Works of Ivan Turgenev (Illustrated)

by Ivan Turgenev

  “Don’t you like that?” David called after him and put his tongue out. Then he tried to get up but could not.

  “I must have hurt myself somehow,” he said, gasping and frowning. “I remember the water dashed me against a post.”

  “Did you see Raissa?” he added suddenly.

  “No. I did not.... Stay, stay, stay! Now I remember, wasn’t it she standing on the bank by the bridge? ... Yes ... yes ... a dark dress... a yellow kerchief on her head, yes it must have been Raissa.”

  “Well, and afterwards.... Did you see her?”

  “Afterwards ... I don’t know, I had no thought to spare for her.... You jumped in ...”

  David was suddenly roused. “Alyosha, darling, go to her at once, tell her I am all right, that there’s nothing the matter with me. Tomorrow I shall be with them. Go as quickly as you can, brother, for my sake!”

  David held out both hands to me.... His red hair, by now dry, stuck up in amusing tufts.... But the softened expression of his face seemed the more genuine for that. I took my cap and went out of the house, trying to avoid meeting my father and reminding him of his promise.

  XXI

  “Yes, indeed,” I reflected as I walked towards the Latkins’, “how was it that I did not notice Raissa? What became of her? She must have seen....”

  And all at once I remembered that the very moment of David’s fall, a terrible piercing shriek had rung in my ears.

  “Was not that Raissa? But how was it I did not see her afterwards?”

  Before the little house in which Latkin lodged there stretched a waste - ground overgrown with nettles and surrounded by a broken hurdle. I had scarcely clambered over the hurdle (there was no gate anywhere) when the following sight met my eyes: Raissa, with her elbows on her knees and her chin propped on her clasped hands, was sitting on the lowest step in front of the house; she was looking fixedly straight before her; near her stood her little dumb sister with the utmost composure brandishing a little whip, while, facing the steps with his back to me, old Latkin, in torn and shabby drawers and high felt boots, was trotting and prancing up and down, capering and jerking his elbows. Hearing my footsteps he suddenly turned round and squatted on his heels - - then at once, skipping up to me, began speaking very rapidly in a trembling voice, incessantly repeating, “Tchoo - - tchoo - - tchoo!” I was dumbfoundered. I had not seen him for a long time and should not, of course, have known him if I had met him anywhere else. That red, wrinkled, toothless face, those lustreless round eyes and touzled grey hair, those jerks and capers, that senseless halting speech! What did it mean? What inhuman despair was torturing this unhappy creature? What dance of death was this?

  “Tchoo - - tchoo,” he muttered, wriggling incessantly. “See Vassilyevna here came in tchoo - - tchoo, just now.... Do you hear? With a trough on the roof” (he slapped himself on the head with his hand), “and there she sits like a spade, and she is cross - eyed, cross - eyed, like Andryushka; Vassilyevna is cross - eyed” (he probably meant to say dumb), “tchoo! My Vassilyevna is cross - eyed! They are both on the same cork now. You may wonder, good Christians! I have only these two little boats! Eh?”

  Latkin was evidently conscious that he was not saying the right thing and made terrible efforts to explain to me what was the matter. Raissa did not seem to hear what her father was saying and the little sister went on lashing the whip.

  “Good - bye, diamond - merchant, good - bye, good - bye,” Latkin drawled several times in succession, making a low bow, seeming delighted at having at last got hold of an intelligible word.

  My head began to go round.

  “What does it all mean?” I asked of an old woman who was looking out of the window of the little house.

  “Well, my good gentleman,” she answered in a sing - song voice, “they say some man - - the Lord only knows who - - went and drowned himself and she saw it. Well, it gave her a fright or something; when she came home she seemed all right though; but when she sat down on the step - - here, she has been sitting ever since like an image, it’s no good talking to her. I suppose she has lost her speech, too. Oh, dear! Oh, dear!”

  “Good - bye, good - bye,” Latkin kept repeating, still with the same bow.

  I went up to Raissa and stood directly facing her.

  “Raissa, dear, what’s the matter with you?”

  She made no answer, she seemed not to notice me. Her face had not grown pale, had not changed - - but had turned somehow stony and there was a look in it as though she were just falling asleep.

  “She is cross - eyed, cross - eyed,” Latkin muttered in my ear.

  I took Raissa by the hand. “David is alive,” I cried, more loudly than before. “Alive and well; David’s alive, do you understand? He was pulled out of the water; he is at home now and told me to say that he will come to you to - morrow; he is alive!” As it were with effort Raissa turned her eyes on me; she blinked several times, opening them wider and wider, then leaned her head on one side and flushed slightly all over while her lips parted ... she slowly drew in a deep breath, winced as though in pain and with fearful effort articulated:

  “Da ... Dav ... a ... alive,” got up impulsively and rushed away.

  “Where are you going?” I exclaimed. But with a faint laugh she ran staggering across the waste - ground....

  I, of course, followed her, while behind me a wail rose up in unison from the old man and the child.... Raissa darted straight to our house.

  “Here’s a day!” I thought, trying not to lose sight of the black dress that was fluttering before me. “Well!”

  XXII

  Passing Vassily, my aunt, and even Trankvillitatin, Raissa ran into the room where David was lying and threw herself on his neck. “Oh... oh ... Da ... vidushka,” her voice rang out from under her loose curls, “oh!”

  Flinging wide his arms David embraced her and nestled his head against her.

  “Forgive me, my heart,” I heard his voice saying.

  And both seemed swooning with joy.

  “But why did you go home, Raissa, why didn’t you stay?” I said to her.... She still kept her head bowed. “You would have seen that he was saved....”

  “Ah, I don’t know! Ah, I don’t know. Don’t ask. I don’t know, I don’t remember how I got home. I only remember: I saw you in the air ... something seemed to strike me... and what happened afterwards...”

  “Seemed to strike you,” repeated David, and we all three suddenly burst out laughing together. We were very happy.

  “What may be the meaning of this, may I ask,” we heard behind us a threatening voice, the voice of my father. He was standing in the doorway. “Will there ever be an end to these fooleries? Where are we living? Are we in the Russian Empire or the French Republic?”

  He came into the room.

  “Anyone who wants to be rebellious and immoral had better go to France! And how dare you come here?” he said, turning to Raissa, who, quietly sitting up and turning to face him, was evidently taken aback but still smiled as before, a friendly and blissful smile.

  “The daughter of my sworn enemy! How dare you? And hugging him, too! Away with you at once, or ...”

  “Uncle,” David brought out, and he sat up in bed. “Don’t insult Raissa. She is going away, only don’t insult her.”

  “And who are you to teach me? I am not insulting her, I am not in ... sul ... ting her! I am simply turning her out of the house. I have an account to settle with you, too, presently. You have made away with other people’s property, have attempted to take your own life, have put me to expense.”

  “To what expense?” David interrupted.

  “What expense? You have ruined your clothes. Do you count that as nothing? And I had to tip the men who brought you. You have given the whole family a fright and are you going to be unruly now? And if this young woman, regardless of shame and honour itself ...”

  David made a dash as though to get out of bed.

  “Don’t insult her, I tell you.”
/>   “Hold your tongue.”

  “Don’t dare ...”

  “Hold your tongue!”

  “Don’t dare to insult my betrothed,” cried David at the top of his voice, “my future wife!”

  “Betrothed!” repeated my father, with round eyes. “Betrothed! Wife! Ho, ho, ho! ...” (“Ha, ha, ha,” my aunt echoed behind the door.) “Why, how old are you? He’s been no time in the world, the milk is hardly dry on his lips, he is a mere babe and he is going to be married! But I ... but you ...”

  “Let me go, let me go,” whispered Raissa, and she made for the door. She looked more dead than alive.

  “I am not going to ask permission of you,” David went on shouting, propping himself up with his fists on the edge of the bed, “but of my own father who is bound to be here one day soon; he is a law to me, but you are not; but as for my age, if Raissa and I are not old enough ... we will bide our time whatever you may say....”

  “Aië, aië, Davidka, don’t forget yourself,” my father interrupted. “Just look at yourself. You are not fit to be seen. You have lost all sense of decency.”

  David put his hand to the front of his shirt.

  “Whatever you may say...” he repeated. “Oh, shut his mouth, Porfiry Petrovitch,” piped my aunt from behind the door, “shut his mouth, and as for this hussy, this baggage ... this ...”

  But something extraordinary must have cut short my aunt’s eloquence at that moment: her voice suddenly broke off and in its place we heard another, feeble and husky with old age....

  “Brother,” this weak voice articulated, “Christian soul.”

  XXIII

  We all turned round.... In the same costume in which I had just seen him, thin, pitiful and wild looking, Latkin stood before us like an apparition.

  “God!” he pronounced in a sort of childish way, pointing upwards with a bent and trembling finger and gazing impotently at my father, “God has chastised me, but I have come for Va ... for Ra ... yes, yes, for Raissotchka.... What ... tchoo! what is there for me? Soon underground - - and what do you call it? One little stick, another ... cross - beam - - that’s what I ... want, but you, brother, diamond - merchant ... mind ... I’m a man, too!”

  Raissa crossed the room without a word and taking his arm buttoned his vest.

  “Let us go, Vassilyevna,” he said; “they are all saints here, don’t come to them and he lying there in his case” - - he pointed to David - - “is a saint, too, but you and I are sinners, brother. Come. Tchoo.... Forgive an old man with a pepper pot, gentleman! We have stolen together!” he shouted suddenly; “stolen together, stolen together!” he repeated, with evident satisfaction that his tongue had obeyed him at last.

  Everyone in the room was silent. “And where is ... the ikon here,” he asked, throwing back his head and turning up his eyes; “we must cleanse ourselves a bit.”

  He fell to praying to one of the corners, crossing himself fervently several times in succession, tapping first one shoulder and then the other with his fingers and hurriedly repeating:

  “Have mercy me, oh, Lor ... me, oh, Lor ... me, oh, Lor ...” My father, who had not taken his eyes off Latkin, and had not uttered a word, suddenly started, stood beside him and began crossing himself, too. Then he turned to him, bowed very low so that he touched the floor with one hand, saying, “You forgive me, too, Martinyan Gavrilitch,” kissed him on the shoulder. Latkin in response smacked his lips in the air and blinked: I doubt whether he quite knew what he was doing. Then my father turned to everyone in the room, to David, to Raissa and to me:

  “Do as you like, act as you think best,” he brought out in a soft and mournful voice, and he withdrew.

  My aunt was running up to him, but he cried out sharply and gruffly to her. He was overwhelmed.

  “Me, oh, Lor ... me, oh, Lor ... mercy!” Latkin repeated. “I am a man.”

  “Good - bye, Davidushka,” said Raissa, and she, too, went out of the room with the old man.

  “I will be with you tomorrow,” David called after her, and, turning his face to the wall, he whispered: “I am very tired; it will be as well to have some sleep now,” and was quiet.

  It was a long while before I went out of the room. I kept in hiding. I could not forget my father’s threats. But my apprehensions turned out to be unnecessary. He met me and did not utter a word. He seemed to feel awkward himself. But night soon came on and everything was quiet in the house.

  XXIV

  Next morning David got up as though nothing were the matter and not long after, on the same day, two important events occurred: in the morning old Latkin died, and towards evening my uncle, Yegor, David’s father, arrived in Ryazan. Without sending any letter in advance, without warning anyone, he descended on us like snow on our heads. My father was completely taken aback and did not know what to offer to his dear guest and where to make him sit. He rushed about as though delirious, was flustered as though he were guilty; but my uncle did not seem to be much touched by his brother’s fussy solicitude; he kept repeating: “What’s this for?” or “I don’t want anything.” His manner with my aunt was even colder; she had no great liking for him, indeed. In her eyes he was an infidel, a heretic, a Voltairian ... (he had in fact learnt French to read Voltaire in the original). I found my Uncle Yegor just as David had described him. He was a big heavy man with a broad pock - marked face, grave and serious. He always wore a hat with feathers in it, cuffs, a frilled shirt front and a snuff - coloured vest and a sword at his side. David was unspeakably delighted to see him - - he actually looked brighter in the face and better looking, and his eyes looked different: merrier, keener, more shining; but he did his utmost to moderate his joy and not to show it in words: he was afraid of being too soft. The first night after Uncle Yegor’s arrival, father and son shut themselves up in the room that had been assigned to my uncle and spent a long time talking together in a low voice; next morning I saw that my uncle looked particularly affectionately and trustfully at his son: he seemed very much pleased with him. David took him to the requiem service for Latkin; I went to it, too, my father did not hinder my going but remained at home himself. Raissa impressed me by her calm: she looked pale and much thinner but did not shed tears and spoke and behaved with perfect simplicity; and with all that, strange to say, I saw a certain grandeur in her; the unconscious grandeur of sorrow forgetful of itself! Uncle Yegor made her acquaintance on the spot, in the church porch; from his manner to her, it was evident that David had already spoken of her. He was as pleased with her as with his son: I could read that in David’s eyes when he looked at them both. I remember how his eyes sparkled when his father said, speaking of her: “She’s a clever girl; she’ll make a capable woman.” At the Latkins’ I was told that the old man had quietly expired like a candle that has burnt out, and that until he had lost power and consciousness, he kept stroking his daughter’s head and saying something unintelligible but not gloomy, and he was smiling to the end. My father went to the funeral and to the service in the church and prayed very devoutly; Trankvillitatin actually sang in the choir.

  Beside the grave Raissa suddenly broke into sobs and sank forward on the ground; but she soon recovered herself. Her little deaf and dumb sister stared at everyone and everything with big, bright, rather wild - looking eyes; from time to time she huddled up to Raissa, but there was no sign of terror about her. The day after the funeral Uncle Yegor, who, judging from appearances, had not come back from Siberia with empty hands (he paid for the funeral and liberally rewarded David’s rescuer) but who told us nothing of his doings there or of his plans for the future, Uncle Yegor suddenly informed my father that he did not intend to remain in Ryazan, but was going to Moscow with his son. My father, from a feeling of propriety, expressed regret and even tried - - very faintly it is true - - to induce my uncle to alter his decision, but at the bottom of his heart, I think he was really much relieved.

  The presence of his brother with whom he had very little in common, who did not even condescend
to reproach him, whose feeling for him was more one of simple disgust than disdain - - oppressed him ... and parting with David could not have caused him much regret. I, of course, was utterly crushed by the separation; I was utterly desolate at first and lost all support in life and all interest in it.

  And so my uncle went away and took with him not only David but, to the great astonishment and even indignation of our whole street, Raissa and her little sister, too.... When she heard of this, my aunt promptly called him a Turk, and called him a Turk to the end of her days.

  And I was left alone, alone ... but this story is not about me.

  XXV

  So this is the end of my tale of the watch. What more have I to tell you? Five years after David was married to his Black - lip, and in 1812, as a lieutenant of artillery, he died a glorious death on the battlefield of Borodino in defence of the Shevardinsky redoubt.

  Much water has flowed by since then and I have had many watches; I have even attained the dignity of a real repeater with a second hand and the days of the week on it. But in a secret drawer of my writing table there is preserved an old - fashioned silver watch with a rose on the face; I bought it from a Jewish pedlar, struck by its likeness to the watch which was once presented to me by my godfather. From time to time, when I am alone and expect no one, I take it out of the drawer and looking at it remember my young days and the companion of those days that have fled never to return.

  Paris. - - 1875.

  THE RENDEZVOUS

  I was sitting in a birch grove in autumn, near the middle of September. It had been drizzling ever since morning; occasionally the sun shone warmly; — the weather was changeable. Now the sky was overcast with watery white clouds, now it suddenly cleared up for an instant, and then the bright, soft azure, like a beautiful eye, appeared from beyond the dispersed clouds. I was sitting looking about me and listening. The leaves were slightly rustling over my head; and by their very rustle one could tell what season of the year it was. It was not the gay, laughing palpitation of spring; not a soft whispering, nor the lingering chatter of summer, nor the timid and cold lisping of late autumn, but a barely audible, drowsy prattle. A faint breeze was whisking over the tree - tops. The interior of the grove, moist from the rain, was forever changing, as the sun shone or hid beyond the clouds; now the grove was all illuminated as if everything in it had burst into a smile; the trunks of the birch trees suddenly assumed the soft reflection of white silk; the small leaves which lay scattered on the ground all at once became variegated and flashed up like red gold; and the pretty stalks of the tall, branchy ferns, already tinted in their autumn hue, resembling the color of overripe grapes, appeared here and there tangling and crossing one another. Now again everything suddenly turned blue; the bright colors died out instantaneously, the birch trees stood all white, lustreless, like snow which had not yet been touched by the coldly playing rays of the winter sun — and stealthily, slyly, a drizzling rain began to sprinkle and whisper over the forest. The leaves on the birches were almost all green yet, though they had turned somewhat pale; only here and there stood a solitary young little birch, all red or all golden, and one should have seen how brightly these birches flushed in the sun when its rays suddenly appeared gliding and flashing through the dense net of the thin branches which had just been washed around by the sparkling rain. Not a single bird was heard; all had found shelter, and were silent; only rarely the mocking voice of the bluebird sang out like a little steel bell. Before stopping in this birch forest I passed with my dog through a poplar grove. I confess I am not very fond of the poplar tree with its pale lilac - colored trunk and its grayish - green, metallic leaves, which it lifts high and spreads in the air like a trembling fan — I do not like the constant shaking of its round, untidy leaves, which are so awkwardly attached to long stems. The poplar is pretty only on certain summer evenings when, rising high amid the low shrubbery, it stands against the red rays of the setting sun, shining and trembling, bathed from root to top in uniform yellowish purple — or when, on a clear windy day, it rocks noisily, lisping against the blue sky, and each leaf seems as if eager to tear itself away, to fly and hurry off into the distance. But in general I do not like this tree, and, therefore, not stopping to rest in the poplar grove, I made my way to the birch forest, and seated myself under a tree whose branches started near the ground, and thus could protect me from the rain. Having admired the surrounding view, I fell asleep — I slept that tranquil, sweet sleep which is familiar to hunters only.