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88
SÖNYA KOVALÉVSKY
the first time introduced to the idea of death by the
perusal of a high-flown English novel, these pathetic,
bookish words addressed to her ten-year-old sister—
all this would probably have made a grown person
smile. But my heart literally stopped beating with
terror, and I was thoroughly permeated with reverence
for the importance and the seriousness of the thoughts
which were engrossing Aniuta. All the beauty of the
summer evening was suddenly obscured for me, and I
even felt ashamed of the causeless happiness which
had fiUed my being to overflowing a moment earlier.
"But we do know that there is a God, and that
after death we shall go to him," I made an effort to
say nevertheless. My sister looked gently at me, as a
grown-up person looks at a child.
"Yes; you still preserve your pure childish faith.
"We will say no more about this," she said in a voice
which was very sad; but which at the same time was
filled to overflowing with such a consciousness of
superiority to me that I immediately felt ashamed of her
words for some reason or other.
After this evening a great change took place in my
sister. For several days following she went about
with a gently sad demeanor, as if expressing in her
whole person renunciation of all earthly bliss.
Everything about her said memento mori. The knights and
the beautiful dames with their tourneys of love were
forgotten. What is the use of loving, of wishing,
when all is to end in death!
My sister did not touch another English novel;
she had conceived a dislike for all of them. On the
other hand she eagerly devoured " The Imitation of
Christ," and decided in emulation of Saint Thomas à
Kempis to stifle dawning doubts by self-castigation
and self-renunciation.
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