Ivan Turgenev

“ Pyetushkov dressed, and carefully drew on his chamois-leather gloves.
'You needn't go to the baker's to-day,' said he with some hesitation; 'I'm going myself, . . . it's on my way.'
'Yes, sir,' responded Onisim, as abruptly as if some one had just given him a shove from behind.
Pyetushkov set off, reached the baker's shop, tapped at the window. The fat woman opened the pane.
'Give me a roll, please,' Ivan Afanasiitch articulated slowly.
The fat woman stuck out an arm, bare to the shoulder—a huge arm, more like a leg than an arm—and thrust the hot bread just under his nose. ”

“ Goodwill and gentleness, and discreet gaiety, a melancholy comprehension of life, and a faith, not to be shaken, in themselves, in the lofty and noble destiny of man on earth, courteous attention to their young companion, in intellectual endowments perhaps not fully their equal, but still by the qualities of his heart quite deserving of their indulgence . . . such were the characteristics and the feelings reflected at that moment on the faces of the young ladies. Bublitsyn called to Ivan Afanasiitch for no special reason, simply in the fulness of his inner satisfaction ”

“ Vassilissa ran into the house. Pyetushkov returned home. But from thatday he began going often to the baker's shop, and his visits were not for nothing. Ivan Afanasiitch's hopes, to use the lofty phraseology suitable, were crowned with success. Usually, the attainment of the goal has a cooling effect on people, but Pyetushkov, on the contrary, grew every day more and more ardent. Love is a thing of accident, it exists in itself, like art, and, like nature, needs no reasons to justify it, as some clever man has said who never loved, himself, but made excellent observations upon love. ”

“ Why, the only joy I had in life was you. I'm a homeless man, you know, a poor lonely creature! Who is there now to be kind to me? who says a kind word to me? I'm utterly alone. Stript bare as a crow. You ask this . . .' Ivan Afanasiitch began to cry. 'Vassilissa, listen what I say to you,' he went on: 'let me come and see you as before. ”

“ Ivan Afanasiitch stood some time under the window, walked once or twice up and down the street, glanced into the courtyard, and at last, ashamed of his childishness, returned home with the roll in his hand. He felt ill at ease the whole day, and even in the evening, contrary to his habit, did not drop into conversation with Onisim. ”

“ Praskovia Ivanovna wiped her face with a parti-coloured handkerchief; Ivan Afanasiitch continued with intense attention to gaze away to one side. Both were rather uncomfortable. But in merchant and petty shopkeeper society, where even old friends never step outside special angular forms of etiquette, a certain constraint in the behaviour of guests and host to one another not only strikes no one as strange, but, on the contrary, is regarded as perfectly correct and indispensable, particularly on a first visit. Praskovia Ivanovna was agreeably impressed by Pyetushkov. ”

“ You've grown so thin, that you're simply not like yourself. And what's it all about? It's enough to turn one's brain to think of it. And you a gentleman born, too!'
Onisim paused. Pyetushkov did not stir.
'Is that the way gentlemen go on? They'd amuse themselves a bit, to be sure . . . why shouldn't they . . . they'd amuse themselves, and then drop it. . . They may well say, Fall in love with Old Nick, and you'll think him a beauty.'
Ivan Afanasiitch merely writhed.
'Well, it's really like this, Ivan Afanasiitch. ”

“ Here you sit sticking at home the whole blessed day . . . much good it does you, sitting at home like that! You don't play cards, you don't go and see the gentry, and as for . . . well . . .'
Onisim waved his hand expressively.
'Now, come . . . you really go . . . too far . . .' Ivan Afanasiitch said hesitatingly, clutching his pipe.
'Too far, indeed, Ivan Afanasiitch, too far, you say! Judge for yourself. Here again, with Vassilissa . . . why couldn't you . . .'
'But what are you thinking about, Onisim,' Pyetushkov interrupted miserably. ”

“ Ivan Afanasiitch gave a lurch backwards. Onisim ran forward and held his master up.
'And who's to blame for it? I'll tell you, if you like, who's to blame. I'm to blame, in the first place. What ought I to have said? I ought to have said to you: Vassilissa, I love you. Good—well, will you marry me? Will you? It's true you're a working girl, granted; but that's all right. It's done sometimes. Why, there, I knew a fellow, he got married like that. Married a Finnish servant-girl. Took and married her. And you'd have been happy with me. I'm a good-natured chap, I am! ”

“ She's simply a baggage! Worse, even!'
'Go away,' Ivan Afanasiitch moaned into the cushion.
'No, I'm not going away, Ivan Afanasiitch. Who's to speak, if I don't? Why, upon my word! Here, you're breaking your heart now . . . and over what? Eh, over what? tell me that!'
'Oh, go away, Onisim,' Pyetushkov moaned again. Onisim, for propriety's sake, was silent for a little while.
'And another thing,' he began again, 'she's no feeling of gratitude whatever. Any other girl wouldn't know how to do enough to please you; while she! . . . she doesn't even think of you. Why, it's simply a disgrace. ”

“ I feel a weight oppressing me.'
'It's the mushrooms,' murmured Praskovia Ivanovna—'it's all those mushrooms.'
O Lord, have mercy on us sinners!
An hour passed, a second—still no Vassilissa. Twenty times Pyetushkov was on the point of getting up, and twenty times he huddled miserably under the sheepskin. . . . At last he really did get down from the stove and determined to go home, and positively went out into the yard, but came back. Praskovia Ivanovna got up. The hired man, Luka, black as a beetle, though he was a baker, put the bread into the oven. ”

“ Pyetushkov was silent and hung his head.
Onisim saw that things were in a bad way.
'Ivan Afanasiitch,' he said suddenly.
'Well?'
'Would you like me to fetch Vassilissa here?'
Pyetushkov flushed red.
'No, Onisim, I don't wish it. ('Yes, indeed! as if she would come!' he thought to himself.) One must be firm. It is all nonsense. Yesterday, I . . . It's a disgrace. You are right. One must cut it all short, once for all, as they say. Isn't that true?'
'It's the gospel truth your honour speaks, Ivan Afanasiitch.'
Pyetushkov sank again into reverie. ”

“ Have you seen Vassilissa, the baker girl, for instance?' . . . Mr. Bublitsyn sucked at his pipe.
Pyetushkov started.
'But why do I ask you?' pursued Bublitsyn, disappearing in a cloud of smoke,—' you're not the man to notice, don't you know, Ivan Afanasiitch! Goodness knows what you do to occupy yourself, Ivan Afanasiitch!'
'The same as you do,' Pyetushkov replied with some vexation, in a drawling voice.
'Oh no, Ivan Afanasiitch, not a bit of it. . . ”

“ So long as she does her work. . . Why shouldn't folks enjoy themselves? . . .'
A cold shudder ran over Pyetushkov. At last, towards evening, Vassilissa made her appearance. This was all he was waiting for. Majestically Pyetushkov rose from his seat, folded his arms, scowled menacingly. . . But Vassilissa looked him boldly in the face, laughed impudently, and before he could utter a single word she went quickly into her own room, and locked herself in. Ivan Afanasiitch opened his mouth, looked in amazement at Praskovia Ivanovna. . . Praskovia Ivanovna cast down her eyes. ”

“ Eh? do you agree? If you like, I'll go down on my knees.' (And Ivan Afanasiitch bent his knees, but Onisim held him up under the arms.) 'Let me go! It's not your business! It's a matter of the happiness of a whole life, don't you understand, and you hinder. . .'
Vassilissa did not know what to say.
'You won't... Well, as you will! God be with you. In that case, good-bye! Good-bye, Vassilissa. I wish you all happiness and prosperity. . . but I. . . but I. . .'
And Pyetushkov sobbed violently. Onisim with all his might held him up from behind. . . ”

“ Why, there was a whole birch copse, maybe, used upon my back, so I should think I know the service; every rule of discipline I'm very well up in. And I'd have you to understand, I say this just for the honour of the uniform. You're disgracing the uniform . . . so you are. I say this like a father . . . yes. Because all that's put in my charge. I've to answer for it. And you dare to argue too!' the major shrieked with sudden fury, and his face turned purple, and he foamed at the mouth, while the cat put its tail in the air and jumped down to the ground. ”

“ I must make her feel ashamed. Most certainly . . . I'll go. Onisim! my clothes.'
'Well,' he mused as he dressed, 'we shall see what comes of it. She may, I dare say, be angry with me. And after all, a man keeps coming and coming, and all of a sudden, for no rhyme or reason, goes and gives up coming. Well, we shall see.'
Ivan Afanasiitch went out of the house, and made his way to the baker's shop. He stopped at the little gate, he wanted to straighten himself out and set himself to rights. . . Pyetushkov clutched at the folds of his coat with both hands, and almost pulled them out altogether. ”

“ Thanks very much, my girl, thanks very much!' Pyetushkov made Vassilissa a low bow.
'But, Ivan Afanasiitch, you're maybe fancying . . .'
'You'd better not talk to me! And a pretty fool I am! There's nothing to make an out-cry for! You may make friends with any one you like. ”

“ He reached home, took up a leather cushion, and with it flung himself on the sofa, with his face to the wall. Onisim looked in out of the passage, went into the room, leaned his back against the door, took a pinch of snuff, and crossed his legs.
'Are you unwell, Ivan Afanasiitch?' he asked Pyetushkov.
Pyetushkov made no answer.
'Shall I go for the doctor?' Onisim continued, after a brief pause.
'I'm quite well. . . . Go away,' Ivan Afanasiitch articulated huskily.
'Well? . . . no, you're not well, Ivan Afanasiitch. . . . Is this what you call being well?'
Pyetushkov did not speak. ”

“ Conversations with Onisim about Vassilissa were the only thing that afforded him some consolation. The conversation was always begun, 'scratched up,' by Pyetushkov; Onisim responded unwillingly.
'It's a strange thing, you know,' Ivan Afanasiitch would say, for instance, as he lay on the sofa, while Onisim stood in his usual attitude, leaning against the door, with his hands folded behind his back, 'when you come to think of it, what it was I saw in that girl. One would say that there was nothing unusual in her. It's true she has a good heart. ”

“ In the evening Pyetushkov returned home, and began rummaging in his boxes. He found several odd numbers of the Library of Good Reading, five grey Moscow novels, Nazarov's arithmetic, a child's geography with a globe on the title-page, the second part of Keydanov's history, two dream-books, an almanack for the year 1819, two numbers of Galatea, Kozlov's Natalia Dolgorukaia, and the first part of Roslavlev. He pondered a long while which to choose, and finally made up his mind to take Kozlov's poem, and Roslavlev. ”