The sun was setting. The mill rumbled and clattered in the distance, sounding louder or softer according to the wind. The seignorial drove of horses was lazily wandering about the meadows; a shepherd walked, humming a tune, after a flock of greedy and timorous sheep; the sheepdogs, from boredom, were running after the crows. Lutchkov walked up and down in the copse, with his arms folded. His horse, tied up near by, more than once whinnied in response to the sonorous neighing of the mares and fillies in the meadow. Avdey was ill - tempered and shy, as usual. Not yet convinced of Masha’s love, he felt wrathful with her and annoyed with himself... but his excitement smothered his annoyance. He stopped at last before a large nut bush, and began with his riding - whip switching off the leaves at the ends of the twigs....
He heard a light rustle... he raised his head.... Ten paces from him stood Masha, all flushed from her rapid walk, in a hat, but with no gloves, in a white dress, with a hastily tied kerchief round her neck. She dropped her eyes instantly, and softly nodded....
Avdey went awkwardly up to her with a forced smile.
‘How happy I am...’ he was beginning, scarcely audibly.
‘I am very glad... to meet you...’ Masha interrupted breathlessly. ‘I usually walk here in the evening... and you...’
But Lutchkov had not the sense even to spare her modesty, to keep up her innocent deception.
‘I believe, Marya Sergievna,’ he pronounced with dignity, ‘you yourself suggested...’
‘Yes... yes...’ rejoined Masha hurriedly. ‘You wished to see me, you wanted...’ Her voice died away.
Lutchkov did not speak. Masha timidly raised her eyes.
‘Excuse me,’ he began, not looking at her, ‘I’m a plain man, and not used to talking freely... to ladies... I... I wished to tell you... but, I fancy, you ‘re not in the humour to listen to me....’
‘Speak.’
‘Since you tell me to... well, then, I tell you frankly that for a long while now, ever since I had the honour of making your acquaintance...’
Avdey stopped. Masha waited for the conclusion of his sentence.
‘I don’t know, though, what I’m telling you all this for.... There’s no changing one’s destiny...’
‘How can one know?...’
‘I know!’ responded Avdey gloomily. ‘I am used to facing its blows!’
It struck Masha that this was not exactly the befitting moment for Lutchkov to rail against destiny.
‘There are kind - hearted people in the world,’ she observed with a smile; ‘some even too kind....’
‘I understand you, Marya Sergievna, and believe me, I appreciate your friendliness... I... I... You won’t be angry?’
‘No.... What do you want to say?’
‘I want to say... that I think you charming... Marya Sergievna, awfully charming....’
‘I am very grateful to you,’ Masha interrupted him; her heart was aching with anticipation and terror. ‘Ah, do look, Mr. Lutchkov,’ she went on — ’look, what a view!’
She pointed to the meadow, streaked with long, evening shadows, and flushed red with the sunset.
Inwardly overjoyed at the abrupt change in the conversation, Lutchkov began admiring the view. He was standing near Masha....
‘You love nature?’ she asked suddenly, with a rapid turn of her little head, looking at him with that friendly, inquisitive, soft glance, which is a gift only vouchsafed to young girls.
‘Yes... nature... of course...’ muttered Avdey. ‘Of course... a stroll’s pleasant in the evening, though, I confess, I’m a soldier, and fine sentiments are not in my line.’
Lutchkov often repeated that he ‘was a soldier.’ A brief silence followed. Masha was still looking at the meadow.
‘How about getting away?’ thought Avdey. ‘What rot it is, though! Come, more pluck!... Marya Sergievna...’ he began, in a fairly resolute voice.
Masha turned to him.
‘Excuse me,’ he began, as though in joke, ‘but let me on my side know what you think of me, whether you feel at all... so to say,... amiably disposed towards my person?’
‘Mercy on us, how uncouth he is!’ Masha said to herself. ‘Do you know, Mr. Lutchkov,’ she answered him with a smile, ‘it’s not always easy to give a direct answer to a direct question.’
‘Still...’
‘But what is it to you?’
‘Oh, really now, I want to know...’
‘But... Is it true that you are a great duellist? Tell me, is it true?’ said Masha, with shy curiosity. ‘They do say you have killed more than one man?’
‘It has happened so,’ Avdey responded indifferently, and he stroked his moustaches.
Masha looked intently at him.
‘This hand then...’ she murmured. Meanwhile Lutchkov’s blood had caught fire. For more than a quarter of an hour a young and pretty girl had been moving before his eyes.
‘Marya Sergievna,’ he began again, in a sharp and strange voice, ‘you know my feelings now, you know what I wanted to see you for.... You’ve been so kind.... You tell me, too, at last what I may hope for....’
Masha twisted a wildflower in her hands.... She glanced sideways at Lutchkov, flushed, smiled, said,’ What nonsense you do talk,’ and gave him the flower.
Avdey seized her hand.
‘And so you love me!’ he cried.
Masha turned cold all over with horror. She had not had the slightest idea of making a declaration of love to Avdey: she was not even sure herself as yet whether she did care for him, and here he was forestalling her, forcing her to speak out — he must be misunderstanding her then.... This idea flashed quicker than lightning into Masha’s head. She had never expected such a speedy dénouement.... Masha, like an inquisitive child, had been asking herself all day: ‘Can it be that Lutchkov cares for me?’ She had dreamed of a delightful evening walk, a respectful and tender dialogue; she had fancied how she would flirt with him, make the wild creature feel at home with her, permit him at parting to kiss her hand... and instead of that...
Instead of that, she was suddenly aware of Avdey’s rough moustaches on her cheek....
‘Let us be happy,’ he was whispering: ‘there’s no other happiness on earth!’
Masha shuddered, darted horror - stricken on one side, and pale all over, stopped short, one hand leaning on a birch - tree. Avdey was terribly confused.
‘Excuse me,’ he muttered, approaching her, ‘I didn’t expect really...’
Masha gazed at him, wide - eyed and speechless... A disagreeable smile twisted his lips... patches of red came out on his face....
‘What are you afraid of?’ he went on; ‘it’s no such great matter.... Why, we understand each other... and so....’
Masha did not speak.
‘Come, stop that!... that’s all nonsense! it’s nothing but...’ Lutchkov stretched out his hand to her.
Masha recollected Kister, his ‘take care of yourself,’ and, sinking with terror, in a rather shrill voice screamed, ‘Taniusha!’
From behind a nutbush emerged the round face of her maid.... Avdey was completely disconcerted. Reassured by the presence of her hand - maiden, Masha did not stir. But the bully was shaking all over with rage; his eyes were half closed; he clenched his fists and laughed nervously.
‘Bravo! bravo! Clever trick — no denying that!’ he cried out.
Masha was petrified.
‘So you took every care, I see, to be on the safe side, Marya Sergievna! Prudence is never thrown away, eh? Upon my word! Nowadays young ladies see further than old men. So this is all your love amounts to!’
‘I don’t know, Mr. Lutchkov, who has given you any right to speak about love... what love?’
‘Who? Why, you yourself!’ Lutchkov cut her short: ‘what next!’ He felt he was ship - wrecking the whole business, but he could not restrain himself.
‘I have acted thoughtlessly,’ said Masha.... ‘I yielded to your request, relying upon your délicatesse... but you don’t know French..
. on your courtesy, I mean....’
Avdey turned pale. Masha had stung him to the quick.
‘I don’t know French... may be; but I know... I know very well that you have been amusing yourself at my expense.’
‘Not at all, Avdey Ivanovitch... indeed, I’m very sorry...’
‘Oh, please, don’t talk about being sorry for me,’ Avdey cut her short peremptorily; ‘spare me that, anyway!’
‘Mr. Lutchkov...’
‘Oh, you needn’t put on those grand - duchess airs... It’s trouble thrown away! you don’t impress me.’
Masha stepped back a pace, turned swiftly round and walked away.
‘Won’t you give me a message for your friend, your shepherd lad, your tender sweet - heart, Kister,’ Avdey shouted after her. He had lost his head. ‘Isn’t he the happy man?’...
Masha made him no reply, and hurriedly, gladly retreated. She felt light at heart, in spite of her fright and excitement. She felt as though she had waked up from a troubled sleep, had stepped out of a dark room into air and sunshine.... Avdey glared about him like a madman; in speechless frenzy he broke a young tree, jumped on to his mare, and so viciously drove the spurs into her, so mercilessly pulled and tugged at the reins that the wretched beast galloped six miles in a quarter of an hour and almost expired the same night.
Kister waited for Lutchkov in vain till midnight, and next morning he went round himself to see him. The orderly informed Fyodor Fedoritch that his master was lying down and had given orders that he would see no one. ‘He won’t see me even?’. ‘Not even your honour.’ Kister walked twice up and down the street, tortured by the keenest apprehensions, and then went home again. His servant handed him a note.
‘From whom?’
‘From the Perekatovs. Artiomka the postillion brought it.’
Kister’s hands began to tremble.
‘He had orders to give you their greetings. He had orders to wait for your answer. Am I to give Artiomka some vodka?’
Kister slowly unfolded the note, and read as follows:
‘DEAR GOOD FYODOR FEDORITCH, — I want very, very much to see you. Come to - day, if you can. Don’t refuse my request, I entreat you, for the sake of our old friendship. If only you knew... but you shall know everything. Good - bye for a little while, — eh?
MARIE.
‘P.S. — Be sure to come to - morrow.’
‘So your honour, am I to give Artiomka some vodka?’
Kister turned a long, bewildered stare at his servant’s countenance, and went out without uttering a word.
‘The master has told me to get you some vodka, and to have a drink with you,’ said Kister’s servant to Artiomka the postillion.
IX
Masha came with such a bright and grateful face to meet Kister, when he came into the drawing - room, she pressed his hand so warmly and affectionately, that his heart throbbed with delight, and a weight seemed rolled from his mind. Masha did not, however, say a single word, and she promptly left the room. Sergei Sergeitch was sitting on the sofa, playing patience. Conversation sprang up. Sergei Sergeitch had not yet succeeded with his usual skill in bringing the conversation round from all extraneous topics to his dog, when Masha reappeared, wearing a plaid silk sash, Kister’s favourite sash. Nenila Makarievna came in and gave Fyodor Fedoritch a friendly greeting. At dinner they were all laughing and making jokes; even Sergei Sergeitch plucked up spirit and described one of the merriest pranks of his youthful days, hiding his head from his wife like an ostrich, as he told the story.
‘Let us go for a walk, Fyodor Fedoritch,’ Masha said to Kister after dinner with that note of affectionate authority in her voice which is, as it were, conscious that you will gladly submit to it. ‘I want to talk to you about something very, very important,’ she added with enchanting solemnity, as she put on her suede gloves. ‘Are you coming with us, maman?’
‘No,’ answered Nenila Makarievna.
‘But we are not going into the garden.’
‘Where then?’
‘To Long Meadow, to the copse.’
‘Take Taniusha with you.’
‘Taniusha, Taniusha!’ Masha cried musically, flitting lightly as a bird from the room.
A quarter of an hour later Masha walked with Kister into the Long Meadow. As she passed the cattle, she gave a piece of bread to her favourite cow, patted it on the head and made Kister stroke it. Masha was in great good humour and chatted merrily. Kister responded willingly, though he awaited explanations with impatience.... Taniusha walked behind at a respectful distance, only from time to time stealing a sly glance at her young lady.
‘You’re not angry with me, Fyodor Fedoritch?’ queried Masha.
‘With you, Marya Sergievna? Why, whatever for?’
‘The day before yesterday... don’t you remember?’
‘You were out of humour... that was all.’
‘What are we walking in single file for? Give me your arm. That’s right.... You were out of humour too.’
‘Yes, I was too.’
‘But to - day I’m in good humour, eh?’
‘Yes, I think so, to - day...’
‘And do you know why? Because...’
Masha nodded her head gravely. ‘Well, I know why.... Because I am with you,’ she added, not looking at Kister.
Kister softly pressed her hand.
‘But why don’t you question me?...’ Masha murmured in an undertone.
‘What about?’
‘Oh, don’t pretend... about my letter.’
‘I was waiting for...’
‘That’s just why I am happy with you,’ Masha interrupted him impulsively: ‘because you are a gentle, good - hearted person, because you are incapable... parceque vous avez de la délicatesse. One can say that to you: you understand French.’
Kister did understand French, but he did not in the least understand Masha.
‘Pick me that flower, that one... how pretty it is!’ Masha admired it, and suddenly, swiftly withdrawing her hand from his arm, with an anxious smile she began carefully sticking the tender stalk in the buttonhole of Kister’s coat. Her slender fingers almost touched his lips. He looked at the fingers and then at her. She nodded her head to him as though to say ‘you may.’... Kister bent down and kissed the tips of her gloves.
Meanwhile they drew near the already familiar copse. Masha became suddenly more thoughtful, and at last kept silent altogether. They came to the very place where Lutchkov had waited for her. The trampled grass had not yet grown straight again; the broken sapling had not yet withered, its little leaves were only just beginning to curl up and fade. Masha stared about her, and turned quickly to Kister.
‘Do you know why I have brought you here?’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘Don’t you know? Why is it you haven’t told me anything about your friend Lutchkov to - day? You always praise him so...’
Kister dropped his eyes, and did not speak.
‘Do you know,’ Masha brought out with some effort, ‘that I made... an appointment... to meet him here... yesterday?’
‘I know that,’ Kister rejoined hurriedly.
‘You know it?... Ah! now I see why the day before yesterday... Mr. Lutchkov was in a hurry it seems to boast of his conquest.’
Kister was about to answer....
‘Don’t speak, don’t say anything in opposition.... I know he’s your friend. You are capable of taking his part. You knew, Kister, you knew.... How was it you didn’t prevent me from acting so stupidly? Why didn’t you box my ears, as if I were a child? You knew... and didn’t you care?’
‘But what right had I...’
‘What right!... the right of a friend. But he too is your friend.... I’m ashamed, Kister.... He your friend.... That man behaved to me yesterday, as if...’
Masha turned away. Kister’s eyes flamed; he turned pale.
‘Oh, never mind, don’t be angry.... Listen, Fyodor Fedoritch, don’t be angry. It’s all for the best. I
am very glad of yesterday’s explanation... yes, that’s just what it was,’ added Masha. ‘What do you suppose I am telling you about it for? To complain of Mr. Lutchkov? Nonsense! I’ve forgotten about him. But I have done you a wrong, my good friend.... I want to speak openly to you, to ask your forgiveness... your advice. You have accustomed me to frankness; I am at ease with you.... You are not a Mr. Lutchkov!’
‘Lutchkov is clumsy and coarse,’ Kister brought out with difficulty; ‘but...’
‘Why but? Aren’t you ashamed to say but? He is coarse, and clumsy, and ill - natured, and conceited.... Do you hear? — and, not but.’
‘You are speaking under the influence of anger, Marya Sergievna,’ Kister observed mournfully.
‘Anger? A strange sort of anger! Look at me; are people like this when they ‘re angry? Listen,’ pursued Masha; ‘you may think what you like of me... but if you imagine I am flirting with you to - day from pique, well... well...’ (tears stood in her eyes)’I shall be angry in earnest.’
‘Do be open with me, Marya Sergievna...’
‘O, silly fellow! how slow you are! Why, look at me, am I not open with you, don’t you see right through me?’
‘Oh, very well... yes; I believe you,’ Kister said with a smile, seeing with what anxious insistence she tried to catch his eyes. ‘But tell me, what induced you to arrange to meet Lutchkov?’
‘What induced me? I really don’t know. He wanted to speak to me alone. I fancied he had never had time, never had an opportunity to speak freely. He has spoken freely now! Do you know, he may be an extraordinary man, but he’s a fool, really.... He doesn’t know how to put two words together. He’s simply an ignoramus. Though, indeed, I don’t blame him much... he might suppose I was a giddy, mad, worthless girl. I hardly ever talked to him.... He did excite my curiosity, certainly, but I imagined that a man who was worthy of being your friend...’
Works of Ivan Turgenev (Illustrated) Page 263