Works of Ivan Turgenev (Illustrated)

by Ivan Turgenev

  Sanin talked a great deal, as on the day before, but not of Russia, nor of Russian life. Being anxious to please his young friend, who had been sent off to Herr Klüber’s immediately after lunch, to acquire a knowledge of book - keeping, he turned the conversation on the comparative advantages and disadvantages of art and commerce. He was not surprised at Frau Lenore’s standing up for commerce — he had expected that; but Gemma too shared her opinion.

  ‘If one’s an artist, and especially a singer,’ she declared with a vigorous downward sweep of her hand, ‘one’s got to be first - rate! Second - rate’s worse than nothing; and who can tell if one will arrive at being first - rate?’ Pantaleone, who took part too in the conversation — (as an old servant and an old man he had the privilege of sitting down in the presence of the ladies of the house; Italians are not, as a rule, strict in matters of etiquette) — Pantaleone, as a matter of course, stood like a rock for art. To tell the truth, his arguments were somewhat feeble; he kept expatiating for the most part on the necessity, before all things, of possessing ‘un certo estro d’inspirazione’ — a certain force of inspiration! Frau Lenore remarked to him that he had, to be sure, possessed such an ‘estro’ — and yet … ‘I had enemies,’ Pantaleone observed gloomily. ‘And how do you know that Emil will not have enemies, even if this “estro” is found in him?’ ‘Very well, make a tradesman of him, then,’ retorted Pantaleone in vexation; ‘but Giovan’ Battista would never have done it, though he was a confectioner himself!’ ‘Giovan’ Battista, my husband, was a reasonable man, and even though he was in his youth led away …’ But the old man would hear nothing more, and walked away, repeating reproachfully, ‘Ah! Giovan’ Battista!…’ Gemma exclaimed that if Emil felt like a patriot, and wanted to devote all his powers to the liberation of Italy, then, of course, for such a high and holy cause he might sacrifice the security of the future — but not for the theatre! Thereupon Frau Lenore became much agitated, and began to implore her daughter to refrain at least from turning her brother’s head, and to content herself with being such a desperate republican herself! Frau Lenore groaned as she uttered these words, and began complaining of her head, which was ‘ready to split.’ (Frau Lenore, in deference to their guest, talked to her daughter in French.)

  Gemma began at once to wait upon her; she moistened her forehead with eau - de - Cologne, gently blew on it, gently kissed her cheek, made her lay her head on a pillow, forbade her to speak, and kissed her again. Then, turning to Sanin, she began telling him in a half - joking, half - tender tone what a splendid mother she had, and what a beauty she had been. ‘“Had been,” did I say? she is charming now! Look, look, what eyes!’

  Gemma instantly pulled a white handkerchief out of her pocket, covered her mother’s face with it, and slowly drawing it downwards, gradually uncovered Frau Lenore’s forehead, eyebrows, and eyes; she waited a moment and asked her to open them. Her mother obeyed; Gemma cried out in ecstasy (Frau Lenore’s eyes really were very beautiful), and rapidly sliding the handkerchief over the lower, less regular part of the face, fell to kissing her again. Frau Lenore laughed, and turning a little away, with a pretence of violence, pushed her daughter away. She too pretended to struggle with her mother, and lavished caresses on her — not like a cat, in the French manner, but with that special Italian grace in which is always felt the presence of power.

  At last Frau Lenore declared she was tired out … Then Gemma at once advised her to have a little nap, where she was, in her chair, ‘and I and the Russian gentleman — ”avec le monsieur russe” — will be as quiet, as quiet … as little mice … “comme des petites souris.”‘ Frau Lenore smiled at her in reply, closed her eyes, and after a few sighs began to doze. Gemma quickly dropped down on a bench beside her and did not stir again, only from time to time she put a finger of one hand to her lips — with the other hand she was holding up a pillow behind her mother’s head — and said softly, ‘sh - sh!’ with a sidelong look at Sanin, if he permitted himself the smallest movement. In the end he too sank into a kind of dream, and sat motionless as though spell - bound, while all his faculties were absorbed in admiring the picture presented him by the half - dark room, here and there spotted with patches of light crimson, where fresh, luxuriant roses stood in the old - fashioned green glasses, and the sleeping woman with demurely folded hands and kind, weary face, framed in the snowy whiteness of the pillow, and the young, keenly - alert and also kind, clever, pure, and unspeakably beautiful creature with such black, deep, overshadowed, yet shining eyes…. What was it? A dream? a fairy tale? And how came he to be in it?

  XI

  The bell tinkled at the outer door. A young peasant lad in a fur cap and a red waistcoat came into the shop from the street. Not one customer had looked into it since early morning … ‘You see how much business we do!’ Frau Lenore observed to Sanin at lunch - time with a sigh. She was still asleep; Gemma was afraid to take her arm from the pillow, and whispered to Sanin: ‘You go, and mind the shop for me!’ Sanin went on tiptoe into the shop at once. The boy wanted a quarter of a pound of peppermints. ‘How much must I take?’ Sanin whispered from the door to Gemma. ‘Six kreutzers!’ she answered in the same whisper. Sanin weighed out a quarter of a pound, found some paper, twisted it into a cone, tipped the peppermints into it, spilt them, tipped them in again, spilt them again, at last handed them to the boy, and took the money…. The boy gazed at him in amazement, twisting his cap in his hands on his stomach, and in the next room, Gemma was stifling with suppressed laughter. Before the first customer had walked out, a second appeared, then a third…. ‘I bring luck, it’s clear!’ thought Sanin. The second customer wanted a glass of orangeade, the third, half - a - pound of sweets. Sanin satisfied their needs, zealously clattering the spoons, changing the saucers, and eagerly plunging his fingers into drawers and jars. On reckoning up, it appeared that he had charged too little for the orangeade, and taken two kreutzers too much for the sweets. Gemma did not cease laughing softly, and Sanin too was aware of an extraordinary lightness of heart, a peculiarly happy state of mind. He felt as if he had for ever been standing behind the counter and dealing in orangeade and sweetmeats, with that exquisite creature looking at him through the doorway with affectionately mocking eyes, while the summer sun, forcing its way through the sturdy leafage of the chestnuts that grew in front of the windows, filled the whole room with the greenish - gold of the midday light and shade, and the heart grew soft in the sweet languor of idleness, carelessness, and youth — first youth!

  A fourth customer asked for a cup of coffee; Pantaleone had to be appealed to. (Emil had not yet come back from Herr Klüber’s shop.) Sanin went and sat by Gemma again. Frau Lenore still went on sleeping, to her daughter’s great delight. ‘Mamma always sleeps off her sick headaches,’ she observed. Sanin began talking — in a whisper, of course, as before — of his minding the shop; very seriously inquired the price of various articles of confectionery; Gemma just as seriously told him these prices, and meanwhile both of them were inwardly laughing together, as though conscious they were playing in a very amusing farce. All of a sudden, an organ - grinder in the street began playing an air from the Freischütz: ‘Durch die Felder, durch die Auen …’ The dance tune fell shrill and quivering on the motionless air. Gemma started … ‘He will wake mamma!’ Sanin promptly darted out into the street, thrust a few kreutzers into the organ - grinder’s hand, and made him cease playing and move away. When he came back, Gemma thanked him with a little nod of the head, and with a pensive smile she began herself just audibly humming the beautiful melody of Weber’s, in which Max expresses all the perplexities of first love. Then she asked Sanin whether he knew ‘Freischütz,’ whether he was fond of Weber, and added that though she was herself an Italian, she liked such music best of all. From Weber the conversation glided off on to poetry and romanticism, on to Hoffmann, whom every one was still reading at that time.

  And Frau Lenore still slept, and even snored just a little, and the sunbeams, piercing in
narrow streaks through the shutters, were incessantly and imperceptibly shifting and travelling over the floor, the furniture, Gemma’s dress, and the leaves and petals of the flowers.

  XII

  It appeared that Gemma was not very fond of Hoffmann, that she even thought him … tedious! The fantastic, misty northern element in his stories was too remote from her clear, southern nature. ‘It’s all fairy - tales, all written for children!’ she declared with some contempt. She was vaguely conscious, too, of the lack of poetry in Hoffmann. But there was one of his stories, the title of which she had forgotten, which she greatly liked; more precisely speaking, it was only the beginning of this story that she liked; the end she had either not read or had forgotten. The story was about a young man who in some place, a sort of restaurant perhaps, meets a girl of striking beauty, a Greek; she is accompanied by a mysterious and strange, wicked old man. The young man falls in love with the girl at first sight; she looks at him so mournfully, as though beseeching him to deliver her…. He goes out for an instant, and, coming back into the restaurant, finds there neither the girl nor the old man; he rushes off in pursuit of her, continually comes upon fresh traces of her, follows them up, and can never by any means come upon her anywhere. The lovely girl has vanished for him for ever and ever, and he is never able to forget her imploring glance, and is tortured by the thought that all the happiness of his life, perhaps, has slipped through his fingers.

  Hoffmann does not end his story quite in that way; but so it had taken shape, so it had remained, in Gemma’s memory.

  ‘I fancy,’ she said, ‘such meetings and such partings happen oftener in the world than we suppose.’

  Sanin was silent … and soon after he began talking … of Herr Klüber. It was the first time he had referred to him; he had not once remembered him till that instant.

  Gemma was silent in her turn, and sank into thought, biting the nail of her forefinger and fixing her eyes away. Then she began to speak in praise of her betrothed, alluded to the excursion he had planned for the next day, and, glancing swiftly at Sanin, was silent again.

  Sanin did not know on what subject to turn the conversation.

  Emil ran in noisily and waked Frau Lenore … Sanin was relieved by his appearance.

  Frau Lenore got up from her low chair. Pantaleone came in and announced that dinner was ready. The friend of the family, ex - singer, and servant also performed the duties of cook.

  XIII

  Sanin stayed on after dinner too. They did not let him go, still on the same pretext of the terrible heat; and when the heat began to decrease, they proposed going out into the garden to drink coffee in the shade of the acacias. Sanin consented. He felt very happy. In the quietly monotonous, smooth current of life lie hid great delights, and he gave himself up to these delights with zest, asking nothing much of the present day, but also thinking nothing of the morrow, nor recalling the day before. How much the mere society of such a girl as Gemma meant to him! He would shortly part from her and, most likely, for ever; but so long as they were borne, as in Uhland’s song, in one skiff over the sea of life, untossed by tempest, well might the traveller rejoice and be glad. And everything seemed sweet and delightful to the happy voyager. Frau Lenore offered to play against him and Pantaleone at ‘tresette,’ instructed him in this not complicated Italian game, and won a few kreutzers from him, and he was well content. Pantaleone, at Emil’s request, made the poodle, Tartaglia, perform all his tricks, and Tartaglia jumped over a stick ‘spoke,’ that is, barked, sneezed, shut the door with his nose, fetched his master’s trodden - down slippers; and, finally, with an old cap on his head, he portrayed Marshal Bernadotte, subjected to the bitterest upbraidings by the Emperor Napoleon on account of his treachery. Napoleon’s part was, of course, performed by Pantaleone, and very faithfully he performed it: he folded his arms across his chest, pulled a cocked hat over his eyes, and spoke very gruffly and sternly, in French — and heavens! what French! Tartaglia sat before his sovereign, all huddled up, with dejected tail, and eyes blinking and twitching in confusion, under the peak of his cap which was stuck on awry; from time to time when Napoleon raised his voice, Bernadotte rose on his hind paws. ‘Fuori, traditore!’ cried Napoleon at last, forgetting in the excess of his wrath that he had to sustain his rôle as a Frenchman to the end; and Bernadotte promptly flew under the sofa, but quickly darted out again with a joyful bark, as though to announce that the performance was over. All the spectators laughed, and Sanin more than all.

  Gemma had a particularly charming, continual, soft laugh, with very droll little shrieks…. Sanin was fairly enchanted by that laugh — he could have kissed her for those shrieks!

  Night came on at last. He had in decency to take leave! After saying good - bye several times over to every one, and repeating several times to all, ‘till to - morrow!’ — Emil he went so far as to kiss — Sanin started home, carrying with him the image of the young girl, at one time laughing, at another thoughtful, calm, and even indifferent — but always attractive! Her eyes, at one time wide open, clear and bright as day, at another time half shrouded by the lashes and deep and dark as night, seemed to float before his eyes, piercing in a strange sweet way across all other images and recollections.

  Of Herr Klüber, of the causes impelling him to remain in Frankfort — in short, of everything that had disturbed his mind the evening before — he never thought once.

  XIV

  We must, however, say a few words about Sanin himself.

  In the first place, he was very, very good - looking. A handsome, graceful figure, agreeable, rather unformed features, kindly bluish eyes, golden hair, a clear white and red skin, and, above all, that peculiar, naïvely - cheerful, confiding, open, at the first glance, somewhat foolish expression, by which in former days one could recognise directly the children of steady - going, noble families, ‘sons of their fathers,’ fine young landowners, born and reared in our open, half - wild country parts, — a hesitating gait, a voice with a lisp, a smile like a child’s the minute you looked at him … lastly, freshness, health, softness, softness, softness, — there you have the whole of Sanin. And secondly, he was not stupid and had picked up a fair amount of knowledge. Fresh he had remained, for all his foreign tour; the disturbing emotions in which the greater part of the young people of that day were tempest - tossed were very little known to him.

  Of late years, in response to the assiduous search for ‘new types,’ young men have begun to appear in our literature, determined at all hazards to be ‘fresh’… as fresh as Flensburg oysters, when they reach Petersburg…. Sanin was not like them. Since we have had recourse already to simile, he rather recalled a young, leafy, freshly - grafted apple - tree in one of our fertile orchards — or better still, a well - groomed, sleek, sturdy - limbed, tender young ‘three - year - old’ in some old - fashioned seignorial stud stable, a young horse that they have hardly begun to break in to the traces…. Those who came across Sanin in later years, when life had knocked him about a good deal, and the sleekness and plumpness of youth had long vanished, saw in him a totally different man.

  * * * * *

  Next day Sanin was still in bed when Emil, in his best clothes, with a cane in his hand and much pomade on his head, burst into his room, announcing that Herr Klüber would be here directly with the carriage, that the weather promised to be exquisite, that they had everything ready by now, but that mamma was not going, as her head was bad again. He began to hurry Sanin, telling him that there was not a minute to lose…. And Herr Klüber did, in fact, find Sanin still at his toilet. He knocked at the door, came in, bowed with a bend from the waist, expressed his readiness to wait as long as might be desired, and sat down, his hat balanced elegantly on his knees. The handsome shop - manager had got himself up and perfumed himself to excess: his every action was accompanied by a powerful whiff of the most refined aroma. He arrived in a comfortable open carriage — one of the kind called landau — drawn by two tall and powerful but not well - shaped
horses. A quarter of an hour later Sanin, Klüber, and Emil, in this same carriage, drew up triumphantly at the steps of the confectioner’s shop. Madame Roselli resolutely refused to join the party; Gemma wanted to stay with her mother; but she simply turned her out.

  ‘I don’t want any one,’ she declared; ‘I shall go to sleep. I would send Pantaleone with you too, only there would be no one to mind the shop.’

  ‘May we take Tartaglia?’ asked Emil.

  ‘Of course you may.’

  Tartaglia immediately scrambled, with delighted struggles, on to the box and sat there, licking himself; it was obviously a thing he was accustomed to. Gemma put on a large straw hat with brown ribbons; the hat was bent down in front, so as to shade almost the whole of her face from the sun. The line of shadow stopped just at her lips; they wore a tender maiden flush, like the petals of a centifoil rose, and her teeth gleamed stealthily — innocently too, as when children smile. Gemma sat facing the horses, with Sanin; Klüber and Emil sat opposite. The pale face of Frau Lenore appeared at the window; Gemma waved her handkerchief to her, and the horses started.

  XV

  Soden is a little town half an hour’s distance from Frankfort. It lies in a beautiful country among the spurs of the Taunus Mountains, and is known among us in Russia for its waters, which are supposed to be beneficial to people with weak lungs. The Frankforters visit it more for purposes of recreation, as Soden possesses a fine park and various ‘wirthschaften,’ where one may drink beer and coffee in the shade of the tall limes and maples. The road from Frankfort to Soden runs along the right bank of the Maine, and is planted all along with fruit trees. While the carriage was rolling slowly along an excellent road, Sanin stealthily watched how Gemma behaved to her betrothed; it was the first time he had seen them together. She was quiet and simple in her manner, but rather more reserved and serious than usual; he had the air of a condescending schoolmaster, permitting himself and those under his authority a discreet and decorous pleasure. Sanin saw no signs in him of any marked attentiveness, of what the French call ‘empressement,’ in his demeanour to Gemma. It was clear that Herr Klüber considered that it was a matter settled once for all, and that therefore he saw no reason to trouble or excite himself. But his condescension never left him for an instant! Even during a long ramble before dinner about the wooded hills and valleys behind Soden, even when enjoying the beauties of nature, he treated nature itself with the same condescension, through which his habitual magisterial severity peeped out from time to time. So, for example, he observed in regard to one stream that it ran too straight through the glade, instead of making a few picturesque curves; he disapproved, too, of the conduct of a bird — a chaffinch — for singing so monotonously. Gemma was not bored, and even, apparently, was enjoying herself; but Sanin did not recognise her as the Gemma of the preceding days; it was not that she seemed under a cloud — her beauty had never been more dazzling — but her soul seemed to have withdrawn into herself. With her parasol open and her gloves still buttoned up, she walked sedately, deliberately, as well - bred young girls walk, and spoke little. Emil, too, felt stiff, and Sanin more so than all. He was somewhat embarrassed too by the fact that the conversation was all the time in German. Only Tartaglia was in high spirits! He darted, barking frantically, after blackbirds, leaped over ravines, stumps and roots, rushed headlong into the water, lapped at it in desperate haste, shook himself, whining, and was off like an arrow, his red tongue trailing after him almost to his shoulder. Herr Klüber, for his part, did everything he supposed conducive to the mirthfulness of the company; he begged them to sit down in the shade of a spreading oak - tree, and taking out of a side pocket a small booklet entitled, ‘Knallerbsen; oder du sollst und wirst lachen!’ (Squibs; or you must and shall laugh!) began reading the funny anecdotes of which the little book was full. He read them twelve specimens; he aroused very little mirth, however; only Sanin smiled, from politeness, and he himself, Herr Klüber, after each anecdote, gave vent to a brief, business - like, but still condescending laugh. At twelve o’clock the whole party returned to Soden to the best tavern there.