Ivan Turgenev

“ Under the shade of her thick, low brows her dark eyes darted—to and fro—elusively. There are dark, swift, flashing beetles that flit so in the heat of summer among the blades of dry grass.
'How good you are, Musa, Musotchka!' cried Tarhov. 'But you must stay, you must stay a little. . . . We'll have the samovar in directly.'
'Oh no, Vladimir Nikolaevitch! it's impossible! ”

“ Punin cleared his throat. 'Ah! if one could be settled here, if only for a while! Or else one may wander and wander far, and find not a place to rest one's head; the disquieting alarms of life are unceasing, the soul is confounded. ”

“ Paramon Semyonitch is my benefactor, I am deeply indebted to him; he took care of me, educated me; I should have been utterly lost but for him; I'm bound to look on him as a father. . . . But be his wife! I'd rather die! I'd rather be in my coffin!'
'Why do you keep talking about death, Musa Pavlovna?'
Musa stopped again.
'Why, is life so sweet, then? Even your friend Vladimir Nikolaitch, I may say, I've come to love from being wretched and dull: and then Paramon Semyonitch with his offers of marriage. . . . Punin, though he bores me with his verses, he doesn't scare me, anyway ”

“ I am abashed too by my attire, as I have already communicated to you.' Punin passed his finger along the frayed edge of his ancient coat. 'At home it's no matter, and in the street, too, it's no harm; but when one finds one's self in gilded palaces, one's poverty stares one in the face, and one feels confused!' I occupied two small rooms on the ground floor, and certainly it would never have entered any one's head to call them palaces, still less gilded; but Punin apparently was referring to the whole of my grandmother's house, though that too was by no means conspicuously sumptuous. ”

“ To cast me off, truly, were no great matter, but Paramon Semyonitch, Paramon . . .'
I begged him to sit down, to rest.
Punin shook his head. 'No, I won't. I have come to you . . . I don't know what for. I'm like one distraught; to stay at home alone is fearful; what am I to do with myself? I stand in the middle of the room, shut my eyes, and call, "Musa! Musotchka!" That's the way to go out of one's mind. ”

“ We were living as before at Moscow—but I was by now a student in my second year—and the authority of my grandmother, who had aged very perceptibly in the last years, no longer weighed upon me. Of all my fellow-students the one with whom I was on the friendliest terms was a light-hearted and good-natured youth called Tarhov. Our habits and our tastes were similar. Tarhov was a great lover of poetry, and himself wrote verses; while in me the seeds sown by Punin had not been without fruit. As is often the case with young people who are very close friends, we had no secrets from one another. ”

“ Musa came back; a decrepit little old woman followed her, bringing in a tarnished samovar. Punin began fussing about, and pressing me to take things; Baburin sat down to the table, leaned his head on his hands, and looked with weary eyes about him. At tea, however, he began to talk. He was dissatisfied with his position. 'A screw—not a man,' so he spoke of his employer; 'people in a subordinate position are so much dirt to him, of no consequence whatever; and yet it's not so long since he was under the yoke himself. Nothing but cruelty and covetousness. ”

“ Punin scratched behind his ear. 'A mamselle, that's to say?'
'Yes; she's called Mademoiselle Friquet.' I suddenly felt it disgraceful for me, a boy of twelve, to have not a tutor, but a governess, like a little girl! 'But I don't mind her,' I added contemptuously. 'What do I care!'
Punin shook his head. 'Ah, you gentlefolk, you gentlefolk! you're too fond of foreigners! You have turned away from what is Russian,—towards all that's strange. You've turned your hearts to those that come from foreign parts. ”

“ He was breathless with delight and excitement; he almost cried, removed his cap—which enabled me to satisfy myself that the last traces of hair had vanished from his 'egg'—took a handkerchief out of it, blew his nose, poked the cap into his bosom with the raisins, put it on again, again dropped the raisins. . . . I don't know how Musa was behaving all this time, I tried not to look at her. I don't imagine Punin's agitation proceeded from any extreme attachment to my person; it was simply that his nature could not stand the slightest unexpected shock. ”

“ Your heart is good, your nature is not yet corrupted. . .Mind, be careful; things can't go on like this!' Through my tears, which streamed copiously over my nose, my lips, and my chin, I faltered out that I would. . .I would remember, that I promised. . .I would do. . . I would be sure. . .quite sure. . .
But at this point, Punin, whom I had before this embraced twenty times (my cheeks were burning from the contact with his unshaven beard, and I was odoriferous of the smell that always clung to him) —at this point a sudden frenzy came over Punin. ”

“ It is well known that walking on the brink, on the very edge, of the precipice is woman's favourite pastime. 'Yes, I was there,' whispered Musa, without any change of countenance, except that her nostrils were faintly quivering and her lips twitching. 'Yes, and if Paramon Semyonitch asks me what I am whispering about with you, I'd tell him this minute. What do I care?'
'Be more careful,' I besought her. 'I really believe they are noticing.'
'I tell you, I 'm quite ready to tell them everything. And who's noticing? One's stretching his neck off the pillow, like a sick duck, and hears nothing ”

“ And, to tell the truth, it was this same Rossiad which aroused my enthusiasm most. There is in it, among others, a mighty Tatar woman, a gigantic heroine; I have forgotten even her name now; but in those days my hands and feet turned cold as soon as it was mentioned. 'Yes,' Punin would say, nodding his head with great significance, 'Heraskov, he doesn't let one off easily. At times one comes upon a line, simply heart-breaking. . . One can only stick to it, and do one's best. ”

“ I know why I have come to you. You know, the other day you read me that thrice-accursed poem . . . you remember, where there is talk of an old husband. What did you do that for? Did you know something then . . . or guessed something?' Punin glanced at me. 'Piotr Petrovitch,' he cried suddenly, and he began trembling all over, 'you know, perhaps, where she is. ”

“ I suddenly thought of the Gypsies, which Tarhov had mentioned not long before. There, by the way, is the ballad about the old husband. Punin grumbled a little, but I sat him down on the sofa, so that he could listen more comfortably, and began to read Pushkin's poem. The passage came at last, 'old husband, cruel husband'; Punin heard the ballad through to the end, and all at once he got up impulsively.
'I can't,' he pronounced, with an intense emotion, which impressed even me;—'excuse me; I cannot hear more of that author. He is an immoral slanderer; he is a liar . . . he upsets me. I cannot! ”

“ I vaguely recalled the name of Zeno, as the founder of the school of Stoics; but I knew absolutely nothing more about him.
'Yes, he was a philosopher,' I pronounced, at last
'Zeno,' Baburin resumed in deliberate tones, 'was that wise man, who declared that suffering was not an evil, since fortitude overcomes all things, and that the good in this world is one: justice; and virtue itself is nothing else than justice.'
Punin turned a reverent ear.
'A man living here who has picked up a lot of old books, told me that saying,' continued Baburin ”

“ I could not make up my mind whether or no to congratulate myself on the success of my sermon, when Tarhov suddenly got up, and pressing both my hands, said, speaking very quickly, 'Thank you, thank you. You 're right, of course, . . . though, on the other side, one might observe . . . What is your Baburin you make so much of, after all? An honest fool—and nothing more! You call him a republican—and he 's simply a fool! Oo! That 's what he is! All his republicanism simply means that he can never get on anywhere!'
'Ah! so that 's your idea! ”

“ You must consider this: admitting that Musa's a splendid girl; but then to gain Paramon Semyonitch's affection, to be his comfort, his prop—his spouse, in short! is that not the loftiest possible happiness even for such a girl? And she realises it! You should look, turn an attentive eye! In Paramon Semyonitch's presence Musotchka is all veneration, all tremor and enthusiasm!'
'That 's just what 's wrong, Nikander Vavilitch, that she is, as you say, all tremor. If you love any one you don't feel tremors in their presence.'
'But with that I can't agree! ”

“ As to work, there can be no possible hindrance occasioned by him,' Baburin made haste to add, as though foreseeing objections. 'He lives at my cost, occupies the same room with me; he is more likely to be of use, as he is well educated—speaking without flattery, extremely so, in fact—and his morals are exemplary.'
My grandmother heard Baburin out, chewing her lips and half closing her eyes.
'He lives at your expense?'
'Yes.'
'You keep him out of charity?'
'As an act of justice . . . as it's the duty of one poor man to help another poor man.'
'Indeed! It's the first time I've heard that. ”

“ Those trees, those green leaves, those high grasses screen us, hide us from all the rest of the world; no one knows where we are, what we are about—while with us is poetry, we are saturated in it, intoxicated with it, something solemn, grand, mysterious is happening to us. ”

“ On the road I was met by a little cart, drawn by a pair of spirited ponies, splashed with mud up to their ears, with plaited tails, and red ribbons in their manes and forelocks. Their harness was such as sportsmen affect, with copper discs and tassels; they were being driven by a smart young driver, in a blue tunic without sleeves, a yellow striped silk shirt, and a low felt hat with peacock's feathers round the crown. ”

“ I remember that on the way home I reflected with some pleasure that my friend Vladimir Tarhov might find things rather hot for him with his new type. . . He ought to have to pay something for his happiness!
That he would be happy, I was—regretfully—unable to doubt.
Three days passed by. I was sitting in my room at my writing-table, and not so much working as getting myself ready for lunch. . . I heard a rustle, lifted my head, and I was stupefied. Before me—rigid, terrible, white as chalk, stood an apparition . . . Punin. ”

“ All this presented no inconsiderable difficulty; what was needed was not to find money, but work, which is, as we all know, a far more complicated problem. . .
I left Musa with a perfect swarm of reflections in my head.
I soon learned that Baburin was in the fortress.
The proceedings began, . . . dragged on. I saw Musa several times every week. She had several interviews with her husband. But just at the moment of the decision of the whole melancholy affair, I was not in Petersburg. Unforeseen business had obliged me to set off to the south of Russia. ”

“ Baburin.'
'Paramon Semyonevitch?'
'Why, yes; that . . . blackfaced fellow.'
'Eh . . . eh . . . eh . . .!' Punin protested, with caressing reproachfulness. 'How can you talk like that, little master! Paramon Semyonevitch is the most estimable man, of the strictest principles, an extraordinary person! To be sure, he won't allow any disrespect to him, because—he knows his own value. That man possesses a vast amount of knowledge—and it's not a place like this he ought to be filling! You must, my dear, behave very courteously to him; do you know, he's . ”

“ Punin laughed. 'Because she's such a chilly little thing.'
'Sensible,' put in Baburin: 'as befits a young girl.'
'We may call her the mistress of the house,' cried Punin. 'Hey? Paramon Semyonitch?' Baburin frowned; Musa turned away. . . . I did not understand the hint at the time.
So passed two hours . . . in no very lively fashion, though Punin did his best to 'entertain the honourable company.' For instance, he squatted down in front of the cage of one of the canaries, opened the door, and commanded: 'On the cupola! ”

“ I 've met other people like him in my time. A man sits with an air of importance, silent, obstinate, angular. . . O-ho-ho! say you. It shows that there 's a great deal in him! But there 's nothing in him, not one idea in his head—nothing but a sense of his own dignity.'
'Even if there is nothing else, that 's an honourable thing,' I broke in. 'But let me ask where you have managed to study him like this? You don't know him, do you? Or are you describing him . . . from what Musa tells you?'
Tarhov shrugged his shoulders. 'Musa and I . . . have other things to talk of. ”

“ They say a mass of people have been arrested in the town. You can fancy how I feel. It is well Nikander Vavilitch did not live to see it! He was taken just in time. Advise me what I am to do. For myself I am not afraid—I shall not die of starvation—but the thought of Paramon Semyonitch gives me no rest. Come, please, if only you are not afraid to visit people in our position.—Yours faithfully,
Musa Baburin.' Half an hour later I was with Musa. ”

“ I had supposed till now that that was rather the duty of rich people.'
'For the rich, if I may venture to say so, it is an entertainment . . . but for such as we . . .'
'Well, well, that's enough, that's enough,' my grandmother cut him short; and after a moment's thought she queried, speaking through her nose, which was always a bad sign, 'And what age is he, your protégé?'
'About my own age.'
'Really, I imagined that you were bringing him up.'
'Not so; he is my comrade—and besides . . .'
'That's enough,' my grandmother cut him short a second time. 'You're a philanthropist, it seems. ”

“ First of all the muse had infallibly to be dark-haired and pale. An expression of scornful pride, a bitter smile, a glance of inspiration, and that 'something'—mysterious, demonic, fateful—that was essential to our conception of the muse, the muse of Byron, who at that time held sovereign sway over men's fancies. ”

“ He did not vouchsafe me one word, one look, though I was the whole time hanging about him, or rather, in reality, about Punin. The latter was utterly distraught, and he too said nothing; but he was continually glancing at me, and tears stood in his eyes. . .always the same tears; they neither fell nor dried up. He did not venture to criticise his 'benefactor'-Paramon Semyonitch could not make a mistake,-but great was his distress and dejection. Punin and I made an effort to read something out of the Rossiad for the last time ”

“ I cannot disguise the fact that I found Musa bewitching just that evening. 'Yes,' I mused; 'she's a little spitfire—she's a new type. . . She's—exquisite. Those hands know how to deal a blow, I dare say. . . What of it! No matter!'
'Paramon Semyonitch,' she cried suddenly, 'isn't a republic an empire in which every one does as he chooses?'
'A republic is not an empire,' answered Baburin, raising his head, and contracting his brows; 'it is a . ”

“ I looked round. Baburin's face was red. . . dark red; under his overhanging brows could be seen little sharp points of light. . . There was no doubt about it; it was he, it was Baburin, who had uttered the word 'Madam.'
My grandmother too looked round, and turned her eyeglass from Yermil to Baburin.
'Who is that. . .speaking?' she articulated slowly. . .through her nose. Baburin moved slightly forward.
'Madam,' he began, 'it is I. . .I venture. . .I imagine. . .I make bold to submit to your honour that you are making a mistake in acting as. . ”