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200
SÖNYA KOVALÉVSKY
evening—a man who did not even know who she was!
But to Sönya, who had for so many years lived on
terms of bonne camaraderie with her husband, it seemed
quite simple. She knew well how to draw the line
whenever she chose. No man had ever misunderstood
her.
A few years later she entered into equally strange
and peculiar relations with a young man in Paris.
The keeper of the lodging-house in the suburbs of
that city where she lived must hardly have known
what to think. Time after time this woman saw a
young man leave the house at two in the morning, and
climb over the palings surrounding the garden. As
this young man spent all his days with Sönya, and
often stayed till låte at night, and as, at this time,
she had no other friends, it certainly did seem a
rather doubtful proceeding. Nevertheless the
friendship existing between these two was of the most ideal
kind imaginable.
The young man was a Pole, and a revolutionist;
moreover, a mathematician and a poet. His and
Sönya’s souls were two fiery flames merged in one
glow. No one had ever understood her so well and
sympathized with her so much as he. No one had so
entered into every word, thought, and dream. They
were almost constantly together, and yet they
employed the few moments during which they were
parted in pouring forth to each other, in writing,
their inmost thoughts. They composed poetry
together, and began writing a long romance. They
indulged in the idea that every human being has its
twin soul, so that every individual man or woman is
but half a creature. The other half, which is to
complete the soul, is always to be found somewhere on the
earth. But rarely in this life do they meet. It is
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