome the world." ”

“ You remember the opera where I had the honour of seeing you for the first time. Lohengrin should remind you that it is sometimes necessary to conceal the truth until the right moment. You saw how imprudent the beautiful but inquisitive Elsa was, beseeching her husband to tell her his secret and disclose his name and calling, and you saw how cruelly she was punished. Certainly she repented of it afterwards, but, as they say, if your head is off it's no use weeping for the loss of your hair."
"Oh yes, indeed," put in Mashenka, "you and I are certainly very much like Lohengrin and Elsa." ”

“ FEDOR SOLOGUB is one of the cleverest of contemporary Russian tale-writers and poets. He ranks with Tchekhof and Kuprin and Remizof, though he has very little in common with these writers. He is not a realist; he does not love to comment on life as Tchekhof did, nor to flood his pages with delicious details as does Kuprin; he has nothing of either the melancholy or the energy of Gorky. He is more modern than these; he scents new thoughts, and endeavours to find a new medium of style and language to present them to his age. His genius lies in the power he has to suggest atmosphere. ”

“ Who am I, sent into this world by an unknown will for an unknown end? If I am a slave, then whence have I the power to judge and to condemn, and whence come my lofty desires? If I am more than a slave, then why does all the world around me lie in wickedness, ugliness, and falsehood?
Who am I?
The cruel but still beautiful Turandina laughs at poor Grishka, at his dreams and his vain questionings. ”

“ I remembered the many nights in the village when, awakening in my tent, I heard the same awful demands for a victim, and I dared not get up. But at last I heard my brother Sin say to me, "I have dared to look up; it seems the roaring proceeds from a beast shut in a cage."
Hearing that, I did not know what to think or what to do. Had any demon such power as to dare to imitate his threatening roar? Could demons dare so much, were they so strong? Did the dweller on the other side of the river Mairure conceal himself in the hide of an imprisoned and harmless beast? ”

“ What does the devourer of our young ones demand of us? Do we not know that he wants living flesh and blood? We know he does not roast his meat or smoke it or salt it, but just devours it live. But how do we know that he needs flesh that is human? If we build him as fine a place as that which was given the beast in the Emperor's menagerie, will he not bless our work? Perhaps when we have built a palace for him he will change his desires and prefer to be fed with living calf or lamb. ”

“ 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. ”

“ The dust settled on the armour of the tired horsemen and gave a dull glimmer of velvet to their accoutrements. Through the clouds of their own dust the country through which they passed seemed portentous, gloomy, melancholy.
Earth herself, burned up by the fierce Dragon, lay submissive under the horses' hoofs. The empty road trembled and jingled under the blows of the iron horseshoes.
At rare intervals they came upon poor villages and collections of wretched huts, but the Centurion, overcome by the heat, relented in his purpose of searching out those who might be in hiding. ”

“ The words rained out like drops of lead from a carelessly unscrewn hanging lamp, and it seemed to Grishka that they must be running about on the dry kitchen floor and making a noise, knocking themselves against the iron and the stove. There were many words, but they all ran into one another in a shrieking hubbub of scolding words. Grishka laughed mirthlessly. He knew the people in that flat were always quarrelling, and that they often beat their naughty, dirty little children. ”

“ It makes life dull and uninteresting, don't you think?"
"What would make life more beautiful for you?" said Maximilian.
The princess was silent for some time, but at last she said, "I should so much like to have a sweet-smelling name."
"Yes, fair princess," said he, "the name Margaret is not nearly good enough for you. You ought to have a name of sweet fragrance, but there are no such names known upon the earth." Then the poor little princess wept sad tears, and Maximilian felt very sorry for her, and he loved her more than any one else in the whole world. ”

“ To believe firmly that you are beloved by another, is it not as if you yourself loved? And is not love infectious? Sweet, ingratiating, enchanting, love spreads a brightly gleaming veil of enchantment over all the objects of its desire.
And so, becoming accustomed little by little to the pleasant thought of being beloved, accustomed to this amusing mixture of the two Lohengrins—one of the opera of the wise magician Wagner, the other of the everyday life in Pea Street—Mashenka felt at length that she was in love. ”

“ Gurof suddenly remembered. It was as if a bright light had flooded into the dark abyss of the forgotten. And he cried out loudly and excitedly:
"He alone will kill the Beast!"
The boy laughed. Aristomakh turned to him with the question:
"Have vou killed the Beast, Timaride?"
"With what? Even were my hands strong enough I am not he who has the power to kill the Beast with a blow of the fist. We were incautious, Aristomakh, and without weapons. We were playing on the sands and the Beast fell upon us suddenly and struck me with his heavy paw. ”

“ 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." ”

“ We saw gigantic birds with great wings able to carry in their talons fat sheep, and we saw birds almost devoid of wings, but of wonderfully beautiful plumage which reminded us of the luminous stones which we find in the sand of the river Mairure, birds whose melodious singing charmed our ears, even birds who could speak the language of that land, but not very well, though quite loudly and distinctly. ”

“ His father had written something quite different—but Nadezhda Alexevna did not know that. She had not yet learnt that it is possible to be deceived in love, that the lips that kiss may speak lies instead of truth.
With his arms around her and his lips kissing hers he had said:
"I must go, there's nothing else to do. How lonely I shall be! I can't think any- thing serious is the matter, but I shall be obliged to go."
"Why, of course," said she. "If your mother is ill, how could you stay! Write to me every day; it will be so dull when you are gone." ”