Works of Ivan Turgenev (Illustrated)

by Ivan Turgenev

  ‘I say, I can tell you something, brothers,’ began Kostya, in a shrill little voice; ‘listen what my dad told me the other day.’

  ‘Well, we are listening,’ said Fedya with a patronising air.

  ‘You know Gavrila, I suppose, the carpenter up in the big village?’

  ‘Yes, we know him.’

  ‘And do you know why he is so sorrowful always, never speaks? do you know? I’ll tell you why he’s so sorrowful; he went one day, daddy said, he went, brothers, into the forest nutting. So he went nutting into the forest and lost his way; he went on — God only can tell where he got to. So he went on and on, brothers — but ‘twas no good! — he could not find the way; and so night came on out of doors. So he sat down under a tree. “I’ll wait till morning,” thought he. He sat down and began to drop asleep. So as he was falling asleep, suddenly he heard some one call him. He looked up; there was no one. He fell asleep again; again he was called. He looked and looked again; and in front of him there sat a russalka on a branch, swinging herself and calling him to her, and simply dying with laughing; she laughed so…. And the moon was shining bright, so bright, the moon shone so clear — everything could be seen plain, brothers. So she called him, and she herself was as bright and as white sitting on the branch as some dace or a roach, or like some little carp so white and silvery…. Gavrila the carpenter almost fainted, brothers, but she laughed without stopping, and kept beckoning him to her like this. Then Gavrila was just getting up; he was just going to yield to the russalka, brothers, but — the Lord put it into his heart, doubtless — he crossed himself like this…. And it was so hard for him to make that cross, brothers; he said, “My hand was simply like a stone; it would not move.” … Ugh! the horrid witch…. So when he made the cross, brothers, the russalka, she left off laughing, and all at once how she did cry…. She cried, brothers, and wiped her eyes with her hair, and her hair was green as any hemp. So Gavrila looked and looked at her, and at last he fell to questioning her. “Why are you weeping, wild thing of the woods?” And the russalka began to speak to him like this: “If you had not crossed yourself, man,” she says, “you should have lived with me in gladness of heart to the end of your days; and I weep, I am grieved at heart because you crossed yourself; but I will not grieve alone; you too shall grieve at heart to the end of your days.” Then she vanished, brothers, and at once it was plain to Gavrila how to get out of the forest…. Only since then he goes always sorrowful, as you see.’

  ‘Ugh!’ said Fedya after a brief silence; ‘but how can such an evil thing of the woods ruin a Christian soul — he did not listen to her?’

  ‘And I say!’ said Kostya. ‘Gavrila said that her voice was as shrill and plaintive as a toad’s.’

  ‘Did your father tell you that himself?’ Fedya went on.

  ‘Yes. I was lying in the loft; I heard it all.’

  ‘It’s a strange thing. Why should he be sorrowful?… But I suppose she liked him, since she called him.’

  ‘Ay, she liked him!’ put in Ilyusha. ‘Yes, indeed! she wanted to tickle him to death, that’s what she wanted. That’s what they do, those russalkas.’

  ‘There ought to be russalkas here too, I suppose,’ observed Fedya.

  ‘No,’ answered Kostya, ‘this is a holy open place. There’s one thing, though: the river’s near.’

  All were silent. Suddenly from out of the distance came a prolonged, resonant, almost wailing sound, one of those inexplicable sounds of the night, which break upon a profound stillness, rise upon the air, linger, and slowly die away at last. You listen: it is as though there were nothing, yet it echoes still. It is as though some one had uttered a long, long cry upon the very horizon, as though some other had answered him with shrill harsh laughter in the forest, and a faint, hoarse hissing hovers over the river. The boys looked round about shivering….

  ‘Christ’s aid be with us!’ whispered Ilyusha.

  ‘Ah, you craven crows!’ cried Pavel, ‘what are you frightened of? Look, the potatoes are done.’ (They all came up to the pot and began to eat the smoking potatoes; only Vanya did not stir.) ‘Well, aren’t you coming?’ said Pavel.

  But he did not creep out from under his rug. The pot was soon completely emptied.

  ‘Have you heard, boys,’ began Ilyusha, ‘what happened with us at

  Varnavitsi?’

  ‘Near the dam?’ asked Fedya.

  ‘Yes, yes, near the dam, the broken - down dam. That is a haunted place, such a haunted place, and so lonely. All round there are pits and quarries, and there are always snakes in pits.’

  ‘Well, what did happen? Tell us.’

  ‘Well, this is what happened. You don’t know, perhaps, Fedya, but there a drowned man was buried; he was drowned long, long ago, when the water was still deep; only his grave can still be seen, though it can only just be seen … like this — a little mound…. So one day the bailiff called the huntsman Yermil, and says to him, “Go to the post, Yermil.” Yermil always goes to the post for us; he has let all his dogs die; they never will live with him, for some reason, and they have never lived with him, though he’s a good huntsman, and everyone liked him. So Yermil went to the post, and he stayed a bit in the town, and when he rode back, he was a little tipsy. It was night, a fine night; the moon was shining…. So Yermil rode across the dam; his way lay there. So, as he rode along, he saw, on the drowned man’s grave, a little lamb, so white and curly and pretty, running about. So Yermil thought, “I will take him,” and he got down and took him in his arms. But the little lamb didn’t take any notice. So Yermil goes back to his horse, and the horse stares at him, and snorts and shakes his head; however, he said “wo” to him and sat on him with the lamb, and rode on again; he held the lamb in front of him. He looks at him, and the lamb looks him straight in the face, like this. Yermil the huntsman felt upset. “I don’t remember,” he said, “that lambs ever look at any one like that”; however, he began to stroke it like this on its wool, and to say, “Chucky! chucky!” And the lamb suddenly showed its teeth and said too, “Chucky! chucky!”‘

  The boy who was telling the story had hardly uttered this last word, when suddenly both dogs got up at once, and, barking convulsively, rushed away from the fire and disappeared in the darkness. All the boys were alarmed. Vanya jumped up from under his rug. Pavlusha ran shouting after the dogs. Their barking quickly grew fainter in the distance…. There was the noise of the uneasy tramp of the frightened drove of horses. Pavlusha shouted aloud: ‘Hey Grey! Beetle!’ … In a few minutes the barking ceased; Pavel’s voice sounded still in the distance…. A little time more passed; the boys kept looking about in perplexity, as though expecting something to happen…. Suddenly the tramp of a galloping horse was heard; it stopped short at the pile of wood, and, hanging on to the mane, Pavel sprang nimbly off it. Both the dogs also leaped into the circle of light and at once sat down, their red tongues hanging out.

  ‘What was it? what was it?’ asked the boys.

  ‘Nothing,’ answered Pavel, waving his hand to his horse; ‘I suppose the dogs scented something. I thought it was a wolf,’ he added, calmly drawing deep breaths into his chest.

  I could not help admiring Pavel. He was very fine at that moment. His ugly face, animated by his swift ride, glowed with hardihood and determination. Without even a switch in his hand, he had, without the slightest hesitation, rushed out into the night alone to face a wolf…. ‘What a splendid fellow!’ I thought, looking at him.

  ‘Have you seen any wolves, then?’ asked the trembling Kostya.

  ‘There are always a good many of them here,’ answered Pavel; ‘but they are only troublesome in the winter.’

  He crouched down again before the fire. As he sat down on the ground, he laid his hand on the shaggy head of one of the dogs. For a long while the flattered brute did not turn his head, gazing sidewise with grateful pride at Pavlusha.

  Vanya lay down under his rug again.

  ‘What dreadful things you were telling us, Ilyusha!
’ began Fedya, whose part it was, as the son of a well - to - do peasant, to lead the conversation. (He spoke little himself, apparently afraid of lowering his dignity.) ‘And then some evil spirit set the dogs barking…. Certainly I have heard that place was haunted.’

  ‘Varnavitsi?… I should think it was haunted! More than once, they say, they have seen the old master there — the late master. He wears, they say, a long skirted coat, and keeps groaning like this, and looking for something on the ground. Once grandfather Trofimitch met him. “What,” says he, “your honour, Ivan Ivanitch, are you pleased to look for on the ground?”‘

  ‘He asked him?’ put in Fedya in amazement.

  ‘Yes, he asked him.’

  ‘Well, I call Trofimitch a brave fellow after that…. Well, what did he say?’

  ‘“I am looking for the herb that cleaves all things,” says he. But he speaks so thickly, so thickly. “And what, your honour, Ivan Ivanitch, do you want with the herb that cleaves all things?” “The tomb weighs on me; it weighs on me, Trofimitch: I want to get away — away.”‘

  ‘My word!’ observed Fedya, ‘he didn’t enjoy his life enough, I suppose.’

  ‘What a marvel!’ said Kosyta. ‘I thought one could only see the departed on All Hallows’ day.’

  ‘One can see the departed any time,’ Ilyusha interposed with conviction. From what I could observe, I judged he knew the village superstitions better than the others…. ‘But on All Hallows’ day you can see the living too; those, that is, whose turn it is to die that year. You need only sit in the church porch, and keep looking at the road. They will come by you along the road; those, that is, who will die that year. Last year old Ulyana went to the porch.’

  ‘Well, did she see anyone?’ asked Kostya inquisitively.

  ‘To be sure she did. At first she sat a long, long while, and saw no one and heard nothing … only it seemed as if some dog kept whining and whining like this somewhere…. Suddenly she looks up: a boy comes along the road with only a shirt on. She looked at him. It was Ivashka Fedosyev.’

  ‘He who died in the spring?’ put in Fedya.

  ‘Yes, he. He came along and never lifted up his head. But Ulyana knew him. And then she looks again: a woman came along. She stared and stared at her…. Ah, God Almighty! … it was herself coming along the road; Ulyana herself.’

  ‘Could it be herself?’ asked Fedya.

  ‘Yes, by God, herself.’

  ‘Well, but she is not dead yet, you know?’ ‘But the year is not over yet. And only look at her; her life hangs on a thread.’

  All were still again. Pavel threw a handful of dry twigs on to the fire. They were soon charred by the suddenly leaping flame; they cracked and smoked, and began to contract, curling up their burning ends. Gleams of light in broken flashes glanced in all directions, especially upwards. Suddenly a white dove flew straight into the bright light, fluttered round and round in terror, bathed in the red glow, and disappeared with a whirr of its wings.

  ‘It’s lost its home, I suppose,’ remarked Pavel. ‘Now it will fly till it gets somewhere, where it can rest till dawn.’

  ‘Why, Pavlusha,’ said Kostya, ‘might it not be a just soul flying to heaven?’

  Pavel threw another handful of twigs on to the fire.

  ‘Perhaps,’ he said at last.

  ‘But tell us, please, Pavlusha,’ began Fedya, ‘what was seen in your parts at Shalamovy at the heavenly portent?’

  [Footnote: This is what the peasants call an eclipse. — Author’s

  Note.]

  ‘When the sun could not be seen? Yes, indeed.’

  ‘Were you frightened then?’

  ‘Yes; and we weren’t the only ones. Our master, though he talked to us beforehand, and said there would be a heavenly portent, yet when it got dark, they say he himself was frightened out of his wits. And in the house - serfs’ cottage the old woman, directly it grew dark, broke all the dishes in the oven with the poker. ‘Who will eat now?’ she said; ‘the last day has come.’ So the soup was all running about the place. And in the village there were such tales about among us: that white wolves would run over the earth, and would eat men, that a bird of prey would pounce down on us, and that they would even see Trishka.’

  [Footnote: The popular belief in Trishka is probably derived from some tradition of Antichrist. — Author’s Note.]

  ‘What is Trishka?’ asked Kostya.

  ‘Why, don’t you know?’ interrupted Ilyusha warmly. ‘Why, brother, where have you been brought up, not to know Trishka? You’re a stay - at - home, one - eyed lot in your village, really! Trishka will be a marvellous man, who will come one day, and he will be such a marvellous man that they will never be able to catch him, and never be able to do anything with him; he will be such a marvellous man. The people will try to take him; for example, they will come after him with sticks, they will surround him, but he will blind their eyes so that they fall upon one another. They will put him in prison, for example; he will ask for a little water to drink in a bowl; they will bring him the bowl, and he will plunge into it and vanish from their sight. They will put chains on him, but he will only clap his hands — they will fall off him. So this Trishka will go through villages and towns; and this Trishka will be a wily man; he will lead astray Christ’s people … and they will be able to do nothing to him…. He will be such a marvellous, wily man.’

  ‘Well, then,’ continued Pavel, in his deliberate voice, ‘that’s what he ‘s like. And so they expected him in our parts. The old men declared that directly the heavenly portent began, Trishka would come. So the heavenly portent began. All the people were scattered over the street, in the fields, waiting to see what would happen. Our place, you know, is open country. They look; and suddenly down the mountain - side from the big village comes a man of some sort; such a strange man, with such a wonderful head … that all scream: “Oy, Trishka is coming! Oy, Trishka is coming!” and all run in all directions! Our elder crawled into a ditch; his wife stumbled on the door - board and screamed with all her might; she terrified her yard - dog, so that he broke away from his chain and over the hedge and into the forest; and Kuzka’s father, Dorofyitch, ran into the oats, lay down there, and began to cry like a quail. ‘Perhaps’ says he, ‘the Enemy, the Destroyer of Souls, will spare the birds, at least.’ So they were all in such a scare! But he that was coming was our cooper Vavila; he had bought himself a new pitcher, and had put the empty pitcher over his head.’

  All the boys laughed; and again there was a silence for a while, as often happens when people are talking in the open air. I looked out into the solemn, majestic stillness of the night; the dewy freshness of late evening had been succeeded by the dry heat of midnight; the darkness still had long to lie in a soft curtain over the slumbering fields; there was still a long while left before the first whisperings, the first dewdrops of dawn. There was no moon in the heavens; it rose late at that time. Countless golden stars, twinkling in rivalry, seemed all running softly towards the Milky Way, and truly, looking at them, you were almost conscious of the whirling, never — resting motion of the earth…. A strange, harsh, painful cry, sounded twice together over the river, and a few moments later, was repeated farther down….

  Kostya shuddered. ‘What was that?’

  ‘That was a heron’s cry,’ replied Pavel tranquilly.

  ‘A heron,’ repeated Kostya…. ‘And what was it, Pavlusha, I heard yesterday evening,’ he added, after a short pause; ‘you perhaps will know.’

  ‘What did you hear?’

  ‘I will tell you what I heard. I was going from Stony Ridge to Shashkino; I went first through our walnut wood, and then passed by a little pool — you know where there’s a sharp turn down to the ravine — there is a water - pit there, you know; it is quite overgrown with reeds; so I went near this pit, brothers, and suddenly from this came a sound of some one groaning, and piteously, so piteously; oo - oo, oo - oo! I was in such a fright, my brothers; it was late, and the voice was so misera
ble. I felt as if I should cry myself…. What could that have been, eh?’

  ‘It was in that pit the thieves drowned Akim the forester, last summer,’ observed Pavel; ‘so perhaps it was his soul lamenting.’

  ‘Oh, dear, really, brothers,’ replied Kostya, opening wide his eyes, which were round enough before, ‘I did not know they had drowned Akim in that pit. Shouldn’t I have been frightened if I’d known!’

  ‘But they say there are little, tiny frogs,’ continued Pavel, ‘who cry piteously like that.’

  ‘Frogs? Oh, no, it was not frogs, certainly not. (A heron again uttered a cry above the river.) Ugh, there it is!’ Kostya cried involuntarily; ‘it is just like a wood - spirit shrieking.’

  ‘The wood - spirit does not shriek; it is dumb,’ put in Ilyusha; ‘it only claps its hands and rattles.’

  ‘And have you seen it then, the wood - spirit?’ Fedya asked him ironically.

  ‘No, I have not seen it, and God preserve me from seeing it; but others have seen it. Why, one day it misled a peasant in our parts, and led him through the woods and all in a circle in one field…. He scarcely got home till daylight.’

  ‘Well, and did he see it?’

  ‘Yes. He says it was a big, big creature, dark, wrapped up, just like a tree; you could not make it out well; it seemed to hide away from the moon, and kept staring and staring with its great eyes, and winking and winking with them….’

  ‘Ugh!’ exclaimed Fedya with a slight shiver, and a shrug of the shoulders; ‘pfoo.’

  ‘And how does such an unclean brood come to exist in the world?’ said

  Pavel; ‘it’s a wonder.’

  ‘Don’t speak ill of it; take care, it will hear you,’ said Ilyusha.

  Again there was a silence.

  ‘Look, look, brothers,’ suddenly came Vanya’s childish voice; ‘look at

  God’s little stars; they are swarming like bees!’

  He put his fresh little face out from under his rug, leaned on his little fist, and slowly lifted up his large soft eyes. The eyes of all the boys were raised to the sky, and they were not lowered quickly.