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Updated: May 2, 2025
But . . . what are you going there for?" asked Mlle. Ilovaisky, looking at Liharev in surprise. "As superintendent. To superintend the coal mines." "I don't understand!" she shrugged her shoulders. "You are going to the mines. But you know, it's the bare steppe, a desert, so dreary that you couldn't exist a day there!
Liharev jumped up and walked up and down the room. "A noble, sublime slavery!" he said, clasping his hands. "It is just in it that the highest meaning of woman's life lies!
She shrugged her shoulders, took a sip from her cup, and said: "There are festivals that have a special fragrance: at Easter, Trinity and Christmas there is a peculiar scent in the air. Even unbelievers are fond of those festivals. My brother, for instance, argues that there is no God, but he is the first to hurry to Matins at Easter." Liharev raised his eyes to Mlle. Ilovaisky and laughed.
Rubbing his hands and smiling good-humouredly Liharev walked up and down the room, and fell to talking about women again. Meanwhile they began ringing for matins. "Goodness," wailed Sasha. "He won't let me sleep with his talking!" "Oh, yes!" said Liharev, startled. "I am sorry, darling, sleep, sleep. . . . I have two boys besides her," he whispered.
Ilovaisky learned that her companion was called Grigory Petrovitch Liharev, that he was the brother of the Liharev who was Marshal of Nobility in one of the neighbouring districts, and he himself had once been a landowner, but had "run through everything in his time."
With a stern, concentrated face she began putting on her things in silence. Liharev wrapped her up, chatting gaily, but every word he said lay on her heart like a weight. It is not cheering to hear the unhappy or the dying jest. When the transformation of a live person into a shapeless bundle had been completed, Mlle.
Liharev clenched his fists, stared at a fixed point, and with a sort of passionate intensity, as though he were savouring each word as he uttered it, hissed through his clenched teeth: "That . . . that great-hearted fortitude, faithfulness unto death, poetry of the heart. . . . The meaning of life lies in just that unrepining martyrdom, in the tears which would soften a stone, in the boundless, all-forgiving love which brings light and warmth into the chaos of life. . . ."
It's horrible coal, no one will buy it, and my uncle's a maniac, a despot, a bankrupt . . . . You won't get your salary!" "No matter," said Liharev, unconcernedly, "I am thankful even for coal mines." She shrugged her shoulders, and walked about the room in agitation. "I don't understand, I don't understand," she said, moving her fingers before her face. "It's impossible, and . . . and irrational!
Ilovaisky looked for the last time round the "travellers' room," stood a moment in silence, and slowly walked out. Liharev went to see her off. . . . Outside, God alone knows why, the winter was raging still. Whole clouds of big soft snowflakes were whirling restlessly over the earth, unable to find a resting-place.
Liharev learned that her name was Marya Mihailovna, that her father had a huge estate, but that she was the only one to look after it as her father and brother looked at life through their fingers, were irresponsible, and were too fond of harriers. "They, I mean men, are an irresponsible lot, and don't stir a finger for themselves.
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