Works of Ivan Turgenev (Illustrated)

by Ivan Turgenev

  ‘You were in the theatre!’ he cried, flinging his arms about. ‘How was it I didn’t see you? I’m awfully glad I met you. You must come and have supper with me. Come on; I’ll stand the supper!’

  Young Ratsch seemed in an excited, almost ecstatic, frame of mind. His little eyes darted to and fro; he was grinning, and there were spots of red on his face.

  ‘Why this gleefulness?’ asked Fustov.

  ‘Why? Wouldn’t you like to know, eh?’ Viktor drew us a little aside, and pulling out of his trouser - pocket a whole bundle of the red and blue notes then in use waved them in the air.

  Fustov was surprised.

  ‘Has your governor been so liberal?’

  Viktor chuckled.

  ‘He liberal! You just try it on!... This morning, relying on your intercession, I asked him for cash. What do you suppose the old skinflint answered? “I’ll pay your debts,” says he, “if you like. Up to twenty - five roubles inclusive!” Do you hear, inclusive! No, sir, this was a gift from God in my destitution. A lucky chance.’

  ‘Been robbing someone?’ Fustov hazarded carelessly.

  Viktor frowned.

  ‘Robbing, no indeed! I won it, won it from an officer, a guardsman. He only arrived from Petersburg yesterday. Such a chain of circumstances! It’s worth telling... only this isn’t the place. Come along to Yar’s; not a couple of steps. I’ll stand the show, as I said!’

  We ought, perhaps, to have refused; but we followed without making any objection.

  XV

  At Yar’s we were shown into a private room; supper was served, champagne was brought. Viktor related to us, omitting no detail, how he had in a certain ‘gay’ house met this officer of the guards, a very nice chap and of good family, only without a hap’orth of brains; how they had made friends, how he, the officer that is, had suggested as a joke a game of ‘fools’ with Viktor with some old cards, for next to nothing, and with the condition that the officer’s winnings should go to the benefit of Wilhelmina, but Viktor’s to his own benefit; how afterwards they had got on to betting on the games.

  ‘And I, and I,’ cried Viktor, and he jumped up and clapped his hands, ‘I hadn’t more than six roubles in my pocket all the while. Fancy! And at first I was completely cleaned out.... A nice position! Only then — in answer to whose prayers I can’t say — fortune smiled. The other fellow began to get hot and kept showing all his cards.... In no time he’d lost seven hundred and fifty roubles! He began begging me to go on playing, but I’m not quite a fool, I fancy; no, one mustn’t abuse such luck; I popped on my hat and cut away. So now I’ve no need to eat humble pie with the governor, and can treat my friends.... Hi waiter! Another bottle! Gentlemen, let’s clink glasses!’

  We did clink glasses with Viktor, and continued drinking and laughing with him, though his story was by no means to our liking, nor was his society a source of any great satisfaction to us either. He began being very affable, playing the buffoon, unbending, in fact, and was more loathsome than ever. Viktor noticed at last the impression he was making on us, and began to get sulky; his remarks became more disconnected and his looks gloomier. He began yawning, announced that he was sleepy, and after swearing with his characteristic coarseness at the waiter for a badly cleaned pipe, he suddenly accosted Fustov, with a challenging expression on his distorted face.

  ‘I say, Alexander Daviditch,’ said he, ‘you tell me, if you please, what do you look down on me for?’

  ‘How so?’ My friend was momentarily at a loss for a reply.

  ‘I’ll tell you how.... I’m very well aware that you look down on me, and that person does too’ (he pointed at me with his finger), ‘so there! As though you were yourself remarkable for such high and exalted principles, and weren’t just as much a sinner as the rest of us. Worse even. Still waters... you know the proverb?’

  Fustov turned rather red.

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ he asked.

  ‘Why, I mean that I’m not blind yet, and I see very clearly everything that’s going on under my nose.... And I have nothing against it: first it’s not my principle to interfere, and secondly, my sister Susanna Ivanovna hasn’t always been so exemplary herself.... Only, why look down on me?’

  ‘You don’t understand what you’re babbling there yourself! You’re drunk,’ said Fustov, taking his overcoat from the wall. ‘He’s swindled some fool of his money, and now he’s telling all sorts of lies!’

  Viktor continued reclining on the sofa, and merely swung his legs, which were hanging over its arm.

  ‘Swindled! Why did you drink the wine, then? It was paid for with the money I won, you know. As for lies, I’ve no need for lying. It’s not my fault that in her past Susanna Ivanovna...’

  ‘Hold your tongue!’ Fustov shouted at him, ‘hold your tongue... or...’

  ‘Or what?’

  ‘You’ll find out what. Come along, Piotr.’

  ‘Aha!’ pursued Viktor; ‘our noble - hearted knight takes refuge in flight. He doesn’t care to hear the truth, that’s evident! It stings — the truth does, it seems!’

  ‘Come along, Piotr,’ Fustov repeated, completely losing his habitual coolness and self - possession.

  ‘Let’s leave this wretch of a boy!’

  ‘The boy’s not afraid of you, do you hear,’ Viktor shouted after us, ‘he despises you, the boy does! Do you hear!’

  Fustov walked so quickly along the street that I had difficulty in keeping up with him. All at once he stopped short and turned sharply back.

  ‘Where are you going?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh, I must find out what the idiot.... He’s drunk, no doubt, God knows what.... Only don’t you follow me... we shall see each other to - morrow. Good - bye!’

  And hurriedly pressing my hand, Fustov set off towards Yar’s hotel.

  Next day I missed seeing Fustov; and on the day after that, on going to his rooms, I learned that he had gone into the country to his uncle’s, near Moscow. I inquired if he had left no note for me, but no note was forth - coming. Then I asked the servant whether he knew how long Alexander Daviditch would be away in the country. ‘A fortnight, or a little more, probably,’ replied the man. I took at any rate Fustov’s exact address, and sauntered home, meditating deeply. This unexpected absence from Moscow, in the winter, completed my utter perplexity. My good aunt observed to me at dinner that I seemed continually expecting something, and gazed at the cabbage pie as though I were beholding it for the first time in my life. ‘Pierre, vous n’êtes pas amoureux?’ she cried at last, having previously got rid of her companions. But I reassured her: no, I was not in love.

  XVI

  Three days passed. I had a secret prompting to go to the Ratschs’. I fancied that in their house I should be sure to find a solution of all that absorbed my mind, that I could not make out.... But I should have had to meet the veteran.... That thought pulled me up. One tempestuous evening — the February wind was howling angrily outside, the frozen snow tapped at the window from time to time like coarse sand flung by a mighty hand — I was sitting in my room, trying to read. My servant came, and, with a mysterious air, announced that a lady wished to see me. I was surprised... ladies did not visit me, especially at such a late hour; however, I told him to show her in. The door opened and with swift step there walked in a woman, muffled up in a light summer cloak and a yellow shawl. Abruptly she cast off the cloak and the shawl, which were covered with snow, and I saw standing before me Susanna. I was so astonished that I did not utter a word, while she went up to the window, and leaning her shoulder against the wall, remained motionless; only her bosom heaved convulsively and her eyes moved restlessly, and the breath came with a faint moan from her white lips. I realised that it was no slight trouble that had brought her to me; I realised, for all my youth and shallowness, that at that instant before my eyes the fate of a whole life was being decided — a bitter and terrible fate.

  ‘Susanna Ivanovna,’ I began, ‘how...’

  She suddenly clutche
d my hand in her icy fingers, but her voice failed her. She gave a broken sigh and looked down. Her heavy coils of black hair fell about her face.... The snow had not melted from off it.

  ‘Please, calm yourself, sit down,’ I began again, ‘see here, on the sofa. What has happened? Sit down, I entreat you.’

  ‘No,’ she articulated, scarcely audibly, and she sank on to the window - seat. ‘I am all right here.... Let me be.... You could not expect... but if you knew... if I could... if...’

  She tried to control herself, but the tears flowed from her eyes with a violence that shook her, and sobs, hurried, devouring sobs, filled the room. I felt a tightness at my heart.... I was utterly stupefied. I had seen Susanna only twice; I had conjectured that she had a hard life, but I had regarded her as a proud girl, of strong character, and all at once these violent, despairing tears.... Mercy! Why, one only weeps like that in the presence of death!

  I stood like one condemned to death myself.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she said at last, several times, almost angrily, wiping first one eye, then the other. ‘It’ll soon be over. I’ve come to you....’ She was still sobbing, but without tears. ‘I’ve come.... You know that Alexander Daviditch has gone away?’

  In this single question Susanna revealed everything, and she glanced at me, as though she would say: ‘You understand, of course, you will have pity, won’t you?’ Unhappy girl! There was no other course left her then!

  I did not know what answer to make....

  ‘He has gone away, he has gone away... he believed him!’ Susanna was saying meanwhile. ‘He did not care even to question me; he thought I should not tell him all the truth, he could think that of me! As though I had ever deceived him!’

  She bit her lower lip, and bending a little, began to scratch with her nail the patterns of ice that covered the window - pane. I went hastily into the next room, and sending my servant away, came back at once and lighted another candle. I had no clear idea why I was doing all this.... I was greatly overcome. Susanna was sitting as before on the window - seat, and it was at this moment that I noticed how lightly she was dressed: a grey gown with white buttons and a broad leather belt, that was all. I went up to her, but she did not take any notice of me.

  ‘He believed it,... he believed it,’ she whispered, swaying softly from side to side. ‘He did not hesitate, he dealt me this last... last blow!’ She turned suddenly to me. ‘You know his address?’

  ‘Yes, Susanna Ivanovna.. I learnt it from his servants... at his house. He told me nothing of his intention; I had not seen him for two days — went to inquire and he had already left Moscow.’

  ‘You know his address?’ she repeated. ‘Well, write to him then that he has killed me. You are a good man, I know. He did not talk to you of me, I dare say, but he talked to me about you. Write... ah, write to him to come back quickly, if he wants to find me alive!... No! He will not find me!...’

  Susanna’s voice grew quieter at each word, and she was quieter altogether. But this calm seemed to me more awful than the previous sobs.

  ‘He believed him,...’ she said again, and rested her chin on her clasped hands.

  A sudden squall of wind beat upon the window with a sharp whistle and a thud of snow. A cold draught passed over the room.... The candles flickered.... Susanna shivered. Again I begged her to sit on the sofa.

  ‘No, no, let me be,’ she answered, ‘I am all right here. Please.’ She huddled up to the frozen pane, as though she had found herself a refuge in the recesses of the window. ‘Please.’

  ‘But you’re shivering, you’re frozen,’ I cried, ‘Look, your shoes are soaked.’

  ‘Let me be... please...’ she whispered,. and closed her eyes.

  A panic seized me.

  ‘Susanna Ivanovna!’ I almost screamed: ‘do rouse yourself, I entreat you! What is the matter with you? Why such despair? You will see, every thing will be cleared up, some misunderstanding... some unlooked - for chance.... You will see, he will soon be back. I will let him know.... I will write to him to - day.... But I will not repeat your words.... Is it possible!’

  ‘He will not find me,’ Susanna murmured, still in the same subdued voice. ‘Do you suppose I would have come here, to you, to a stranger, if I had not known I should not long be living? Ah, all my past has been swept away beyond return! You see, I could not bear to die so, in solitude, in silence, without saying to some one, “I’ve lost every thing... and I’m dying.... Look!”‘

  She drew back into her cold little corner.... Never shall I forget that head, those fixed eyes with their deep, burnt - out look, those dark, disordered tresses against the pale window - pane, even the grey, narrow gown, under every fold of which throbbed such young, passionate life!

  Unconsciously I flung up my hands.

  ‘You... you die, Susanna Ivanovna! You have only to live.... You must live!’

  She looked at me.... My words seemed to surprise her.

  ‘Ah, you don’t know,’ she began, and she softly dropped both her hands. ‘I cannot live, Too much, too much I have had to suffer, too much! I lived through it.... I hoped... but now... when even this is shattered... when...’

  She raised her eyes to the ceiling and seemed to sink into thought. The tragic line, which I had once noticed about her lips, came out now still more clearly; it seemed to spread across her whole face. It seemed as though some relentless hand had drawn it immutably, had set a mark for ever on this lost soul.

  She was still silent.

  ‘Susanna Ivanovna,’ I said, to break that awful silence with anything; ‘he will come back, I assure you!’

  Susanna looked at me again.

  ‘What do you say?’ she enunciated with visible effort.

  ‘He will come back, Susanna Ivanovna, Alexander will come back!’

  ‘He will come back?’ she repeated. ‘But even if he did come back, I cannot forgive him this humiliation, this lack of faith....’

  She clutched at her head.

  ‘My God! my God! what am I saying, and why am I here? What is it all? What... what did I come to ask... and whom? Ah, I am going mad!...’

  Her eyes came to a rest.

  ‘You wanted to ask me to write to Alexander,’ I made haste to remind her.

  She started.

  ‘Yes, write, write to him... what you like.... And here...’ She hurriedly fumbled in her pocket and brought out a little manuscript book. ‘This I was writing for him... before he ran away.... But he believed... he believed him!’

  I understood that her words referred to Viktor; Susanna would not mention him, would not utter his detested name.

  ‘But, Susanna Ivanovna, excuse me,’ I began, ‘what makes you suppose that Alexander Daviditch had any conversation... with that person?’

  ‘What? Why, he himself came to me and told me all about it, and bragged of it... and laughed just as his father laughs! Here, here, take it,’ she went on, thrusting the manuscript into my hand, ‘read it, send it to him, burn it, throw it away, do what you like, as you please.... But I can’t die like this with no one knowing.... Now it is time.... I must go.’

  She got up from the window - seat.... I stopped her.

  ‘Where are you going, Susanna Ivanovna, mercy on us! Listen, what a storm is raging! You are so lightly dressed.... And your home is not near here. Let me at least go for a carriage, for a sledge....’

  ‘No, no, I want nothing,’ she said resolutely, repelling me and taking up her cloak and shawl. ‘Don’t keep me, for God’s sake! or... I can’t answer for anything! I feel an abyss, a dark abyss under my feet.... Don’t come near me, don’t touch me!’ With feverish haste she put on her cloak, arranged her shawl.... ‘Good - bye... good - bye.... Oh, my unhappy people, for ever strangers, a curse lies upon us! No one has ever cared for me, was it likely he...’ She suddenly ceased. ‘No; one man loved me,’ she began again, wringing her hands, ‘but death is all about me, death and no escape! Now it is my turn.... Don’t come after me,’ she cried shril
ly. ‘Don’t come! don’t come!’

  I was petrified, while she rushed out; and an instant later, I heard the slam downstairs of the heavy street door, and the window panes shook again under the violent onslaught of the blast.

  I could not quickly recover myself. I was only beginning life in those days: I had had no experience of passion nor of suffering, and had rarely witnessed any manifestation of strong feeling in others.... But the sincerity of this suffering, of this passion, impressed me. If it had not been for the manuscript in my hands, I might have thought that I had dreamed it all — it was all so unlikely, and swooped by like a passing storm. I was till midnight reading the manuscript. It consisted of several sheets of letter - paper, closely covered with a large, irregular writing, almost without an erasure. Not a single line was quite straight, and one seemed in every one of them to feel the excited trembling of the hand that held the pen. Here follows what was in the manuscript. I have kept it to this day.

  XVII

  MY STORY

  I am this year twenty - eight years old. Here are my earliest recollections; I was living in the Tambov province, in the country house of a rich landowner, Ivan Matveitch Koltovsky, in a small room on the second storey. With me lived my mother, a Jewess, daughter of a dead painter, who had come from abroad, a woman always ailing, with an extraordinarily beautiful face, pale as wax, and such mournful eyes, that sometimes when she gazed long at me, even without looking at her, I was aware of her sorrowful, sorrowful eyes, and I would burst into tears and rush to embrace her. I had tutors come to me; I had music lessons, and was called ‘miss.’ I dined at the master’s table together with my mother. Mr. Koltovsky was a tall, handsome old man with a stately manner; he always smelt of ambre. I stood in mortal terror of him, though he called me Suzon and gave me his dry, sinewy hand to kiss under its lace - ruffles. With my mother he was elaborately courteous, but he talked little even with her. He would say two or three affable words, to which she promptly made a hurried answer; and he would be silent and sit looking about him with dignity, and slowly picking up a pinch of Spanish snuff from his round, golden snuff - box with the arms of the Empress Catherine on it.