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64 SÖNYA KOVALÉVSKY
them, whom they have been accustomed to see on
simple, easy terms, in domestic intercourse, has lived
through anything out of the ordinary run, or tragic,
in his time.
Sometimes I felt a longing which was simply
painful to question uncle in detail as to how it all had
happened. I would gaze at him for a long time
without taking my eyes off of him, and it seemed to
me as if I could imagine that big, powerful, clever
man trembling before his little beauty of a wife, and
weeping, and kissing her hands, while she was tearing
his papers and books, or slapping him on the cheeks
with the slipper which she had taken from his foot.
Once, only once, in the whole course of my
childhood, I could not restrain myself, and I touched
uncle’s tender point.
It was in the evening. We were alone in the
library. Uncle was sitting as usual on the divan, with
his legs tucked up under him, and reading. I had
been running about the room playing with my ball,
but at last I had got tired, had seated myself beside
him on the divan, and, fixing my eyes on him, had
given myself over to my customary meditations
regarding him.
All at once uncle dropped his book, and, patting
me affectionately on the head, inquired: " What are
you thinking about, dear child 1"
" Uncle, were you very unhappy with your wife ?"
suddenly burst from my lips, almost involuntarily.
I shall never forget how this unexpected question
acted on my poor uncle. His calm, stern face
suddenly became furrowed with fine wrinkles, as if from
physical pain. He even stretched out his hand in
front of him, exactly as if he were warding off a
blow; and I felt so sorry for him, so pained and so
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