“No, worse, it is a tiger. I could not believe what you said, but I do now. Do you know the picture in the old house which represents a tiger showing his teeth at a seated Cupid? I never understood the picture, which seemed meaningless, but now I understand it. Passion is a tiger, lying there apparently so peaceful and inviting, until he begins to howl and to whet his teeth.”
Raisky pursued the comparison in the hope that he might learn the name of Vera’s lover.
“Your comparison is false, Vera. There are no tigers in our Northern climate. I am nearer the mark when I compare passion to a wolf.”
“You are right,” she said with a nervous laugh. “A real wolf. However carefully you feed him he looks always to the woods. You are all wolves, and he, too, is a wolf.”
“Who?” he asked in an expressionless voice. “Tushin is a bear, a genuine Russian bear. You may lay your hand on his shaggy head, and sleep; your rest is sure, for he will serve you all his life.”
“Which of the animals am I?” he asked gaily, noting that Tushin was not the man. “Don’t beat about the bush, Vera, you may say I am an ass.”
“No,” she said scornfully. “You are a fox, a nice, cunning fox, with a gift for deception. That’s what you are. Why don’t you say something?” she went on, as he kept an embarrassed silence.
“Vera, there are weapons to be used against wolves, for me, to go away; for you, not to go down there,” he said, pointing to the precipice.
“Tell me how to prevent myself from going there. Teach me, since you are my mentor, how not to go. You first set the house on fire, and then talk of leaving it. You sing in praise of passion, and then....”
“I meant another kind of passion. Where both parties to it are honourable, it means the supreme happiness in life, and its storms are full of the glow of life....”