"But that miserable little fellow, Soloveitchik, didn't think it absurd
that he could not understand the meaning of life!"
Yourii failed to perceive that he was taking as his model a man whom he
had described as a miserable little fellow.
"Anyhow, sooner or later, my end will be like that. There is no other
way out. Why is there not? Because..."
Yourii paused. He believed that he had got an exact reply to this
question, yet the words he wanted could not be found. His brain was
over-wrought, and his thoughts confused.
"It's rubbish, all rubbish!" he exclaimed bitterly.
The lamp burned low, and its faint light illumined Yourii's bowed head,
as he leant across the table.
"Why didn't I die when I was a boy and had inflammation of the lungs? I
should now be happy, and at rest."
He shivered at the thought.
"In that case I should not have seen or known all that now I know. That
would have been just as dreadful."
Yourii tossed back his head, and rose.
"It's enough to drive one mad!"
He went to the window and tried to open it, but the shutters were
firmly fastened from the outside. By using a pencil, Yourii was able at
last to unhook them, and with a creaking sound they swung back,
admitting the cool, pure night air, Yourii looked up at the heavens and
saw the roseate light of the dawn.
The morning was bright and clear. The seven stars of the Great Bear
shone faintly, while large and lustrous in the crimson east flamed the
morning star. A fresh breeze stirred the leaves, and dispersed the grey
mists that floated above the lawn and veiled the smooth surface of the
stream beside whose margin water-lilies and myosotis and white clover
grew in abundance. The sky was flecked with little pink clouds, while
here and there a last star trembled in the blue. All was so beautiful,
so calm, as if the awestruck earth awaited the splendid approach of
dawn.
Yourii at last went back to bed, but the garish daylight prevented him
from getting sleep, as he lay there with aching brow and jaded eyes.