‘Why so, Viktor Alexandritch! I understand; I understood everything.’
‘My eye, what a girl it is!’
Akulina looked down.
‘You used not to talk to me like that once, Viktor Alexandritch,’ she said, not lifting her eyes.
‘Once?... once!... My goodness!’ he remarked, as though in indignation.
They both were silent.
‘It’s time I was going,’ said Viktor, and he was already rising on to his elbow.
‘Wait a little longer,’ Akulina besought him in a supplicating voice.
‘What for?... Why, I’ve said good - bye to you.’
‘Wait a little,’ repeated Akulina.
Viktor lay down again and began whistling. Akulina never took her eyes off him. I could see that she was gradually being overcome by emotion; her lips twitched, her pale cheeks faintly glowed.
‘Viktor Alexandritch,’ she began at last in a broken voice, ‘it’s too bad of you... it is too bad of you, Viktor Alexandritch, indeed it is!’
‘What’s too bad?’ he asked frowning, and he slightly raised his head and turned it towards her.
‘It’s too bad, Viktor Alexandritch. You might at least say one kind word to me at parting; you might have said one little word to me, a poor luckless forlorn.’...
‘But what am I to say to you?’
‘I don’t know; you know that best, Viktor Alexandritch. Here you are going away, and one little word.... What have I done to deserve it?’
‘You’re such a queer creature! What can I do?’
‘One word at least.’
‘There, she keeps on at the same thing,’ he commented with annoyance, and he got up.
‘Don’t be angry, Viktor Alexandritch,’ she added hurriedly, with difficulty suppressing her tears.
I’m not angry, only you’re silly.... What do you want? You know I can’t marry you, can I? I can’t, can I? What is it you want then, eh?’ (He thrust his face forward as though expecting an answer, and spread his fingers out.)
‘I want nothing... nothing,’ she answered falteringly, and she ventured to hold out her trembling hands to him; ‘but only a word at parting.’
And her tears fell in a torrent.
‘There, that means she’s gone off into crying,’ said Viktor coolly, pushing down his cap on to his eyes.
‘I want nothing,’ she went on, sobbing and covering her face with her hands; ‘but what is there before me in my family? what is there before me? what will happen to me? what will become of me, poor wretch? They will marry me to a hateful... poor forsaken... Poor me!’
‘Sing away, sing away,’ muttered Viktor in an undertone, fidgeting with impatience as he stood.
‘And he might say one word, one word.... He might say, “Akulina... I...”‘
Sudden heart - breaking sobs prevented her from finishing; she lay with her face in the grass and bitterly, bitterly she wept.... Her whole body shook convulsively, her neck fairly heaved.... Her long - suppressed grief broke out in a torrent at last. Viktor stood over her, stood a moment, shrugged his shoulders, turned away and strode off.
A few instants passed... she grew calmer, raised her head, jumped up, looked round and wrung her hands; she tried to run after him, but her legs gave way under her — she fell on her knees.... I could not refrain from rushing up to her; but, almost before she had time to look at me, making a superhuman effort she got up with a faint shriek and vanished behind the trees, leaving her flowers scattered on the ground.
I stood a minute, picked up the bunch of cornflowers, and went out of the wood into the open country. The sun had sunk low in the pale clear sky; its rays too seemed to have grown pale and chill; they did not shine; they were diffused in an unbroken, watery light. It was within half - an - hour of sunset, but there was scarcely any of the glow of evening. A gusty wind scurried to meet me across the yellow parched stubble; little curled - up leaves, scudding hurriedly before it, flew by across the road, along the edge of the copse; the side of the copse facing the fields like a wall, was all shaking and lighted up by tiny gleams, distinct, but not glowing; on the reddish plants, the blades of grass, the straws on all sides, were sparkling and stirring innumerable threads of autumn spider - webs. I stopped... I felt sad at heart: under the bright but chill smile of fading nature, the dismal dread of coming winter seemed to steal upon me. High overhead flew a cautious crow, heavily and sharply cleaving the air with his wings; he turned his head, looked sideways at me, flapped his wings and, cawing abruptly, vanished behind the wood; a great flock of pigeons flew up playfully from a threshing floor, and suddenly eddying round in a column, scattered busily about the country. Sure sign of autumn! Some one came driving over the bare hillside, his empty cart rattling loudly....
I turned homewards; but it was long before the figure of poor Akulina faded out of my mind, and her cornflowers, long since withered, are still in my keeping.
XX
THE HAMLET OF THE SHTCHIGRI DISTRICT
On one of my excursions I received an invitation to dine at the house of a rich landowner and sportsman, Alexandr Mihalitch G — — . His property was four miles from the small village where I was staying at the time. I put on a frock - coat, an article without which I advise no one to travel, even on a hunting expedition, and betook myself to Alexandr Mihalitch’s. The dinner was fixed for six o’clock; I arrived at five, and found already a great number of gentlemen in uniforms, in civilian dress, and other nondescript garments. My host met me cordially, but soon hurried away to the butler’s pantry. He was expecting a great dignitary, and was in a state of agitation not quite in keeping with his independent position in society and his wealth. Alexandr Mihalitch had never married, and did not care for women; his house was the centre of a bachelor society. He lived in grand style; he had enlarged and sumptuously redecorated his ancestral mansion, spent fifteen thousand roubles on wine from Moscow every year, and enjoyed the highest public consideration. Alexandr Mihalitch had retired from the service ages ago, and had no ambition to gain official honours of any kind. What could have induced him to go out of his way to procure a guest of high official position, and to be in a state of excitement from early morning on the day of the grand dinner? That remains buried in the obscurity of the unknown, as a friend of mine, an attorney, is in the habit of saying when he is asked whether he takes bribes when kindly - disposed persons offer them.
On parting from my host, I began walking through the rooms. Almost all the guests were utterly unknown to me: about twenty persons were already seated at the card - tables. Among these devotees of preference were two warriors, with aristocratic but rather battered countenances, a few civilian officials, with tight high cravats and drooping dyed moustaches, such as are only to be found in persons of resolute character and strict conservative opinions: these conservative persons picked up their cards with dignity, and, without turning their heads, glared sideways at everyone who approached; and five or six local petty officials, with fair round bellies, fat, moist little hands, and staid, immovable little legs. These worthies spoke in a subdued voice, smiled benignly in all directions, held their cards close up to their very shirt - fronts, and when they trumped did not flap their cards on the table, but, on the contrary, shed them with an undulatory motion on the green cloth, and packed their tricks together with a slight, unassuming, and decorous swish. The rest of the company were sitting on sofas, or hanging in groups about the doors or at the windows; one gentleman, no longer young, though of feminine appearance, stood in a corner, fidgeting, blushing, and twisting the seal of his watch over his stomach in his embarrassment, though no one was paying any attention to him; some others in swallow - tail coats and checked trousers, the handiwork of the tailor and Perpetual Master of the Tailors Corporation, Firs Klyuhin, were talking together with extraordinary ease and liveliness, turning their bald, greasy heads from side to side unconstrainedly as they talked; a young man of twenty, short - sighted and fair - haired, dressed from head to fo
ot in black, obviously shy, smiled sarcastically....
I was beginning, however, to feel bored, when suddenly I was joined by a young man, one Voinitsin by name, a student without a degree, who resided in the house of Alexandr Mihalitch in the capacity of...it would be hard to say precisely, of what. He was a first - rate shot, and could train dogs. I had known him before in Moscow. He was one of those young men who at every examination ‘played at dumb - show,’ that is to say, did not answer a single word to the professor’s questions. Such persons were also designated ‘the bearded students.’ (You will gather that this was in long past days.) This was how it used to be: they would call Voinitsin, for example. Voinitsin, who had sat upright and motionless in his place, bathed in a hot perspiration from head to foot, slowly and aimlessly looked about him, got up, hurriedly buttoned up his undergraduate’s uniform, and edged up to the examiner’s table. ‘Take a paper, please,’ the professor would say to him pleasantly. Voinitsin would stretch out his hand, and with trembling fingers fumble at the pile of papers. ‘No selecting, if you please,’ observed, in a jarring voice, an assistant - examiner, an irritable old gentleman, a professor in some other faculty, conceiving a sudden hatred for the unlucky bearded one. Voinitsin resigned himself to his fate, took a paper, showed the number on it, and went and sat down by the window, while his predecessor was answering his question. At the window Voinitsin never took his eyes off his paper, except that at times he looked slowly round as before, though he did not move a muscle. But his predecessor would finish at last, and would be dismissed with, ‘Good! you can go,’ or even ‘Good indeed, very good!’ according to his abilities. Then they call Voinitsin: Voinitsin gets up, and with resolute step approaches the table. ‘Read your question,’ they tell him. Voinitsin raises the paper in both hands up to his very nose, slowly reads it, and slowly drops his hands. ‘Well, now, your answer, please,’ the same professor remarks languidly, throwing himself backwards, and crossing his arms over his breast.
There reigns the silence of the tomb. ‘Why are you silent?’ Voinitsin is mute. The assistant - examiner begins to be restive. ‘Well, say something!’ Voinitsin is as still as if he were dead. All his companions gaze inquisitively at the back of his thick, close - cropped, motionless head. The assistant - examiner’s eyes are almost starting out of his head; he positively hates Voinitsin. ‘Well, this is strange, really,’ observes the other examiner. ‘Why do you stand as if you were dumb? Come, don’t you know it? if so, say so.’ ‘Let me take another question,’ the luckless youth articulates thickly. The professors look at one another.’ Well, take one,’ the head - examiner answers, with a wave of the hand. Voinitsin again takes a paper, again goes to the window, again returns to the table, and again is silent as the grave. The assistant - examiner is capable of devouring him alive. At last they send him away and mark him a nought. You would think, ‘Now, at least, he will go.’ Not a bit of it! He goes back to his place, sits just as immovably to the end of the examination, and, as he goes out, exclaims: ‘I’ve been on the rack! what ill - luck!’ and the whole of that day he wanders about Moscow, clutching every now and then at his head, and bitterly cursing his luckless fate. He never, of course, touched a book, and the next day the same story was repeated.
So this was the Voinitsin who joined me. We talked about Moscow, about sport.
‘Would you like me,’ he whispered to me suddenly, ‘to introduce you to the first wit of these parts?’
‘If you will be so kind.’
Voinitsin led me up to a little man, with a high tuft of hair on his forehead and moustaches, in a cinnamon - coloured frock - coat and striped cravat. His yellow, mobile features were certainly full of cleverness and sarcasm. His lips were perpetually curved in a flitting ironical smile; little black eyes, screwed up with an impudent expression, looked out from under uneven lashes. Beside him stood a country gentleman, broad, soft, and sweet — a veritable sugar - and - honey mixture — with one eye. He laughed in anticipation at the witticisms of the little man, and seemed positively melting with delight. Voinitsin presented me to the wit, whose name was Piotr Petrovitch Lupihin. We were introduced and exchanged the preliminary civilities.
‘Allow me to present to you my best friend,’ said Lupihin suddenly in a strident voice, seizing the sugary gentleman by the arm.
‘Come, don’t resist, Kirila Selifanitch,’ he added; ‘we’re not going to bite you. I commend him to you,’ he went on, while the embarrassed Kirila Selifanitch bowed with about as much grace as if he were undergoing a surgical operation; ‘he’s a most superior gentleman. He enjoyed excellent health up to the age of fifty, then suddenly conceived the idea of doctoring his eyes, in consequence of which he has lost one. Since then he doctors his peasants with similar success.... They, to be sure, repay with similar devotion...’
‘What a fellow it is!’ muttered Kirila Selifanitch. And he laughed.
‘Speak out, my friend; eh, speak out!’ Lupihin rejoined. ‘Why, they may elect you a judge; I shouldn’t wonder, and they will, too, you see. Well, to be sure, the secretaries will do the thinking for you, we may assume; but you know you’ll have to be able to speak, anyhow, even if only to express the ideas of others. Suppose the governor comes and asks, “Why is it the judge stammers?” And they’d say, let’s assume, “It’s a paralytic stroke.” “Then bleed him,” he’d say. And it would be highly indecorous, in your position, you’ll admit.’
The sugary gentleman was positively rolling with mirth.
‘You see he laughs,’ Lupihin pursued with a malignant glance at Kirila Selifanitch’s heaving stomach. ‘And why shouldn’t he laugh?’ he added, turning to me: ‘he has enough to eat, good health, and no children; his peasants aren’t mortgaged — to be sure, he doctors them — and his wife is cracked.’ (Kirila Selifanitch turned a little away as though he were not listening, but he still continued to chuckle.) ‘I laugh too, while my wife has eloped with a land - surveyor.’ (He grinned.) ‘Didn’t you know that? What! Why, one fine day she ran away with him and left me a letter.
“Dear Piotr Petrovitch,” she said, “forgive me: carried away by passion, I am leaving with the friend of my heart.”... And the land - surveyor only took her fancy through not cutting his nails and wearing tight trousers. You’re surprised at that? “Why, this,” she said, “is a man with no dissimulation about him.”... But mercy on us! Rustic fellows like us speak the truth too plainly. But let us move away a bit.... It’s not for us to stand beside a future judge.’...
He took me by the arm, and we moved away to a window.
‘I’ve the reputation of a wit here,’ he said to me, in the course of conversation. ‘You need not believe that. I’m simply an embittered man, and I do my railing aloud: that’s how it is I’m so free and easy in my speech. And why should I mince matters, if you come to that; I don’t care a straw for anyone’s opinion, and I’ve nothing to gain; I’m spiteful — what of that? A spiteful man, at least, needs no wit. And, however enlightening it may be, you won’t believe it.... I say, now, I say, look at our host! There! what is he running to and fro like that for? Upon my word, he keeps looking at his watch, smiling, perspiring, putting on a solemn face, keeping us all starving for our dinner! Such a prodigy! a real court grandee! Look, look, he’s running again — bounding, positively, look!’
And Lupihin laughed shrilly.
‘The only pity is, there are no ladies,’ he resumed with a deep sigh; ‘it’s a bachelor party, else that’s when your humble servant gets on. Look, look,’ he cried suddenly: ‘Prince Kozelsky’s come — that tall man there, with a beard, in yellow gloves. You can see at once he’s been abroad... and he always arrives as late. He’s as heavy, I tell you, by himself, as a pair of merchant’s horses, and you should see how condescendingly he talks with your humble servant, how graciously he deigns to smile at the civilities of our starving mothers and daughters!... And he sometimes sets up for a wit, but he is only here for a little time; and oh, his witticisms! It’s for all the
world like hacking at a ship’s cable with a blunt knife. He can’t bear me.... I’m going to bow to him.’
And Lupihin ran off to meet the prince.
‘And here comes my special enemy,’ he observed, turning all at once to me. ‘Do you see that fat man with the brown face and the bristles on his head, over there, that’s got his cap clutched in his hand, and is creeping along by the wall and glaring in all directions like a wolf? I sold him for 400 roubles a horse worth 1000, and that stupid animal has a perfect right now to despise me; though all the while he is so destitute of all faculty of imagination, especially in the morning before his tea, or after dinner, that if you say “Good morning!” to him, he’ll answer, “Is it?” ‘And here comes the general,’ pursued Lupihin, ‘the civilian general, a retired, destitute general. He has a daughter of beetroot - sugar, and a manufactory with scrofula.... Beg pardon, I’ve got it wrong... but there, you understand. Ah! and the architect’s turned up here! A German, and wears moustaches, and does not understand his business — a natural phenomenon!... though what need for him to understand his business so long as he takes bribes and sticks in pillars everywhere to suit the tastes of our pillars of society!’
A Sportsman's Sketches: Works of Ivan Turgenev 1 Page 222