A Sportsman's Sketches: Works of Ivan Turgenev 1

by Ivan Turgenev

  Kister asked Masha for a dance.

  ‘What a strange person your friend is!’

  ‘He does interest you...’ said Fyodor Fedoritch, with a sly twinkle of his blue and kindly eyes.

  ‘Yes... he must be very unhappy.’

  ‘He unhappy? What makes you suppose so?’ And Fyodor Fedoritch laughed.

  ‘You don’t know... you don’t know...’ Masha solemnly shook her head with an important air.

  ‘Me not know? How’s that?’...

  Masha shook her head again and glanced towards Lutchkov. Avdey Ivanovitch noticed the glance, shrugged his shoulders imperceptibly, and walked away into the other room.

  III

  Several months had passed since that evening. Lutchkov had not once been at the Perekatovs’. But Kister visited them pretty often. Nenila Makarievna had taken a fancy to him, but it was not she that attracted Fyodor Fedoritch. He liked Masha. Being an inexperienced person who had not yet talked himself out, he derived great pleasure from the interchange of ideas and feelings, and he had a simple - hearted faith in the possibility of a calm and exalted friendship between a young man and a young girl.

  One day his three well - fed and skittish horses whirled him rapidly along to Mr. Perekatov’s house. It was a summer day, close and sultry. Not a cloud anywhere. The blue of the sky was so thick and dark on the horizon that the eye mistook it for storm - cloud. The house Mr. Perekatov had erected for a summer residence had been, with the foresight usual in the steppes, built with every window directly facing the sun. Nenila Makarievna had every shutter closed from early morning. Kister walked into the cool, half - dark drawing - room. The light lay in long lines on the floor and in short, close streaks on the walls. The Perekatov family gave Fyodor Fedoritch a friendly reception. After dinner Nenila Makarievna went away to her own room to lie down; Mr. Perekatov settled himself on the sofa in the drawing - room; Masha sat near the window at her embroidery frame, Kister facing her. Masha, without opening her frame, leaned lightly over it, with her head in her hands. Kister began telling her something; she listened inattentively, as though waiting for something, looked from time to time towards her father, and all at once stretched out her hand.

  ‘Listen, Fyodor Fedoritch... only speak a little more softly... papa’s asleep.’

  Mr. Perekatov had indeed as usual dropped asleep on the sofa, with his head hanging and his mouth a little open.

  ‘What is it?’ Kister inquired with curiosity.

  ‘You will laugh at me.’

  ‘Oh, no, really!...’

  Masha let her head sink till only the upper part of her face remained uncovered by her hands and in a half whisper, not without hesitation, asked Kister why it was he never brought Mr. Lutchkov with him. It was not the first time Masha had mentioned him since the ball.... Kister did not speak. Masha glanced timorously over her interlaced fingers.

  ‘May I tell you frankly what I think?’ Kister asked her.

  ‘Oh, why not? of course.’

  ‘It seems to me that Lutchkov has made a great impression on you.’

  ‘No!’ answered Masha, and she bent over, as though wishing to examine the pattern more closely; a narrow golden streak of light lay on her hair; ‘no... but...’

  ‘Well, but?’ said Kister, smiling.

  ‘Well, don’t you see,’ said Masha, and she suddenly lifted her head, so that the streak of light fell straight in her eyes; ‘don’t you see... he...’

  ‘He interests you....’

  ‘Well... yes...’ Masha said slowly; she flushed a little, turned her head a little away and in that position went on talking. ‘There is something about him so... There, you’re laughing at me,’ she added suddenly, glancing swiftly at Fyodor Fedoritch.

  Fyodor Fedoritch smiled the gentlest smile imaginable.

  ‘I tell you everything, whatever comes into my head,’ Masha went on: ‘I know that you are a very’... (she nearly said great) ‘good friend of mine.’

  Kister bowed. Masha ceased speaking, and shyly held out her hand to him; Fyodor Fedoritch pressed the tips of her fingers respectfully.

  ‘He must be a very queer person!’ observed Masha, and again she propped her elbows on the frame.

  ‘Queer?’

  ‘Of course; he interests me just because he is queer!’ Masha added slily.

  ‘Lutchkov is a noble, a remarkable man,’ Kister rejoined solemnly. ‘They don’t know him in our regiment, they don’t appreciate him, they only see his external side. He’s embittered, of course, and strange and impatient, but his heart is good.’

  Masha listened greedily to Fyodor Fedoritch.

  ‘I will bring him to see you, I’ll tell him there’s no need to be afraid of you, that it’s absurd for him to be so shy... I’ll tell him... Oh! yes, I know what to say... Only you mustn’t suppose, though, that I would...’ (Kister was embarrassed, Masha too was embarrassed.)... ‘Besides, after all, of course you only... like him....’

  ‘Of course, just as I like lots of people.’

  Kister looked mischievously at her.

  ‘All right, all right,’ he said with a satisfied air; ‘I’ll bring him to you....’

  ‘Oh, no....’

  ‘All right, I tell you it will be all right.... I’ll arrange everything.’

  ‘You are so...’ Masha began with a smile, and she shook her finger at him. Mr. Perekatov yawned and opened his eyes.

  ‘Why, I almost think I’ve been asleep,’ he muttered with surprise. This doubt and this surprise were repeated daily. Masha and Kister began discussing Schiller.

  Fyodor Fedoritch was not however quite at ease; he felt something like a stir of envy within him... and was generously indignant with himself. Nenila Makarievna came down into the drawing - room. Tea was brought in. Mr. Perekatov made his dog jump several times over a stick, and then explained he had taught it everything himself, while the dog wagged its tail deferentially, licked itself and blinked. When at last the great heat began to lessen, and an evening breeze blew up, the whole family went out for a walk in the birch copse. Fyodor Fedoritch was continually glancing at Masha, as though giving her to understand that he would carry out her behests; Masha felt at once vexed with herself, and happy and uncomfortable. Kister suddenly, apropos of nothing, plunged into a rather high - flown discourse upon love in the abstract, and upon friendship... but catching Nenila Makarievna’s bright and vigilant eye he, as abruptly, changed the subject. The sunset was brilliant and glowing. A broad, level meadow lay outstretched before the birch copse. Masha took it into her head to start a game of ‘catch - catch.’ Maid - servants and footmen came out; Mr. Perekatov stood with his wife, Kister with Masha. The maids ran with deferential little shrieks; Mr. Perekatov’s valet had the temerity to separate Nenila Makarievna from her spouse; one of the servant - girls respectfully paired off with her master; Fyodor Fedoritch was not parted from Masha. Every time as he regained his place, he said two or three words to her; Masha, all flushed with running, listened to him with a smile, passing her hand over her hair. After supper, Kister took leave.

  It was a still, starlight night. Kister took off his cap. He was excited; there was a lump in his throat. ‘Yes,’ he said at last, almost aloud; ‘she loves him: I will bring them together; I will justify her confidence in me.’ Though there was as yet nothing to prove a definite passion for Lutchkov on Masha’s part, though, according to her own account, he only excited her curiosity, Kister had by this time made up a complete romance, and worked out his own duty in the matter. He resolved to sacrifice his feelings — the more readily as ‘so far I have no other sentiment for her but sincere devotion,’ thought he. Kister really was capable of sacrificing himself to friendship, to a recognised duty. He had read a great deal, and so fancied himself a person of experience and even of penetration; he had no doubt of the truth of his suppositions; he did not suspect that life is endlessly varied, and never repeats itself. Little by little, Fyodor Fedoritch worked himself into a state of ecstasy. He
began musing with emotion on his mission. To be the mediator between a shy, loving girl and a man possibly embittered only because he had never once in his life loved and been loved; to bring them together; to reveal their own feelings to them, and then to withdraw, letting no one know the greatness of his sacrifice, what a splendid feat! In spite of the coolness of the night, the simple - hearted dreamer’s face burned....

  Next day he went round to Lutchkov early in the morning.

  Avdey Ivanovitch was, as usual, lying on the sofa, smoking a pipe. Kister greeted him.

  ‘I was at the Perekatovs yesterday,’ he said with some solemnity.

  ‘Ah!’ Lutchkov responded indifferently, and he yawned.

  ‘Yes. They are splendid people.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘We talked about you.’

  ‘Much obliged; with which of them was that?’

  ‘With the old people... and the daughter too.’

  ‘Ah! that... little fat thing?’

  ‘She’s a splendid girl, Lutchkov.’

  ‘To be sure, they’re all splendid.’

  ‘No, Lutchkov, you don’t know her. I have never met such a clever, sweet and sensitive girl.’

  Lutchkov began humming through his nose:

  ‘In the Hamburg Gazette,

  You’ve read, I dare say,

  How the year before last,

  Munich gained the day....’

  ‘But I assure you....’

  ‘You ‘re in love with her, Fedya,’ Lutchkov remarked sarcastically.

  ‘Not at all. I never even thought of it.’

  ‘Fedya, you’re in love with her!’

  ‘What nonsense! As if one couldn’t...’

  ‘You’re in love with her, friend of my heart, beetle on my hearth,’ Avdey Ivanovitch chanted drawling.

  ‘Ah, Avdey, you really ought to be ashamed!’ Kister said with vexation.

  With any one else Lutchkov would thereupon have kept on more than before; Kister he did not tease. ‘Well, well, sprechen Sie deutsch, Ivan Andreitch,’ he muttered in an undertone, ‘don’t be angry.’

  ‘Listen, Avdey,’ Kister began warmly, and he sat down beside him. ‘You know I care for you.’ (Lutchkov made a wry face.) ‘But there’s one thing, I’ll own, I don’t like about you... it’s just that you won’t make friends with any one, that you will stick at home, and refuse all intercourse with nice people. Why, there are nice people in the world, hang it all! Suppose you have been deceived in life, have been embittered, what of it; there’s no need to rush into people’s arms, of course, but why turn your back on everybody? Why, you’ll cast me off some day, at that rate, I suppose.’

  Lutchkov went on smoking coolly.

  ‘That’s how it is no one knows you... except me; goodness knows what some people think of you... Avdey!’ added Kister after a brief silence; ‘do you disbelieve in virtue, Avdey?’

  ‘Disbelieve... no, I believe in it,’... muttered Lutchkov.

  Kister pressed his hand feelingly.

  ‘I want,’ he went on in a voice full of emotion, ‘to reconcile you with life. You will grow happier, blossom out... yes, blossom out. How I shall rejoice then! Only you must let me dispose of you now and then, of your time. To - day it’s — what? Monday... to - morrow’s Tuesday... on Wednesday, yes, on Wednesday we’ll go together to the Perekatovs’. They will be so glad to see you... and we shall have such a jolly time there... and now let me have a pipe.’

  Avdey Ivanovitch lay without budging on the sofa, staring at the ceiling. Kister lighted a pipe, went to the window, and began drumming on the panes with his fingers.

  ‘So they’ve been talking about me?’ Avdey asked suddenly.

  ‘They have,’ Kister responded with meaning.

  ‘What did they say?’

  ‘Oh, they talked. There’re very anxious to make your acquaintance.’

  ‘Which of them’s that?’

  ‘I say, what curiosity!’

  Avdey called his servant, and ordered his horse to be saddled.

  ‘Where are you off to?’

  ‘The riding - school.’

  ‘Well, good - bye. So we’re going to the Perekatovs’, eh?’

  ‘All right, if you like,’ Lutchkov said lazily, stretching.

  ‘Bravo, old man!’ cried Kister, and he went out into the street, pondered, and sighed deeply.

  IV

  Masha was just approaching the drawing - room door when the arrival of Kister and Lutchkov was announced. She promptly returned to her own room, and went up to the looking - glass.... Her heart was throbbing violently. A girl came to summon her to the drawing - room. Masha drank a little water, stopped twice on the stairs, and at last went down. Mr. Perekatov was not at home. Nenila Makarievna was sitting on the sofa; Lutchkov was sitting in an easy - chair, wearing his uniform, with his hat on his knees; Kister was near him. They both got up on Masha’s entrance — Kister with his usual friendly smile, Lutchkov with a solemn and constrained air. She bowed to them in confusion, and went up to her mother. The first ten minutes passed off favourably. Masha recovered herself, and gradually began to watch Lutchkov. To the questions addressed to him by the lady of the house, he answered briefly, but uneasily; he was shy, like all egoistic people. Nenila Makarievna suggested a stroll in the garden to her guests, but did not herself go beyond the balcony. She did not consider it essential never to lose sight of her daughter, and to be constantly hobbling after her with a fat reticule in her hands, after the fashion of many mothers in the steppes. The stroll lasted rather a long while. Masha talked more with Kister, but did not dare to look either at him or at Lutchkov. Avdey Ivanovitch did not address a remark to her; Kister’s voice showed agitation. He laughed and chattered a little over - much.... They reached the stream. A couple of yards or so from the bank there was a water - lily, which seemed to rest on the smooth surface of the water, encircled by its broad, round leaves.

  ‘What a beautiful flower!’ observed Masha.

  She had hardly uttered these words when Lutchkov pulled out his sword, clutched with one hand at the frail twigs of a willow, and, bending his whole body over the water, cut off the head of the flower. ‘It’s deep here, take care!’ Masha cried in terror. Lutchkov with the tip of his sword brought the flower to the bank, at her very feet. She bent down, picked up the flower, and gazed with tender, delighted amazement at Avdey. ‘Bravo!’ cried Kister. ‘And I can’t swim...’ Lutchkov observed abruptly. Masha did not like that remark. ‘What made him say that?’ she wondered.

  Lutchkov and Kister remained at Mr. Perekatov’s till the evening. Something new and unknown was passing in Masha’s soul; a dreamy perplexity was reflected more than once in her face. She moved somehow more slowly, she did not flush on meeting her mother’s eyes — on the contrary, she seemed to seek them, as though she would question her. During the whole evening, Lutchkov paid her a sort of awkward attention; but even this awkwardness gratified her innocent vanity. When they had both taken leave, with a promise to come again in a few days, she quietly went off to her own room, and for a long while, as it were, in bewilderment she looked about her. Nenila Makarievna came to her, kissed and embraced her as usual. Masha opened her lips, tried to say something — and did not utter a word. She wanted to confess — - she did not know what. Her soul was gently wandering in dreams. On the little table by her bedside the flower Lutchkov had picked lay in water in a clean glass. Masha, already in bed, sat up cautiously, leaned on her elbow, and her maiden lips softly touched the fresh white petals....

  ‘Well,’ Kister questioned his friend next day, ‘do you like the Perekatovs? Was I right? eh? Tell me.’

  Lutchkov did not answer.

  ‘No, do tell me, do tell me!’

  ‘Really, I don’t know.’

  ‘Nonsense, come now!’

  ‘That... what’s her name... Mashenka’s all right; not bad - looking.’

  ‘There, you see...’ said Kister — and he said no more.


  Five days later Lutchkov of his own accord suggested that they should call on the Perekatovs.

  Alone he would not have gone to see them; in Fyodor Fedoritch’s absence he would have had to keep up a conversation, and that he could not do, and as far as possible avoided.

  On the second visit of the two friends, Masha was much more at her ease. She was by now secretly glad that she had not disturbed her mamma by an uninvited avowal. Before dinner, Avdey had offered to try a young horse, not yet broken in, and, in spite of its frantic rearing, he mastered it completely. In the evening he thawed, and fell into joking and laughing — and though he soon pulled himself up, yet he had succeeded in making a momentary unpleasant impression on Masha. She could not yet be sure herself what the feeling exactly was that Lutchkov excited in her, but everything she did not like in him she set down to the influence of misfortune, of loneliness.

  V

  The friends began to pay frequent visits to the Perekatovs’. Kister’s position became more and more painful. He did not regret his action... no, but he desired at least to cut short the time of his trial. His devotion to Masha increased daily; she too felt warmly towards him; but to be nothing more than a go - between, a confidant, a friend even — it’s a dreary, thankless business! Coldly idealistic people talk a great deal about the sacredness of suffering, the bliss of suffering... but to Kister’s warm and simple heart his sufferings were not a source of any bliss whatever. At last, one day, when Lutchkov, ready dressed, came to fetch him, and the carriage was waiting at the steps, Fyodor Fedoritch, to the astonishment of his friend, announced point - blank that he should stay at home. Lutchkov entreated him, was vexed and angry... Kister pleaded a headache. Lutchkov set off alone.

  The bully had changed in many ways of late. He left his comrades in peace, did not annoy the novices, and though his spirit had not ‘blossomed out,’ as Kister had foretold, yet he certainly had toned down a little. He could not have been called ‘disillusioned’ before — he had seen and experienced almost nothing — and so it is not surprising that Masha engrossed his thoughts. His heart was not touched though; only his spleen was satisfied. Masha’s feelings for him were of a strange kind. She almost never looked him straight in the face; she could not talk to him.... When they happened to be left alone together, Masha felt horribly awkward. She took him for an exceptional man, and felt overawed by him and agitated in his presence, fancied she did not understand him, and was unworthy of his confidence; miserably, drearily — but continually — she thought of him. Kister’s society, on the contrary, soothed her and put her in a good humour, though it neither overjoyed nor excited her. With him she could chatter away for hours together, leaning on his arm, as though he were her brother, looking affectionately into his face, and laughing with his laughter — and she rarely thought of him. In Lutchkov there was something enigmatic for the young girl; she felt that his soul was ‘dark as a forest,’ and strained every effort to penetrate into that mysterious gloom.... So children stare a long while into a deep well, till at last they make out at the very bottom the still, black water.