Easter Day Page #4

"Easter Day" by Aleksandr Kuprin is a poignant short story that explores themes of faith, renewal, and the complexities of human emotion. Set against the backdrop of the Orthodox Easter celebration, the narrative delves into the lives of its characters as they navigate moments of joy, despair, and introspection. Through vivid imagery and rich characterizations, Kuprin captures the essence of springtime rebirth and the profound impact of spiritual rituals on the human spirit. The story invites readers to reflect on the interplay of tradition and personal belief, making it a compelling piece within Kuprin's body of work.

• Novel

								

lips. "No, no, let me go; let me...."

Dear lips of hers, half childish, simple, innocent lips. When he kissed
her she made no opposition, yet she did not return his kisses; she
breathed in a touching manner, quickly, deeply, submissively. Down his
cheeks there flowed cool tears, tears of rapture. And when he drew
his lips away from hers and looked up into the sky, the stars shining
through the lime branches seemed to dance and come towards one another,
to meet and swim together in silvery clusters, seen through his flowing
tears.

"Lenotchka, I love you...."

"Let me go...."

"Lenotchka!"

But suddenly she cried out angrily: "Let me go, you nasty, horrid boy.
You'll see, I'll tell mother everything; I'll tell her all about it.
Indeed, I will."

She didn't say anything to her mother, but after that night she never
allowed Voznitsin to be alone with her. And then the summer-time
came....

       *       *       *       *       *

"And do you remember, Elena Vladimirovna, how one beautiful Easter
night two young people kissed one another just inside the church-house
gate?" asked Voznitsin.

"No, I don't remember anything.... Nasty, horrid boy," said the lady,
smiling gently. "But look, here comes my daughter. You must make her
acquaintance."

"Lenotchka, this is Nikolai Ivanitch Voznitsin, my old, old friend. I
knew him as a child. And this is my Lenotchka. She's just exactly the
same age as I was on that Easter night...."

"Big Lenotchka and little Lenotchka," said Voznitsin.

"No, old Lenotchka and young Lenotchka," she answered, simply and
quietly.

Lenotchka was very much like her mother, but taller and more beautiful
than she had been in her youth. Her hair was not red, but the colour of
a hazel nut with a brilliant lustre; her dark eyebrows were finely and
clearly outlined; her mouth full and sensitive, fresh and beautiful.

The young girl was interested in the floating light-ships, and
Voznitsin explained their construction and use. Then they talked about
stationary lighthouses, the depth of the Black Sea, about divers, about
collisions of steamers, and so on. Voznitsin could talk well, and the
young girl listened to him with lightly parted lips, never taking her
eyes from his face.

And he ... the longer he looked at her the more his heart was overcome
by a sweet and tender melancholy--sympathy for himself, pleasure in
her, in this new Lenotchka, and a quiet thankfulness to the elder one.
It was this very feeling for which he had thirsted in Moscow, but
clearer, brighter, purified from all self-love.

When the young girl went off to look at the Kherson monastery he took
the elder Lenotchka's hand and kissed it gently.

"Life is wise, and we must submit to her laws," he said thoughtfully.
"But life is beautiful too. It is an eternal rising from the dead. You
and I will pass away and vanish out of sight, but from our bodies,
from our thoughts and actions, from our minds, our inspiration and our
talents, there will arise, as from our ashes, a new Lenotchka and a new
Kolya Voznitsin. All is connected, all linked together. I shall depart
and yet I shall also remain. But one must love Life and follow her
guidance. We are all alive together--the living and the dead."

He bent down once more to kiss her hand, and she kissed him tenderly on
his white-haired brow. They looked at one another, and their eyes were
wet with tears; they smiled gently, sadly, tenderly.
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