RUDIN
Rudin pronounced this last phrase rather strangely; either he envied Natalya or he was sorry for her.
‘Yes! youth!’ he continued, ‘the whole aim of science is to reach consciously what is bestowed on youth for nothing.’
Natalya looked attentively at Rudin; she did not understand him.
‘I have been talking all this morning with your mother,’ he went on; ‘she is an extraordinary woman. I understand why all our poets sought her friendship. Are you fond of poetry?’ he added, after a pause.
‘He is putting me through an examination,’ thought Natalya, and aloud: ‘Yes, I am very fond of it’
‘Poetry is the language of the gods. I love poems myself. But poetry is not only in poems; it is diffused everywhere, it is around us. Look at those trees, that sky—on all sides there is the breath of beauty, and of life, and where there is life and beauty, there is poetry also.’
‘Let us sit down here on this bench,’ he added. ‘Here—so. I somehow fancy that when you are more used to me (and he looked
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