Works of Ivan Turgenev (Illustrated)

by Ivan Turgenev

  “Ah, it’s you,” she began, fidgeting about and avoiding meeting his eyes, “well, how do you do? Well, well, what’s to be done! Where were you yesterday? Well, she has come, so there, there! Well, it must... one way or another.”

  Lavretsky dropped into a chair.

  “Well, sit down, sit down,” the old lady went on. “Did you come straight up - stairs? Well, there, of course. So... you came to see me? Thanks.”

  The old lady was silent for a little; Lavretsky did not know what to say to her; but she understood him.

  “Lisa... yes, Lisa was here just now,” pursued Marfa Timofyevna, tying and untying the tassels of her reticule. “She was not quite well. Shurotchka, where are you? Come here, my girl; why can’t you sit still a little? My head aches too. It must be the effect of the singing and music.”

  “What singing, auntie?”

  “Why, we have been having those — upon my word, what do you call them — duets here. And all in Italian: chi - chi — and cha - cha — like magpies for all the world with their long drawn - out notes as if they’d pull your very soul out. That’s Panshin, and your wife too. And how quickly everything was settled; just as though it were all among relations, without ceremony. However, one may well say, even a dog will try to find a home; and won’t be lost so long as folks don’t drive it out.”

  “Still, I confess I did not expect this,” rejoined Lavretsky; “there must be great effrontery to do this.”

  “No, my darling, it’s not effrontery, it’s calculation, God forgive her! They say you are sending her off to Lavriky; is it true?”

  “Yes, I am giving up that property to Varvara Pavlovna.”

  “Has she asked you for money?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Well, that won’t be long in coming. But I have only now got a look at you. Are you quite well?”

  “Yes.”

  “Shurotchka!” cried Marfa Timofyevna suddenly, “run and tell Lisaveta Mihalovna, — at least, no, ask her... is she down - stairs?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, then; ask her where she put my book? she will know.”

  “Very well.”

  The old lady grew fidgety again and began opening a drawer in the chest. Lavretsky sat still without stirring in his place.

  All at once light footsteps were heard on the stairs — and Lisa came in.

  Lavretsky stood up and bowed; Lisa remained at the door.

  “Lisa, Lisa, darling,” began Marfa Timofyevna eagerly, “where is my book? where did you put my book?”

  “What book, auntie?”

  “Why, goodness me, that book! But I didn’t call you though... There, it doesn’t matter. What are you doing down - stairs? Here Fedor Ivanitch has come. How is your head?”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “You keep saying it’s nothing. What have you going on down - stairs — music?”

  “No — they are playing cards.”

  “Well, she’s ready for anything. Shurotchka, I see you want a run in the garden — run along.”

  “Oh, no, Marfa Timofyevna.”

  “Don’t argue, if you please, run along. Nastasya Karpovna has gone out into the garden all by herself; you keep her company. You must treat the old with respect.” — Shurotchka departed — ”But where is my cap? Where has it got to?”

  “Let me look for it,” said Lisa.

  “Sit down, sit down; I have still the use of my legs. It must be inside in my bedroom.”

  And flinging a sidelong glance in Lavretsky’s direction, Marfa Timofyevna went out. She left the door open; but suddenly she came back to it and shut it.

  Lisa leant back against her chair and quietly covered her face with her hands; Lavretsky remained where he was.

  “This is how we were to meet again!” he brought out at last.

  Lisa took her hands from her face.

  “Yes,” she said faintly: “we were quickly punished.”

  “Punished,” said Lavretsky.... “What had you done to be punished?”

  Lisa raised her eyes to him. There was neither sorrow or disquiet expressed in them; they seemed smaller and dimmer. Her face was pale; and pale too her slightly parted lips.

  Lavretsky’s heart shuddered for pity and love.

  “You wrote to me; all is over,” he whispered, “yes, all is over — before it had begun.”

  “We must forget all that,” Lisa brought out; “I am glad that you have come; I wanted to write to you, but it is better so. Only we must take advantage quickly of these minutes. It is left for both of us to do our duty. You, Fedor Ivanitch, must be reconciled with your wife.”

  “Lisa!”

  “I beg you to do so; by that alone can we expiate... all that has happened. You will think about it — and will not refuse me.”

  “Lisa, for God’s sake, — you are asking what is impossible. I am ready to do everything you tell me; but to be reconciled to her now!... I consent to everything, I have forgotten everything; but I cannot force my heart.... Indeed, this is cruel!

  “I do not even ask of you... what you say; do not live with her, if you cannot; but be reconciled,” replied Lisa and again she hid her eyes in her hand. — ”remember your little girl; do it for my sake.”

  “Very well,” Lavretsky muttered between his teeth: “I will do that, I suppose in that I shall fulfill my duty. But you - what does your duty consist in?”

  “That I know myself.”

  Lavretsky started suddenly.

  “You cannot be making up your mind to marry Panshin?” he said.

  Lisa gave an almost imperceptible smile.

  “Oh, no!” she said.

  “Ah, Lisa, Lisa!” cried Lavretsky, “how happy you might have been!”

  Lisa looked at him again.

  “Now you see yourself, Fedor Ivanitch, that happiness does not depend on us, but on God.”

  “Yes, because you — ”

  The door from the adjoining room opened quickly and Marfa Timofyevna came in with her cap in her hand.

  “I have found it at last,” she said, standing between Lavretsky and Lisa; “I had laid it down myself. That’s what age does for one, alack — though youth’s not much better.”

  “Well, and are you going to Lavriky yourself with your wife?” she added, turning to Lavretsky.

  “To Lavriky with her? I don’t know,” he said, after a moment’s hesitation.

  “You are not going down - stairs.”

  “To - day, — no, I’m not.”

  “Well, well, you know best; but you, Lisa, I think, ought to go down. Ah, merciful powers, I have forgotten to feed my bullfinch. There, stop a minute, I’ll soon — ” And Marfa Timofyevna ran off without putting on her cap.

  Lavretsky walked quickly up to Lisa.

  “Lisa,” he began in a voice of entreaty, “we are parting for ever, my heart is torn, — give me your hand at parting.”

  Lisa raised her head, her wearied eyes, their light almost extinct, rested upon him.... “No,” she uttered, and she drew back the hand she was holding out. “No, Lavretsky (it was the first time she had used this name), I will not give you my hand. What is the good? Go away, I beseech you. You know I love you... yes, I love you,” she added with an effort; “but no... no.”

  She pressed her handkerchief to her lips.

  “Give me, at least, that handkerchief.”

  The door creaked... the handkerchief slid on to Lisa’s lap. Lavretsky snatched it before it had time to fall to the floor, thrust it quickly into a side pocket, and turning round met Marfa Timofyevna’s eyes.

  “Lisa, darling, I fancy your mother is calling you,” the old lady declared.

  Lisa at once got up and went away.

  Marfa Timofyevna sat down again in her corner. Lavretsky began to take leave of her.

  “Fedor,” she said suddenly.

  “What is it?”

  “Are you an honest man?”

  “What?”

  “I ask you, are you an hone
st man?”

  “I hope so.”

  “H’m. But give me your word of honour that you will be an honest man.”

  “Certainly. But why?”

  “I know why. And you too, my dear friend, if you think well, you’re no fool — will understand why I ask it of you. And now, good - bye, my dear. Thanks for your visit; and remember you have given your word, Fedya, and kiss me. Oh, my dear, it’s hard for you, I know; but there, it’s not easy for any one. Once I used to envy the flies; I thought it’s for them it’s good to be alive but one night I heard a fly complaining in a spider’s web — no, I think, they too have their troubles. There’s no help, Fedya; but remember your promise all the same. Good - bye.”

  Lavretsky went down the back staircase, and had reached the gates when a man - servant overtook him.

  “Marya Dmitrievna told me to ask you to go in to her,” he commenced to Lavretsky.

  “Tell her, my boy, that just now I can’t — ” Fedor Ivanitch was beginning.

  “Her excellency told me to ask you very particularly,” continued the servant. “She gave orders to say she was at home.”

  “Have the visitors gone?” asked Lavretsky.

  “Certainly, sir,” replied the servant with a grin.

  Lavretsky shrugged his shoulders and followed him.

  Chapter XLIII

  Marya Dmitrievna was sitting alone in her boudoir in an easy - chair, sniffing eau de cologne; a glass of orange - flower - water was standing on a little table near her. She was agitated and seemed nervous.

  Lavretsky came in.

  “You wanted to see me,” he said, bowing coldly.

  “Yes,” replied Marya Dmitrievna, and she sipped a little water: “I heard that you had gone straight up to my aunt; I gave orders that you should be asked to come in; I wanted to have a little talk with you. Sit down, please,” Marya Dmitrievna took breath. “You know,” she went on, “your wife has come.”

  “I was aware of that,” remarked Lavretsky.

  “Well, then, that is, I wanted to say, she came to me, and I received her; that is what I wanted to explain to you, Fedor Ivanitch. Thank God I have, I may say, gained universal respect, and for no consideration in the world would I do anything improper. Though I foresaw that it would be disagreeable to you, still I could not make up my mind to deny myself to her, Fedor Ivanitch; she is a relation of mine — through you; put yourself in my position, what right had I to shut my doors on her — you will agree with me?”

  “You are exciting yourself needlessly, Mary Dmitrievna,” replied Lavretsky; “you acted very well, I am not angry. I have not the least intention of depriving Varvara Pavlovna of the opportunity of seeing her friends; I did not come in to you to - day simply because I did not care to meet her — that was all.”

  “Ah, how glad I am to hear you say that, Fedor Ivanitch,” cried Marya Dmitrievna, “but I always expected it of your noble sentiments. And as for my being excited — that’s not to be wondered at; I am a woman and a mother. And your wife... of course I cannot judge between you and her — as I said to her herself; but she is such a delightful woman that she can produce nothing but a pleasant impression.”

  Lavretsky gave a laugh and played with his hat.

  “And this is what I wanted to say to you besides, Fedor Ivanitch,” continued Marya Dmitrievna, moving slightly nearer up to him, “if you had seen the modesty of her behaviour, how respectful she is! Really, it is quite touching. And if you had heard how she spoke of you! I have been to blame towards him, she said, altogether; I did not know how to appreciate him, she said; he is an angel, she said, and not a man. Really, that is what she said — an angel. Her penitence is such... Ah, upon my word, I have never seen such penitence!”

  “Well, Marya Dmitrievna,” observed Lavretsky, “if I may be inquisitive: I am told that Varvara Pavlovna has been singing in your drawing - room; did she sing during the time of her penitence, or how was it?”

  “Ah, I wonder you are not ashamed to talk like that! She sang and played the piano only to do me a kindness, because I positively entreated, almost commanded her to do so. I saw that she was sad, so sad; I thought how to distract her mind — and I heard that she had such marvellous talent! I assure you, Fedor Ivanitch, she is utterly crushed, ask Sergei Petrovitch even; a heart - broken woman, tout a fait: what do you say?”

  Lavretsky only shrugged his shoulders.

  “And then what a little angel is that Adotchka of yours, what a darling! How sweet she is, what a clever little thing; how she speaks French; and understand Russian too — she called me ‘auntie’ in Russian. And you know that as for shyness — almost all children at her age are shy — there’s not a trace of it. She’s so like you, Fedor Ivanitch, it’s amazing. The eyes, the forehead — well, it’s you over again, precisely you. I am not particularly fond of little children, I must own; but I simply lost my heart to your little girl.”

  “Marya Dmitrievna,” Lavretsky blurted out suddenly, “allow me to ask you what is your object in talking to me like this?”

  “What object?” Marya Dmitrievna sniffed her eau de cologne again, and took a sip of water. “Why, I am speaking to you, Fedor Ivanitch, because — I am a relation of yours, you know, I take the warmest interest in you — I know your heart is of the best. Listen to me, mon cousin. I am at any rate a woman of experience, and I shall not talk at random: forgive her, forgive your wife.” Marya Dmitrievna’s eyes suddenly filled with tears. “Only think: her youth, her inexperience... and who knows, perhaps, bad example; she had not a mother who could bring her up in the right way. Forgive her, Fedor Ivanitch, she has been punished enough.”

  The tears were trickling down Marya Dmitrievna’s cheeks: she did not wipe them away, she was fond of weeping. Lavretsky sat as if on thorns. “Good God,” he thought, “what torture, what a day I have had to - day!”

  “You make no reply,” Marya Dmitrievna began again. “How am I to understand you? Can you really be so cruel? No, I will not believe it. I feel that my words have influenced you, Fedor Ivanitch. God reward you for your goodness, and now receive your wife from my hands.”

  Involuntarily Lavretsky jumped up from his chair; Marya Dmitrievna also rose and running quickly behind a screen, she led forth Varvara Pavlovna. Pale, almost lifeless, with downcast eyes, she seemed to have renounced all thought, all will of her own, and to have surrendered herself completely to Marya Dmitrievna.

  Lavretsky stepped back a pace.

  “You have been here all the time!” he cried.

  “Do not blame her,” explained Marya Dmitrievna; “she was most unwilling to stay, but I forced her to remain. I put her behind the screen. She assured me that this would only anger you more; I would not even listen to her; I know you better than she does. Take your wife back from my hands; come, Varya, do not fear, fall at your husband’s feet (she gave a pull at her arm) and my blessing”...

  “Stop a minute, Marya Dmitrievna,” said Lavretsky in a low but startlingly impressive voice. “I dare say you are fond of affecting scenes” (Lavretsky was right, Marya Dmitrievna still retained her school - girl’s passion for a little melodramatic effect), “they amuse you; but they may be anything but pleasant for other people. But I am not going to talk to you; in this scene you are not the principal character. What do you want to get out of me, madam?” he added, turning to his wife. “Haven’t I done all I could for you? Don’t tell me you did not contrive this interview; I shall not believe you — and you know that I cannot possibly believe you. What is it you want? You are clever — you do nothing without an object. You must realise, that as for living with, as I once lived with you, that I cannot do; not because I am angry with you, but because I have become a different man. I told you so the day after your return, and you yourself, at that moment, agreed with me in your! heart. But you want to reinstate yourself in public opinion; it is not enough for you to live in my house, you want to live with me under the same roof — isn’t that it?”

  “I want your
forgiveness,” pronounced Varvara Pavlovna, not raising her eyes.

  “She wants your forgiveness,” repeated Marya Dmitrievna.

  “And not for my own sake, but for Ada’s,” murmured Varvara Pavlovna.

  “And not for her own sake, but for your Ada’s,” repeated Marya Dmitrievna.

  “Very good. Is that what you want?” Lavretsky uttered with an effort. “Certainly, I consent to that too.”

  Varvara Pavlovna darted a swift glance at him, but Marya Dmitrievna cried: “There, God be thanked!” and again drew Varvara Pavlvona forward by the arm. “Take her now from my arms — ”

  “Stop a minute, I tell you,” Lavretsky interrupted her, “I agree to live with you, Varvara Pavlovna,” he continued, “that is to say, I will conduct you to Lavriky, and I will live there with you, as long as I can endure it, and then I will go away — and will come back again. You see, I do not want to deceive you; but do not demand anything more. You would laugh yourself if I were to carry out the desire of our respected cousin, were to press you to my breast, and to fall to assuring you that ... that the past had not been; and the felled tree can bud again. But I see, I must submit. You will not understand these words... but that’s no matter. I repeat, I will live with you... or no, I cannot promise that... I will be reconciled with you, I will regard you as my wife again.”

  “Give her, at least your hand on it,” observed Marya Dmitrievna, whose tears had long since dried up.

  “I have never deceived Varvara Pavlovna hitherto,” returned Lavretsky; “she will believe me without that. I will take her to Lavriky; and remember, Varvara Pavlovna, our treaty is to be reckoned as broken directly you go away from Lavriky. And now allow me to take leave.”

  He bowed to both the ladies, and hurriedly went away.