A Sportsman's Sketches: Works of Ivan Turgenev 1

by Ivan Turgenev

  ‘Hi, lads!’ shrieked Ivan Andreevitch in a voice of frenzy. ‘A stick!’

  ‘What, beat... me?’ murmured Yuditch.

  ‘Yes, indeed! Are you any better than the rest? You are a thief! O Yuditch! I never expected such dishonesty of you!’

  ‘I have grown grey in your service, Ivan Andreevitch,’ Yuditch articulated with effort.

  ‘What have I to do with your grey hairs? Damn you and your service!’

  The servants came in.

  ‘Take him, do, and give it him thoroughly.’ Ivan Andreevitch’s lips were white and twitching. He walked up and down the room like a wild beast in a small cage.

  The servants did not dare to carry out his orders.

  ‘Why are you standing still, children of Ham? Am I to undertake him myself, eh?’

  Yuditch was moving towards the door....

  ‘Stay!’ screamed Ivan Andreevitch. ‘Yuditch, for the last time I tell you, I beg you, Yuditch, confess!’

  ‘I can’t!’ moaned Yuditch.

  ‘Then take him, the sly old fox! Flog him to death! His blood be on my head!’ thundered the infuriated old man. The flogging began.... The door suddenly opened, and Vassily came in. He was almost paler than his father, his hands were shaking, his upper lip was lifted, and laid bare a row of even, white teeth.

  ‘I am to blame,’ he said in a thick but resolute voice. ‘I took the money.’

  The servants stopped.

  ‘You! what? you, Vaska! without Yuditch’s consent?’

  ‘No!’ said Yuditch, ‘with my consent. I gave Vassily Ivanovitch the key of my own accord. Your honour, Vassily Ivanovitch! why does your honour trouble?’

  ‘So this is the thief!’ shrieked Ivan Andreevitch. ‘Thanks, Vassily, thanks! But, Yuditch, I’m not going to forgive you anyway. Why didn’t you tell me all about it directly? Hey, you there! why are you standing still? do you too resist my authority? Ah, I’ll settle things with you, my pretty gentleman!’ he added, turning to Vassily.

  The servants were again laying hands on Yuditch....

  ‘Don’t touch him!’ murmured Vassily through his teeth. The men did not heed him. ‘Back!’ he shrieked and rushed upon them.... They stepped back.

  ‘Ah! mutiny!’ moaned Ivan Andreevitch, and, raising his stick, he approached his son. Vassily leaped back, snatched at the handle of his sword, and bared it to half its length. Every one was trembling. Anna Pavlovna, attracted by the noise, showed herself at the door, pale and scared.

  A terrible change passed over the face of Ivan Andreevitch. He tottered, dropped the stick, and sank heavily into an arm - chair, hiding his face in both hands. No one stirred, all stood rooted to the spot, Vassily like the rest. He clutched the steel sword - handle convulsively, and his eyes glittered with a weary, evil light....

  ‘Go, all of you... all, out,’ Ivan Andreevitch brought out in a low voice, not taking his hands from his face.

  The whole crowd went out. Vassily stood still in the doorway, then suddenly tossed his head, embraced Yuditch, kissed his mother’s hand... and two hours later he had left the place. He went back to Petersburg.

  In the evening of the same day Yuditch was sitting on the steps of the house serfs’ hut. The servants were all round him, sympathising with him and bitterly reproaching their young master.

  ‘That’s enough, lads,’ he said to them at last, ‘give over... why do you abuse him? He himself, the young master, I dare say is not very happy at his audacity....’

  In consequence of this incident, Vassily never saw his father again. Ivan Andreevitch died without him, and died probably with such a load of sorrow on his heart as God grant none of us may ever know. Vassily Ivanovitch, meanwhile, went into the world, enjoyed himself in his own way, and squandered money recklessly. How he got hold of the money, I cannot tell for certain. He had obtained a French servant, a very smart and intelligent fellow, Bourcier, by name. This man was passionately attached to him and aided him in all his numerous manoeuvres. I do not intend to relate in detail all the exploits of my grand - uncle; he was possessed of such unbounded daring, such serpent - like resource, such inconceivable wiliness, such a fine and ready wit, that I must own I can understand the complete sway that unprincipled person exercised even over the noblest natures.

  Soon after his father’s death, in spite of his wiliness, Vassily Ivanovitch was challenged by an injured husband. He fought a duel, seriously wounded his opponent, and was forced to leave the capital; he was banished to his estate, and forbidden to leave it. Vassily Ivanovitch was thirty years old. You may easily imagine, gentlemen, with what feelings he left the brilliant life in the capital that he was used to, and came into the country. They say that he got out of the hooded cart several times on the road, flung himself face downwards in the snow and cried. No one in Lutchinovka would have known him as the gay and charming Vassily Ivanovitch they had seen before. He did not talk to any one; went out shooting from morning to night; endured his mother’s timid caresses with undisguised impatience, and was merciless in his ridicule of his brothers, and of their wives (they were both married by that time)....

  I have not so far, I think, told you anything about Olga Ivanovna. She had been brought as a tiny baby to Lutchinovka; she all but died on the road. Olga Ivanovna was brought up, as they say, in the fear of God and her betters. It must be admitted that Ivan Andreevitch and Anna Pavlovna both treated her as a daughter. But there lay hid in her soul a faint spark of that fire which burned so fiercely in Vassily Ivanovitch. While Ivan Andreevitch’s own children did not dare even to wonder about the cause of the strange, dumb feud between their parents, Olga was from her earliest years disturbed and tormented by Anna Pavlovna’s position. Like Vassily, she loved independence; any restriction fretted her. She was devoted with her whole soul to her benefactress; old Lutchinov she detested, and more than once, sitting at table, she shot such black looks at him, that even the servant handing the dishes felt uncomfortable. Ivan Andreevitch never noticed these glances, for he never took the slightest notice of his family.

  At first Anna Pavlovna had tried to eradicate this hatred, but some bold questions of Olga’s forced her to complete silence. The children of Ivan Andreevitch adored Olga, and the old lady too was fond of her, but not with a very ardent affection.

  Long continued grieving had crushed all cheerfulness and every strong feeling in that poor woman; nothing is so clear a proof of Vassily’s captivating charm as that he had made even his mother love him passionately. Demonstrations of tenderness on the part of children were not in the spirit of the age, and so it is not to be wondered at that Olga did not dare to express her devotion, though she always kissed Anna Pavlovna’s hand with special reverence, when she said good - night to her. Twenty years later, Russian girls began to read romances of the class of The Adventures of Marquis Glagol, Fanfan and Lolotta, Alexey or the Cottage in the Forest; they began to play the clavichord and to sing songs in the style of the once very well - known:

  ‘Men like butterflies in sunshine

  Flutter round us opening blossoms,’ etc.

  But in the seventies of last century (Olga Ivanovna was born in 1757) our country beauties had no notion of such accomplishments. It is difficult for us now to form a clear conception of the Russian miss of those days. We can indeed judge from our grandmothers of the degree of culture of girls of noble family in the time of Catherine; but how is one to distinguish what they had gradually gained in the course of their long lives from what they were in the days of their youth?

  Olga Ivanovna spoke French a little, but with a strong Russian accent: in her day there was as yet no talk of French emigrants. In fact, with all her fine qualities, she was still pretty much of a savage, and I dare say in the simplicity of her heart, she had more than once chastised some luckless servant girl with her own hands....

  Some time before Vassily Ivanovitch’s arrival, Olga Ivanovna had been betrothed to a neighbour, Pavel Afanasievitch Rogatchov, a very good - natured and st
raightforward fellow. Nature had forgotten to put any spice of ill - temper into his composition. His own serfs did not obey him, and would sometimes all go off, down to the least of them, and leave poor Rogatchov without any dinner... but nothing could trouble the peace of his soul. From his childhood he had been stout and indolent, had never been in the government service, and was fond of going to church and singing in the choir. Look, gentlemen, at this round, good - natured face; glance at this mild, beaming smile... don’t you really feel it reassuring, yourselves? His father used at long intervals to drive over to Lutchinovka, and on holidays used to bring with him his Pavlusha, whom the little Lutchinovs teased in every possible way. Pavlusha grew up, began driving over to call on Ivan Andreevitch on his own account, fell in love with Olga Ivanovna, and offered her his hand and heart — not to her personally, but to her benefactors. Her benefactors gave their consent. They never even thought of asking Olga Ivanovna whether she liked Rogatchov. In those days, in the words of my grandmother, ‘such refinements were not the thing.’ Olga soon got used to her betrothed, however; it was impossible not to feel fond of such a gentle and amiable creature. Rogatchov had received no education whatever; his French consisted of the one word bonjour, and he secretly considered even that word improper. But some jocose person had taught him the following lines, as a French song: ‘Sonitchka, Sonitchka! Ke - voole - voo - de - mwa — I adore you — me - je - ne - pyoo - pa....’ This supposed song he always used to hum to himself when he felt in good spirits. His father was also a man of incredible good - nature, always wore a long nankin coat, and whatever was said to him he responded with a smile. From the time of Pavel Afanasievitch’s betrothal, both the Rogatchovs, father and son, had been tremendously busy. They had been having their house entirely transformed adding various ‘galleries,’ talking in a friendly way with the workmen, encouraging them with drinks. They had not yet completed all these additions by the winter; they put off the wedding till the summer. In the summer Ivan Andreevitch died; the wedding was deferred till the following spring. In the winter Vassily Ivanovitch arrived. Rogatchov was presented to him; he received him coldly and contemptuously, and as time went on, he, so alarmed him by his haughty behaviour that poor Rogatchov trembled like a leaf at the very sight of him, was tongue - tied and smiled nervously. Vassily once almost annihilated him altogether — by making him a bet, that he, Rogatchov, was not able to stop smiling. Poor Pavel Afanasievitch almost cried with, embarrassment, but — actually! — a smile, a stupid, nervous smile refused to leave his perspiring face! Vassily toyed deliberately with the ends of his neckerchief, and looked at him with supreme contempt. Pavel Afanasievitch’s father heard too of Vassily’s presence, and after an interval of a few days — ’for the sake of greater formality’ — he sallied off to Lutchinovka with the object of ‘felicitating our honoured guest on his advent to the halls of his ancestors.’ Afanasey Lukitch was famed all over the countryside for his eloquence — that is to say, for his capacity for enunciating without faltering a rather long and complicated speech, with a sprinkling of bookish phrases in it. Alas! on this occasion he did not sustain his reputation; he was even more disconcerted than his son, Pavel Afanasievitch; he mumbled something quite inarticulate, and though he had never been used to taking vodka, he at once drained a glass ‘to carry things off’ — he found Vassily at lunch, — tried at least to clear his throat with some dignity, and did not succeed in making the slightest sound. On their way home, Pavel Afanasievitch whispered to his parent, ‘Well, father?’ Afanasey Lukitch responded angrily also in a whisper, ‘Don’t speak of it!’

  The Rogatchovs began to be less frequent visitors at Lutchinovka. Though indeed they were not the only people intimidated by Vassily; he awakened in his own brothers, in their wives, in Anna Pavlovna herself, an instinctive feeling of uneasiness and discomfort... they tried to avoid him in every way they could. Vassily must have noticed this, but apparently had no intention of altering his behaviour to them. Suddenly, at the beginning of the spring, he became once more the charming, attractive person they had known of old...

  The first symptom of this sudden transformation was Vassily’s unexpected visit to the Rogatchovs. Afanasey Lukitch, in particular, was fairly disconcerted at the sight of Lutchinov’s carriage, but his dismay very quickly vanished. Never had Vassily been more courteous and delightful. He took young Rogatchov by the arm, went with him to look at the new buildings, talked to the carpenters, made some suggestions, with his own hands chopped a few chips off with the axe, asked to be shown Afanasey Lukitch’s stud horses, himself trotted them out on a halter, and altogether so affected the good - hearted children of the steppes by his gracious affability that they both embraced him more than once. At home, too, Vassily managed, in the course of a few days, to turn every one’s head just as before. He contrived all sorts of laughable games, got hold of musicians, invited the ladies and gentlemen of the neighbourhood, told the old ladies the scandals of the town in the most amusing way, flirted a little with the young ones, invented unheard - of diversions, fireworks and such things, in short, he put life into every thing and every one. The melancholy, gloomy house of the Lutchinovs was suddenly converted into a noisy, brilliant, enchanted palace of which the whole countryside was talking. This sudden transformation surprised many and delighted all. All sorts of rumours began to be whispered about. Sagacious persons opined that Vassily Ivanovitch had till then been crushed under the weight of some secret trouble, that he saw chances of returning to the capital... but the true cause of Vassily Ivanovitch’s metamorphosis was guessed by no one.

  Olga Ivanovna, gentlemen, was rather pretty; though her beauty consisted rather in the extraordinary softness and freshness of her shape, in the quiet grace of her movements than in the strict regularity of her features. Nature had bestowed on her a certain independence; her bringing up — she had grown up without father or mother — had developed in her reserve and determination. Olga did not belong to the class of quiet and tame - spirited young ladies; but only one feeling had reached its full possibilities in her as yet — hatred for her benefactor. Other more feminine passions might indeed flare up in Olga Ivanovna’s heart with abnormal and painful violence... but she had not the cold pride, nor the intense strength of will, nor the self - centred egoism, without which any passion passes quickly away.

  The first rush of feeling in such half - active, half - passive natures is sometimes extremely violent; but they give way very quickly, especially when it is a question of relentless conformity with accepted principles; they are afraid of consequences.... And yet, gentlemen, I will frankly confess, women of that sort always make the strongest impression on me. ... (At these words the speaker drank a glass of water. Rubbish! rubbish! thought I, looking at his round chin; nothing in the world makes a strong impression on you, my dear fellow!)

  Piotr Fedoritch resumed: Gentlemen, I believe in blood, in race. Olga Ivanovna had more blood than, for instance, her foster sister, Natalia. How did this blood show itself, do you ask? Why, in everything; in the lines of her hands, in her lips, in the sound of her voice, in her glance, in her carriage, in her hair, in the very folds of her gown. In all these trifles there lay hid something special, though I am bound to admit that the — how can one express it? — la distinction, which had fallen to Olga Pavlovna’s share would not have attracted Vassily’s notice had he met her in Petersburg. But in the country, in the wilds, she not only caught his attention, she was positively the sole cause of the transformation of which I have just been speaking.

  Consider the position. Vassily Ivanovitch liked to enjoy life; he could not but be bored in the country; his brothers were good - natured fellows, but extremely limited people: he had nothing in common with them. His sister, Natalia, with the assistance of her husband, had brought into the world in the course of three years no less than four babies; between her and Vassily was a perfect gulf.... Anna Pavlovna went to church, prayed, fasted, and was preparing herself for death. There remained only Olga
— a fresh, shy, pretty girl.... Vassily did not notice her at first... indeed, who does notice a dependant, an orphan girl kept from charity in the house?... One day, at the very beginning of spring, Vassily was walking about the garden, and with his cane slashing off the heads of the dandelions, those stupid yellow flowers, which come out first in such numbers in the meadows, as soon as they begin to grow green. He was walking in the garden in front of the house; he lifted his head, and caught sight of Olga Ivanovna.

  She was sitting sideways at the window, dreamily stroking a tabby kitten, who, purring and blinking, nestled on her lap, and with great satisfaction held up her little nose into the rather hot spring sunshine. Olga Ivanovna was wearing a white morning gown, with short sleeves; her bare, pale - pink, girlish shoulders and arms were a picture of freshness and health. A little red cap discreetly restrained her thick, soft, silky curls. Her face was a little flushed; she was only just awake. Her slender, flexible neck bent forward so charmingly; there was such seductive negligence, such modesty in the restful pose of her figure, free from corsets, that Vassily Ivanovitch (a great connoisseur!) halted involuntarily and peeped in. It suddenly occurred to him that Olga Ivanovna ought not to be left in her primitive ignorance; that she might with time be turned into a very sweet and charming woman. He stole up to the window, stretched up on tiptoe, and imprinted a silent kiss on Olga Ivanovna’s smooth, white arm, a little below the elbow.

  Olga shrieked and jumped up, the kitten put its tail in the air and leaped into the garden. Vassily Ivanovitch with a smile kept her by the arm.... Olga flushed all over, to her ears; he began to rally her on her alarm... invited her to come a walk with him. But Olga Ivanovna became suddenly conscious of the negligence of her attire, and ‘swifter than the swift red deer’ she slipped away into the next room.

  The very same day Vassily set off to the Rogatchovs. He was suddenly happy and light - hearted. Vassily was not in love with Olga, no! the word ‘love’ is not to be used lightly.... He had found an occupation, had set himself a task, and rejoiced with the delight of a man of action. He did not even remember that she was his mother’s ward, and another man’s betrothed. He never for one instant deceived himself; he was fully aware that it was not for her to be his wife.... Possibly there was passion to excuse him — not a very elevated nor noble passion, truly, but still a fairly strong and tormenting passion. Of course he was not in love like a boy; he did not give way to vague ecstasies; he knew very well what he wanted and what he was striving for.