Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev

“ We are very simple-mannered folk here, you see. Here with us, if I may venture so to express myself, we live not so much in a lonely as in a dead-calm place, a remote nook—that’s what! But why don’t you sit down?”
Vladímir Sergyéitch seated himself, without letting go of his hat.
“Permit me to relieve you,”—said Ipátoff, and delicately taking his hat from him, he carried it off to a corner, then returned, looked his visitor in the eye with a cordial smile, and, not knowing just what agreeable thing to say to him, inquired, in the most hearty manner,—whether he was fond of playing draughts. ”

“ At this moment, Vladímir Sergyéitch’s eyes fell upon The Folding Soul, Iván Ílitch, standing idly by the window.
“Wouldn’t he do?”—he thought, and shrugging his shoulders, he added almost aloud:—“I shall have to take him.”
Vladímir Sergyéitch stepped up to him.
“A very strange thing has just happened to me,”—began our hero with a forced smile:—“just imagine some young man or other, a stranger to me, has challenged me to a duel; it is utterly impossible for me to refuse; I am in indispensable need of a second: will not you act?” ”

“ Márya Pávlovna hesitated.
“Not to drink liquor,”—she said at last.
Véretyeff laughed.
“Ekh, Másha! And you are at it, too! My sister is worrying herself to death over that also. But, in the first place, I’m not a drunkard at all; and in the second place, do you know why I drink? Look yonder, at that swallow.... Do you see how boldly it manages its tiny body,—and hurls it wherever it wishes? Now it has soared aloft, now it has darted downward. It has even piped with joy: do you hear? So that’s why I drink, Másha, in order to feel those same{243} sensations which that swallow experiences.... ”

“ Lúshin came twice a day, but did not remain long. I was somewhat afraid of him after our last explanation and, at the same time, I felt a sincere attachment for him. One day he went for a stroll with me in the Neskútchny Park, was very good-natured and amiable, imparted to me the names and properties of various plants and flowers, and suddenly exclaimed—without rhyme or reason, as the saying is—as he smote himself on the brow: “And I, like a fool, thought she was a coquette! Evidently, it is sweet to sacrifice one’s self—for some people!” ”

“ No, why should she have a husband?”
“Of course,”—assented Malévsky;—“why should she have a husband?”
“Silence!”—exclaimed, in English, Maidánoff, who spoke French badly.
“Merci,”—said Zinaída to him.—“So then, the Queen listens to those speeches, listens to the music, but does not look at a single one of the guests. Six windows are open from top to bottom, from ceiling to floor, and behind them are the dark sky with great stars and the dark garden with huge trees. The Queen gazes into the garden. There, near the trees is a fountain: it gleams white athwart the gloom—long, as long as a spectre. ”

“ It is true that no matter what I may have said....”
“The Biriúloff girls know it all,”—put in Nadézhda Alexyéevna, hardly restraining her laughter.
“Everything is known on the following day,”—replied Véretyeff, with such a comical grimace, with such a perturbed sidelong glance, that even Vladímir Sergyéitch burst out laughing.
“I see that you possess great talent for mimicry,”—he remarked.
Véretyeff passed his hand over his face, his features resumed their ordinary expression, while Nadézhda Alexyéevna exclaimed:
“Oh, yes! he can mimic any one whom he wishes.... He’s a master hand at that.” ”

“ The old Princess went away.
“I do say so,”—retorted Zinaída.—“Is living such a cheerful thing? Look about you.... Well—is it nice? Or do you think that I do not understand it, do not feel it? It affords me pleasure to drink iced water, and you can seriously assure me that such a life is worth too much for me to imperil it for a moment’s pleasure—I do not speak of happiness.”
“Well, yes,”—remarked Lúshin:—“caprice and independence.... Those two words sum you up completely; your whole nature lies in those two words.”
Zinaída burst into a nervous laugh. ”

“ From Alexyéi Petróvitch to Márya Alexándrovna St. Petersburg, May 28, 1840.
Márya Alexándrovna, you are a fine creature ... indeed you are ... your letter has disclosed to me the truth at last! O Lord my God! what torture! A man is constantly thinking that now he has attained simplicity, no longer shows off, puts on airs, or lies ... but when you come to look at him more attentively, he has become almost worse than he was before. And this must be noted: the man himself, alone that is to say, will never attain to that consciousness, bestir himself as he may! ”

“ Vladímir Sergyéitch ran in the direction of the shouts. He found Ipátoff on the shore of the pond; a lantern hung on a bough brilliantly illuminated the old man’s grey head. He was wringing his hands, and reeling like a drunken man; by his side, a woman lay writhing and sobbing on the grass; round about men were bustling. Iván Ílitch had already advanced into the water up to his knees, and was feeling the bottom with a pole; a coachman was undressing, trembling all over as he did so; two men were dragging a boat along the shore ”

“ I had left home with the intention of surrendering myself to melancholy;—but youth, the fine weather, the fresh air, the diversion of brisk pedestrian exercise, the delight of lying in solitude on the thick grass, produced their effect; the memory of those unforgettable words, of those kisses, again thrust themselves into my soul. It was pleasant to me to think that Zinaída could not, nevertheless, fail to do justice to my decision, to my heroism.... “Others are better for her than I,”—I thought:—“so be it! ”

“ Thanks, Márya Alexándrovna, thanks! You are a very kind and indulgent being.
I begin, according to my promise, to speak of myself, and I shall speak with pleasure, verging on appetite.... Precisely that. One may talk of everything in the world with fervour, with rapture, with enthusiasm, but only of one’s self can one talk with appetite.
Listen: an extremely strange incident happened to me the other day: I took a glance at my past for the first time. ”

“ I do not think so. Perhaps I seem original to you, also? But,”—she added, rising from her seat and casting a glance through the window,—“the moon must have risen; that is its light on the poplars. It is time to depart.... I will go and give order that Little Beauty shall be saddled.”
“He is already saddled, ma’am,”—said Nadézhda Alexyéevna’s groom, stepping out from the shadow in the garden into a band of light which fell on the terrace.
“Ah! Well, that’s very good, indeed! Másha, where art thou? ”

“ And Ipátoff launched a slight wink at Vladímir Sergyéitch, as though desirous of exciting his interest in advance.
“Why, everybody knows,”—returned Egór Kapítonitch, as he took a seat;—“she’s always discontented with me, don’t you know that? Whatever I say, it’s wrong, not delicate, not decorous. And why it isn’t decorous, the Lord God alone knows. And the young ladies, my daughters that is to say, do the same, taking pattern by their mother. I don’t say but what Matryóna Márkovna is a very fine woman, but she’s awfully severe on the score of manners.” ”

“ Márya Pávlovna could not hold out, and burst into a laugh.
“Bravo!”—cried Véretyeff, springing up. “Bravo! That’s exactly the point—you are not a coquette. Do you know, if any fashionable young lady had such teeth as you have she would laugh incessantly. But that’s precisely why I love you, Másha, because you are not a fashionable young lady, don’t laugh without cause, and don’t wear gloves on your hands, which it is a joy to kiss, because they are sunburned, and one feels their strength.... ”

“ But amusement alone is not enough for her. She demands a great deal from life; she reads, dreams ... of love:—“Always of love alone!” you will say.... Let us assume that that word means a great deal to her. I will say again that I am not talking of the sort of girl who finds it burdensome and tiresome to think.... She looks about her, waits for the coming of him for whom her soul pines.... At last he makes his appearance: she is carried away; she is like soft wax in his hands. Everything—happiness, and love, and thought—everything has invaded her together with him, all at once ”

“ It seemed as though a live fly were actually struggling under his fingers. Nadézhda Alexyéevna burst out laughing, and gradually every one in the room got to laughing. Márya Pávlovna’s face alone underwent no change, not even her lips quivered. She sat with downcast eyes, but raised them at last, and casting a serious glance at Véretyeff, she muttered through her set teeth:
“What possesses you to make a clown of yourself?” ”

“ And Vladímir Sergyéitch began to describe all the comforts, advantages, and charm of life in our capital. Nadézhda Alexyéevna listened to him with attention, never taking her eyes from him. She seemed to be committing his features to memory, and laughed to herself from time to time.
“I see that you are very eloquent,”—she said at last.—“I shall be obliged to spend the winter in Petersburg.”
“You will not repent of it,”—remarked Vladímir Sergyéitch.
“I never repent of anything; it is not worth the bother. ”

“ Steltchínsky endeavoured to utter these words as negligently as possible. Vladímir Sergyéitch’s heart set to beating violently. He looked his wholly unexpected antagonist in the face. “Phew, O Lord, what stupidity!” he thought.
“You are not jesting?”—he articulated aloud.
“I am not in the habit of jesting in general,”—replied Steltchínsky, pompously;—“and particularly with people whom I do not know. You will not renounce the mazurka?”—he added, after a brief pause.
“I will not,”—retorted Vladímir Sergyéitch, as though deliberating.
“Very good! We will fight to-morrow.” ”

“ I love your kind smile. Raise your proud, stern eyes.—What ails you? You turn away. Stretch out your hand to me, at least.”
“Akh, Véretyeff,”—began Másha;—“you know that I do not understand how to express myself. You have told me about that Laura. But she was a woman, you see.... A woman may be pardoned for not thinking of the future.”
“When you speak, Másha,”—returned Véretyeff,—“you blush incessantly with self-love and modesty: the blood fairly flows in a crimson flood into your cheeks. I’m awfully fond of that in you.”
Márya Pávlovna looked Véretyeff straight in the eye. ”

“ Why do I kill day after day? Why don’t I go to the country? Are not our steppes beautiful? Or cannot one breathe freely in them? Or is it stifling in them? What possesses me to pursue dreams, when, perchance, happiness is within my reach? It is settled: I am going away, I am going away to-morrow, if possible; I am going home, that is, to you—it is all{158} the same: for we live only twenty versts apart. What’s the use, after all, in languishing here? And why is it that this idea did not occur to me earlier? My dear Márya Alexándrovna, we shall soon meet. ”

“ Thus late in autumn, on a frosty day, when everything is lifeless and dumb in the last blades of grass, on the verge of the denuded forest, the sun has but to emerge for an instant from the fog, to gaze intently at the chilled earth, and immediately, from all sides, gnats rise up; they frolic in the warmth of his rays, they bustle and jostle upward, downward, they circle round one another.... The sun hides himself, and the gnats fall to the earth in a soft rain—and there is an end to their momentary life. ”