Works of Ivan Turgenev (Illustrated)

by Ivan Turgenev

  Sanin was sitting bent up. He raised his head. ‘I’m not at all bored, Maria Nikolaevna, and I am listening to you with curiosity. Only I … confess … I wonder why you say all this to me?’

  Maria Nikolaevna edged a little away on the sofa.

  ‘You wonder?… Are you slow to guess? Or so modest?’

  Sanin lifted his head higher than before.

  ‘I tell you all this,’ Maria Nikolaevna continued in an unmoved tone, which did not, however, at all correspond with the expression of her face, ‘because I like you very much; yes, don’t be surprised, I’m not joking; because since I have met you, it would be painful to me that you had a disagreeable recollection of me … not disagreeable even, that I shouldn’t mind, but untrue. That’s why I have made you come here, and am staying alone with you and talking to you so openly…. Yes, yes, openly. I’m not telling a lie. And observe, Dimitri Pavlovitch, I know you’re in love with another woman, that you’re going to be married to her…. Do justice to my disinterestedness! Though indeed it’s a good opportunity for you to say in your turn: Cela ne tire pas à conséquence!’

  She laughed, but her laugh suddenly broke off, and she stayed motionless, as though her own words had suddenly struck her, and in her eyes, usually so gay and bold, there was a gleam of something like timidity, even like sadness.

  ‘Snake! ah, she’s a snake!’ Sanin was thinking meanwhile; ‘but what a lovely snake!’

  ‘Give me my opera - glass,’ Maria Nikolaevna said suddenly. ‘I want to see whether this jeune première really is so ugly. Upon my word, one might fancy the government appointed her in the interests of morality, so that the young men might not lose their heads over her.’

  Sanin handed her the opera - glass, and as she took it from him, swiftly, but hardly audibly, she snatched his hand in both of hers.

  ‘Please don’t be serious,’ she whispered with a smile. ‘Do you know what, no one can put fetters on me, but then you see I put no fetters on others. I love freedom, and I don’t acknowledge duties — not only for myself. Now move to one side a little, and let us listen to the play.’

  Maria Nikolaevna turned her opera - glass upon the stage, and Sanin proceeded to look in the same direction, sitting beside her in the half dark of the box, and involuntarily drinking in the warmth and fragrance of her luxurious body, and as involuntarily turning over and over in his head all she had said during the evening — especially during the last minutes.

  XL

  The play lasted over an hour longer, but Maria Nikolaevna and Sanin soon gave up looking at the stage. A conversation sprang up between them again, and went on the same lines as before; only this time Sanin was less silent. Inwardly he was angry with himself and with Maria Nikolaevna; he tried to prove to her all the inconsistency of her ‘theory,’ as though she cared for theories! He began arguing with her, at which she was secretly rejoiced; if a man argues, it means that he is giving in or will give in. He had taken the bait, was giving way, had left off keeping shyly aloof! She retorted, laughed, agreed, mused dreamily, attacked him … and meanwhile his face and her face were close together, his eyes no longer avoided her eyes…. Those eyes of hers seemed to ramble, seemed to hover over his features, and he smiled in response to them — a smile of civility, but still a smile. It was so much gained for her that he had gone off into abstractions, that he was discoursing upon truth in personal relations, upon duty, the sacredness of love and marriage…. It is well known that these abstract propositions serve admirably as a beginning … as a starting - point….

  People who knew Maria Nikolaevna well used to maintain that when her strong and vigorous personality showed signs of something soft and modest, something almost of maidenly shamefacedness, though one wondered where she could have got it from … then … then, things were taking a dangerous turn.

  Things had apparently taken such a turn for Sanin…. He would have felt contempt for himself, if he could have succeeded in concentrating his attention for one instant; but he had not time to concentrate his mind nor to despise himself.

  She wasted no time. And it all came from his being so very good - looking! One can but exclaim, No man knows what may be his making or his undoing!

  The play was over. Maria Nikolaevna asked Sanin to put on her shawl and did not stir, while he wrapped the soft fabric round her really queenly shoulders. Then she took his arm, went out into the corridor, and almost cried out aloud. At the very door of the box Dönhof sprang up like some apparition; while behind his back she got a glimpse of the figure of the Wiesbaden critic. The ‘literary man’s’ oily face was positively radiant with malignancy.

  ‘Is it your wish, madam, that I find you your carriage?’ said the young officer addressing Maria Nikolaevna with a quiver of ill - disguised fury in his voice.

  ‘No, thank you,’ she answered … ‘my man will find it. Stop!’ she added in an imperious whisper, and rapidly withdrew drawing Sanin along with her.

  ‘Go to the devil! Why are you staring at me?’ Dönhof roared suddenly at the literary man. He had to vent his feelings upon some one!

  ‘Sehr gut! sehr gut!’ muttered the literary man, and shuffled off.

  Maria Nikolaevna’s footman, waiting for her in the entrance, found her carriage in no time. She quickly took her seat in it; Sanin leapt in after her. The doors were slammed to, and Maria Nikolaevna exploded in a burst of laughter.

  ‘What are you laughing at?’ Sanin inquired.

  ‘Oh, excuse me, please … but it struck me: what if Dönhof were to have another duel with you … on my account…. wouldn’t that be wonderful?’

  ‘Are you very great friends with him?’ Sanin asked.

  ‘With him? that boy? He’s one of my followers. You needn’t trouble yourself about him!’

  ‘Oh, I’m not troubling myself at all.’

  Maria Nikolaevna sighed. ‘Ah, I know you’re not. But listen, do you know what, you’re such a darling, you mustn’t refuse me one last request. Remember in three days’ time I am going to Paris, and you are returning to Frankfort…. Shall we ever meet again?’

  ‘What is this request?’

  ‘You can ride, of course?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, then, to - morrow morning I’ll take you with me, and we’ll go a ride together out of the town. We’ll have splendid horses. Then we’ll come home, wind up our business, and amen! Don’t be surprised, don’t tell me it’s a caprice, and I’m a madcap — all that’s very likely — but simply say, I consent.’

  Maria Nikolaevna turned her face towards him. It was dark in the carriage, but her eyes glittered even in the darkness.

  ‘Very well, I consent,’ said Sanin with a sigh.

  ‘Ah! You sighed!’ Maria Nikolaevna mimicked him. ‘That means to say, as you’ve begun, you must go on to the bitter end. But no, no…. You’re charming, you’re good, and I’ll keep my promise. Here’s my hand, without a glove on it, the right one, for business. Take it, and have faith in its pressure. What sort of a woman I am, I don’t know; but I’m an honest fellow, and one can do business with me.’

  Sanin, without knowing very well what he was doing, lifted the hand to his lips. Maria Nikolaevna softly took it, and was suddenly still, and did not speak again till the carriage stopped.

  She began getting out…. What was it? Sanin’s fancy? or did he really feel on his cheek a swift burning kiss?

  ‘Till to - morrow!’ whispered Maria Nikolaevna on the steps, in the light of the four tapers of a candelabrum, held up on her appearance by the gold - laced door - keeper. She kept her eyes cast down. ‘Till to - morrow!’

  When he got back to his room, Sanin found on the table a letter from Gemma. He felt a momentary dismay, and at once made haste to rejoice over it to disguise his dismay from himself. It consisted of a few lines. She was delighted at the ‘successful opening of negotiations,’ advised him to be patient, and added that all at home were well, and were already rejoicing at the prospect of seeing him back again.
Sanin felt the letter rather stiff, he took pen and paper, however … and threw it all aside again. ‘Why write? I shall be back myself to - morrow … it’s high time!’

  He went to bed immediately, and tried to get to sleep as quickly as possible. If he had stayed up and remained on his legs, he would certainly have begun thinking about Gemma, and he was for some reason … ashamed to think of her. His conscience was stirring within him. But he consoled himself with the reflection that to - morrow it would all be over for ever, and he would take leave for good of this feather - brained lady, and would forget all this rotten idiocy!…

  Weak people in their mental colloquies, eagerly make use of strong expressions.

  Et puis … cela ne tire pas à consequence!

  XLI

  Such were Sanin’s thoughts, as he went to bed; but what he thought next morning when Maria Nikolaevna knocked impatiently at his door with the coral handle of her riding - whip, when he saw her in the doorway, with the train of a dark - blue riding habit over her arm, with a man’s small hat on her thickly coiled curls, with a veil thrown back over her shoulder, with a smile of invitation on her lips, in her eyes, over all her face — what he thought then — history does not record.

  ‘Well? are you ready?’ rang out a joyous voice.

  Sanin buttoned his coat, and took his hat in silence. Maria Nikolaevna flung him a bright look, nodded to him, and ran swiftly down the staircase. And he ran after her.

  The horses were already waiting in the street at the steps. There were three of them, a golden chestnut thorough - bred mare, with a thin - lipped mouth, that showed the teeth, with black prominent eyes, and legs like a stag’s, rather thin but beautifully shaped, and full of fire and spirit, for Maria Nikolaevna; a big, powerful, rather thick - set horse, raven black all over, for Sanin; the third horse was destined for the groom. Maria Nikolaevna leaped adroitly on to her mare, who stamped and wheeled round, lifting her tail, and sinking on to her haunches. But Maria Nikolaevna, who was a first - rate horse - woman, reined her in; they had to take leave of Polozov, who in his inevitable fez and in an open dressing - gown, came out on to the balcony, and from there waved a batiste handkerchief, without the faintest smile, rather a frown, in fact, on his face. Sanin too mounted his horse; Maria Nikolaevna saluted Polozov with her whip, then gave her mare a lash with it on her arched and flat neck. The mare reared on her hind legs, made a dash forward, moving with a smart and shortened step, quivering in every sinew, biting the air and snorting abruptly. Sanin rode behind, and looked at Maria Nikolaevna; her slender supple figure, moulded by close - fitting but easy stays, swayed to and fro with self - confident grace and skill. She turned her head and beckoned him with her eyes alone. He came alongside of her.

  ‘See now, how delightful it is,’ she said. ‘I tell you at the last, before parting, you are charming, and you shan’t regret it.’

  As she uttered those last words, she nodded her head several times as if to confirm them and make him feel their full weight.

  She seemed so happy that Sanin was simply astonished; her face even wore at times that sedate expression which children sometimes have when they are very … very much pleased.

  They rode at a walking pace for the short distance to the city walls, but then started off at a vigorous gallop along the high road. It was magnificent, real summer weather; the wind blew in their faces, and sang and whistled sweetly in their ears. They felt very happy; the sense of youth, health and life, of free eager onward motion, gained possession of both; it grew stronger every instant.

  Maria Nikolaevna reined in her mare, and again went at a walking pace;

  Sanin followed her example.

  ‘This,’ she began with a deep blissful sigh, ‘this now is the only thing worth living for. When you succeed in doing what you want to, what seemed impossible — come, enjoy it, heart and soul, to the last drop!’ She passed her hand across her throat. ‘And how good and kind one feels oneself then! I now, at this moment … how good I feel! I feel as if I could embrace the whole world! No, not the whole world…. That man now I couldn’t.’ She pointed with her whip at a poorly dressed old man who was stealing along on one side. ‘But I am ready to make him happy. Here, take this,’ she shouted loudly in German, and she flung a net purse at his feet. The heavy little bag (leather purses were not thought of at that time) fell with a ring on to the road. The old man was astounded, stood still, while Maria Nikolaevna chuckled, and put her mare into a gallop.

  ‘Do you enjoy riding so much?’ Sanin asked, as he overtook her.

  Maria Nikolaevna reined her mare in once more: only in this way could she bring her to a stop.

  ‘I only wanted to get away from thanks. If any one thanks me, he spoils my pleasure. You see I didn’t do that for his sake, but for my own. How dare he thank me? I didn’t hear what you asked me.’

  ‘I asked … I wanted to know what makes you so happy to - day.’

  ‘Do you know what,’ said Maria Nikolaevna; either she had again not heard Sanin’s question, or she did not consider it necessary to answer it. ‘I’m awfully sick of that groom, who sticks up there behind us, and most likely does nothing but wonder when we gentlefolks are going home again. How shall we get rid of him?’ She hastily pulled a little pocket - book out of her pocket. ‘Send him back to the town with a note? No … that won’t do. Ah! I have it! What’s that in front of us? Isn’t it an inn?’

  Sanin looked in the direction she pointed. ‘Yes, I believe it is an inn.’

  ‘Well, that’s first - rate. I’ll tell him to stop at that inn and drink beer till we come back.’

  ‘But what will he think?’

  ‘What does it matter to us? Besides, he won’t think at all; he’ll drink beer — that’s all. Come, Sanin (it was the first time she had used his surname alone), on, gallop!’

  When they reached the inn, Maria Nikolaevna called the groom up and told him what she wished of him. The groom, a man of English extraction and English temperament, raised his hand to the beak of his cap without a word, jumped off his horse, and took him by the bridle.

  ‘Well, now we are free as the birds of the air!’ cried Maria Nikolaevna. ‘Where shall we go. North, south, east, or west? Look — I’m like the Hungarian king at his coronation (she pointed her whip in each direction in turn). All is ours! No, do you know what: see, those glorious mountains — and that forest! Let’s go there, to the mountains, to the mountains!’

  ‘In die Berge wo die Freiheit thront!’

  She turned off the high - road and galloped along a narrow untrodden track, which certainly seemed to lead straight to the hills. Sanin galloped after her.

  XLII

  This track soon changed into a tiny footpath, and at last disappeared altogether, and was crossed by a stream. Sanin counselled turning back, but Maria Nikolaevna said, ‘No! I want to get to the mountains! Let’s go straight, as the birds fly,’ and she made her mare leap the stream. Sanin leaped it too. Beyond the stream began a wide meadow, at first dry, then wet, and at last quite boggy; the water oozed up everywhere, and stood in pools in some places. Maria Nikolaevna rode her mare straight through these pools on purpose, laughed, and said, ‘Let’s be naughty children.’

  ‘Do you know,’ she asked Sanin, ‘what is meant by pool - hunting?’

  ‘Yes,’ answered Sanin.

  ‘I had an uncle a huntsman,’ she went on.

  ‘I used to go out hunting with him — in the spring. It was delicious! Here we are now, on the pools with you. Only, I see, you’re a Russian, and yet mean to marry an Italian. Well, that’s your sorrow. What’s that? A stream again! Gee up!’

  The horse took the leap, but Maria Nikolaevna’s hat fell off her head, and her curls tumbled loose over her shoulders. Sanin was just going to get off his horse to pick up the hat, but she shouted to him, ‘Don’t touch it, I’ll get it myself,’ bent low down from the saddle, hooked the handle of her whip into the veil, and actually did get the hat. She put it on her head, but did n
ot fasten up her hair, and again darted off, positively holloaing. Sanin dashed along beside her, by her side leaped trenches, fences, brooks, fell in and scrambled out, flew down hill, flew up hill, and kept watching her face. What a face it was! It was all, as it were, wide open: wide - open eyes, eager, bright, and wild; lips, nostrils, open too, and breathing eagerly; she looked straight before her, and it seemed as though that soul longed to master everything it saw, the earth, the sky, the sun, the air itself; and would complain of one thing only — that dangers were so few, and all she could overcome. ‘Sanin!’ she cried, ‘why, this is like Bürger’s Lenore! Only you’re not dead — eh? Not dead … I am alive!’ She let her force and daring have full fling. It seemed not an Amazon on a galloping horse, but a young female centaur at full speed, half - beast and half - god, and the sober, well - bred country seemed astounded, as it was trampled underfoot in her wild riot!

  Maria Nikolaevna at last drew up her foaming and bespattered mare; she was staggering under her, and Sanin’s powerful but heavy horse was gasping for breath.

  ‘Well, do you like it?’ Maria Nikolaevna asked in a sort of exquisite whisper.

  ‘I like it!’ Sanin echoed back ecstatically. And his blood was on fire.

  ‘This isn’t all, wait a bit.’ She held out her hand. Her glove was torn across.

  ‘I told you I would lead you to the forest, to the mountains…. Here they are, the mountains!’ The mountains, covered with tall forest, rose about two hundred feet from the place they had reached in their wild ride. ‘Look, here is the road; let us turn into it — and forwards. Only at a walk. We must let our horses get their breath.’