Works of Ivan Turgenev (Illustrated)

by Ivan Turgenev

  Zhazikov [forcing a smile]: Well, what did you write to her?

  Matvei: I reported that everything was all right; and that what she had asked me to do, I had done, and that I would take it to Timofei Petrovich and report again. Oh, Timofei Petrovich, Timofei Petrovich! If you would go back home, you would live like a lord, in a house of your own, and have a wife too. Why are you living here? Every time the bell rings you jump like a frightened hare, jump over everything, and still you have no money, and you don’t get enough, or in time.

  Zhazikov: No; but it’s lonesome at home, in the country; the neighbors are ignorant; the girls only stare at you, and perspire with fear if you say anything to them.

  Matvei: Oh, Timofei Petrovich! What good are the girls here? And the company that you receive? Upon my word, they are nothing to look at! They are mean, rascally, sick, coughing, and, may the Lord forgive me, they are like sheep. But at home, in the country, it’s different. It’s true, it is not now what it used to be. No! Your grandfather, Timofei Lukich, blessed be his memory, was a very tall man. When he got mad and commenced to shout in his shrill voice, one wished to be dead! He was a master! But if he happened to take a liking to one, or he happened to be in a good mood, he would reward a fellow, and do it so that a fellow would remember it for a long time. And his wife, the old mistress, how kind she was! She never said a bad word about anybody.

  Zhazikov: And still, I wouldn’t go back to live in the country. I’d go crazy there.

  Matvei: Timofei Petrovich! You’d have money there, sir. Here, for instance, I am only your serf. I don’t complain, but still it’s provoking. Look, if you please, — [Removing the skirts of his coat.’] — these are pants only in name. In the country everything is in abundance! Warm houses, where one can sleep all day, and plenty to eat. . . . Here, permit me to say, I have not had one square meal. Then, there is hunting, sir, hunting hares and red squirrels. And it would please your mother, Vasilisia Sergieevna, in her old age.

  Zhazikov: Well, perhaps I would go to the country; but they wouldn’t let me out again. I’d simply be unable to get away from there. They might marry me off, — who knows?

  Matvei: What if they did, sir? It is the Christian way.

  Zhazikov: Don’t say that; no, don’t say that.

  Matvei: As you like, sir. Well, for instance, Timofei Petrovich, here I must say that I am hardly safe. May the Lord protect us, but if something should be stolen from here my life wouldn’t be worth anything; and it would serve me right because I hadn’t watched. But how can I watch? My duties are those of a serf. I do not go anywhere; I am sitting in the ante - room from morning until night, but it is not like in the country. My mind is not at ease. Sometimes a shudder goes through me; I sit and shudder and pray to the Lord. During the day I can never have a proper nap. And what kind of people are here! They are base, have no fear. There is no comparison between them and us serfs. They have not even a guilty look; and yet there are thieves upon thieves among them and rascals upon rascals. Some of them look as if they had never had any bringing up. Timofei Petrovich! Life here is nowhere near as good as it is in the country. There you find esteem, respect, and quiet. You are my benefactor, my provider, still, listen to an old fool. I attended your grandfather, your father and mother — I have seen a good deal in my life. I have seen Talians (Italians), Germans, and Frenchmen, who came from Odessa. I have seen all kinds; I have been everywhere. Mind an old man! [Bell.~] See, you shuddered again, Timofei Petrovich!

  Zhazikov: Go, go, open the door.

  [Matvei goes out. ZhazikoV remains sitting, immovable.’]

  Frenchman’s Voice: Monsieur Jazikoff?

  Matvei’s Voice: Whom do you want?

  Frenchman’s Voice: Monsieur Jazikoff?

  Matvei’s Voice: He is not home.

  Frenchman’s Voice: No? Why not? Sacredieu!

  Matvei’s Voice: Who are you?

  Frenchman’s Voice: Voila ma carte, voila ma carte!

  Matvei’s Voice: Be cursed, you chattering raven!

  [Door shuts. Matvei enters and hands Zhazikov a card.]

  Zhazikov [not looking at the card]: I know, I know who it was. The French artist, — I told him to come to - day and paint my portrait. Well, no harm done. I must write to Krinitsyn; otherwise, it will be bad. [Sits down at the table and writes; then he gets up, goes to the window, and reads semi - audibly.’]: “My dear Fedia, help a friend in trouble. Don’t let him perish in the bloom of life. Send two hundred and fifty in cash, or two hundred. You can give the money to the messenger. I shall be thankful to you for the rest of my life. Please, Fedia, don’t refuse me. Be a father and a benefactor. Yours, and so on . . .” I think that is all right. Well, here is the letter, Matvei. Take a cab. [Seeing that Matvei wants to object.] Get that same cabmaii, to whom, by the way, I owe something already. He knows me — he’ll trust you. Give the letter and ask for an answer. Do you hear: ask for an answer!

  Matvei: Yes, sir.

  Zhazikov: Go, Matvei! I wish you luck.

  [Matvei goes out.]

  Zhazikov: After all, I think Matvei is right; I like his simple but businesslike talk. It certainly is better in the country, especially in the summer. Moreover, I love the Russian country. In the winter I can come again to St. Petersburg. It is true, our neighbors are mostly ignorant; but there are a few kind and bright people among them. With some of them it is even a pleasure to talk. They can be developed and directed without their realizing it. Thus, one can do very gratifying work. And as for the girls, — it is a well - known fact that they are like soft wax: do anything you like with them. [Paces the room.] There is one bad feature about the country: the poverty and oppression which exist there will be quite disagreeable to a man with my high ideals to see. But, on the other hand, there one can ride horseback, go hunting, and indulge in many other pleasures. [Thinks.] I’ll have to order some clothes for myself, buy some ties and have a hunting - coat made. I am sorry I did not buy the dog to - day. She would come in handy. Well, I’ll get another one. I must get a few more books and write one myself, on some new theme, — on a theme no one has thought of before. All that will be quite pleasant. I should like not to remain there for the winter; but who would make me spend the winter in the country? Matvei is right; he is positively right. One must not reject old people’s advice. Sometimes, they are . . . yes, really, they are that! On the other hand, I must see mother. She may give me some money. Perhaps not without some remonstrance, but she will give. Yes, I am going to the country. [Goes up to the window.”] How can I part with St. Petersburg? Good - bye, Petersburg; good - bye, capital! Good - bye to you, Viera dear! I did not expect such a hasty departure! [St^/ts.] Much will I leave here of . . . [Sighs again.] And I’ll pay all my debts. I shall go without fail. I shall go! I shall go without fail! [Bell] The devil! Matvei is out again. Where does he get lost? [Bell.] I don’t think that is a creditor; a creditor does not ring like that. Moreover, the time for creditors is over. [Bell.] I’ll go and open it. Nonsense, get a little courage! I am going home to the country. [Goes to the vestibule. Kissing and greetings are heard.] Vasili Vasilevich! Is that you? How did you happen here? [A stout voice answers: “I .. . I.”] Take off your coat and come into the room. [Zhazikov returns.]

  [Vasili Vasilevich Blinov enters.] Zhazikov [in a most pleasant voice]: Have you been here long? I am extremely glad to see you! I am awfully glad!

  Sit down, sit down. Here, in this arm - chair; it witt be more comfortable. How glad I am! I can’t believe my own eyes!

  Blinov [sitting down]: Let me catch my breath. [Wipes the perspiration off his face.] Ugh! but you live high up! Ugh!

  Zhazikov: Best yourself a little, Vasili Vasilevich, rest yourself. Oh my, how glad I am! How thankful I am to you! Where are you stopping?

  Blinov: At the “London.”

  Zhazikov: Have you been there long?

  Blinov: Since last night. What a miserable road! Full of holes; I had all I could do to keep in my seat.

&n
bsp; Zhazikov: You’ve troubled yourself for nothing, Vasili Vasilevich; you shouldn’t have come out to - day. You should have taken a rest; you should have sent for me. . . .

  Blinov: Oh, nonsense! i am not an old woman. [Looks around, puts his elbows on his knees, and his head in his hands.] Your quarters are pretty small. Your old lady sent her regards to you; she said you had forgotten her; but she is a woman, and to all appearances lies.

  Zhazikov: So mother is well?

  Blinov: Yes; she is alive.

  Zhazikov: How are your folks?

  Blinov: They are all right.

  Zhazikov: Are you going to stay here long?

  Blinov: The devil knows; I am here on business.

  Zhazikov [sympathetically]: On business?

  Blinov: Otherwise the devil himself couldn’t have dragged me here. I am more comfortable at home. A damned neighbor moved in — he dragged me into a law - suit.

  Zhazikov: Is that so.

  Blinov: He did — curse him! I’ll show him — the damned cur! You are in the civil service, are you not?

  Zhazikov: Not now; but

  Blinov: So much the better. You’ll help me copy papers, hand them in, ride

  Zhazikov: I shall consider it a pleasure, Yasili Vasilevich

  Blinov: Well, sure, sure . . . [Stops and looks Zhazikov straight in the face.] Let’s have a little vodka; I am frozen.

  Zhazikov [perplexedly]: Vodka! — I am sorry, I have none in the house, and my servant is away. I am woefully sorry!

  Blinov: You have no vodka in the house? Well, well; you don’t take after your father. [Seeing that Zhazikov is still perplexed.] I don’t want any; I’ll get along without it.

  Zhazikov: My servant will soon return

  Blinov: I have such a rascally neighbor — an ex - army major. He is always talking to me about a boundary line; and there are no indications of such a line. “What indications have you?” I asked. [Zhazikov is all attention.] “The land is mine — isn’t it mine?” and the damned rascal does as he pleases; continues to trespass on my land. Well, my overseer, as you may imagine, insisted on his own. “It’s my master’s,” he said, “don’t trespass!” Then he went for my man and went hard. He drew his own boundary line to suit himself — that’s what he did. He usurped and now he fights to keep it; but he is deceiving himself; he can’t do that with my land; it won’t go with me. I gave it to him and he took a back seat for a while. Then his clerk came out on horseback and said, “Don’t assault us!” I slapped him in the face. Then things got lively. The scoundrel appealed to the court. He claimed that I had caused bloodshed and usurped land. The scoundrel! I — usurped land! Official adjusters came down; and they tried this way and that way; but the rascal messed it up. Then he put in a complaint and I put in a complaint. A decision was handed down, — I think in my favor; but the rascal Pafunter had it upset. I at once appealed to the highest court; and he came down here posthaste and did the 6ame. But, my dear boy, he will deceive himself; for there are no flies on me; I am here too. He is such a rascally neighbor!

  Zhazikov: It must be horribly disagreeable!

  Blinov: That’s what happens. Well, how are you? Are you well?

  Zhazikov: Thank God, Vasili Vasilevich, thank God, I have nothing to complain about.

  Blinov: Do you ever go to the theatre?

  Zhazikov: I do, surely. Quite often.

  Blinov: You’ll take me there, won’t you?

  Zhazikov: With the greatest of pleasure, Vasili Vasile - vich, with the greatest of pleasure.

  Blinov: Take me to see a tragedy. You know, some Russian tragedy, the morbid kind; the more morbid, the better.

  Zhazikov: Very well, Vasili Vasilevich, with pleasure.

  Blinov: Where are you going to eat dinner to - day?

  Zhazikov: I? Wherever you like, sir.

  Blinov: Take me to a cafe, but a good one. I like to — you know. [Laughs.] Haven’t you something for a bite here?

  Zhazikov: Truly, I am perplexed

  Blinov [looking at him fixedly]: Listen, Timosha

  Zhazikov: Yes?

  Blinov: Have you money?

  Zhazikov: I have — I have — some money, I have.

  Blinov: Well, I thought, you know, you hadn’t. How is it that you haven’t anything to eat, eh?

  Zhazikov: It just happened so. Then, my servant is away — I can’t understand what has become of him!

  Blinov: He’ll come. Don’t you want to eat soon?

  Zhazikov: Why?

  Blinov: I am quite hungry, you know. My stomach is growling. Will you take me to a tragedy? I want to see Kartygin, you know.

  Zhazikov: I’ll surely do that.

  Blinov: Well, dress yourself and let’s go and eat.

  Zhazikov: If you like, Vasili Vasilevich; I can’t do it right now.

  Blinov: Timosha! Ah, Timosha!

  Zhazikov: What do you wish?

  Blinov: They say that you have girls here who ride standing on horses. Is that true?

  Zhazikov: Oh, that’s in the circus — it’s true, sure enough.

  Blinov: So they ride standing? Are they good - looking?

  Zhazikov: Oh, yes, they are.

  Blinov: Are they big, fat girls?

  Zhazikov: No, not very.

  Blinov: As if — well, show them to me.

  Zhazikov: All right, all right . . .

  [Bell rings.]

  Zhazikov [confused]: It’s my bell. . . . [Goes and opens the door. His voice: “Oh, come in.”]

  [Lithographer’s Clerk enters with a roll in his hand.]

  Zhazikov: You are from the lithographer, I think?

  Clerk: Yes, sir. I have brought the pictures. Zhazikov: What pictures? Clerk: Those which you selected yesterday. Zhazikov: Oh, yes. Have you brought the bill? Clerk: I have.

  Zhazikov [takes the bill and goes up to the window]: Eight away . . . right away . . .

  Blinov [to Clerk]: You belong here? Clerk [somewhat surprised]: I belong here. Blinov: Whom are you working for? Clerk: Messrs. Kuroplekhin. Blinov: On quit - rent? Clerk: Yes, sir.

  Blinov: How much do you pay a year? Clerk: One hundred rubles. Blinov: Do you live on a passport? Clerk: On a passport. Blinov: A yearly passport? Clerk: A yearly.

  Blinov: And how do you get along?

  Clerk: I get along slowly.

  Blinov: It’s better to start slowly, my boy.

  Clerk [languidly]: That’s a fact.

  Blinov: What’s your name?

  Clerk: Kuzma.

  Blinov: H - m . . .

  Zhazikov [going up to Blinov]: My dear Yasili Vasile - rich, I am terribly sorry to bother you, believe me; but could you lend me twenty rubles or so for two days, no more . . . Blinov: Why did you say that you had money? Zhazikov: That is, I have money, if you want to take it that way; but I have to pay rent, so, you know . . .

  Blinov: I’ll give it to you. [Takes out a soiled roll of bills.] How much, — one, two hundred?

  Zhazikov: At present, I don’t need any more than twenty rubles, but if you are so kind, give me a hundred and ten, or a hundred and fifteen.

  Blinov: Here are two hundred

  Zhazikov: I am very, very much obliged to you . . . and to - morrow I shall return the full amount to you, or day after to - morrow, but not later. . . . [Turns to the Clerk.] Here you are, my dear. I’ll be in your store again to - day and pick out something more.

  Clerk: Thank you very kindly. [Goes out.]

  Blinov: Well, let’s go and have dinner.

  Zhazikov: Come on, sir, come on. — i’ll take you to the St. George, and treat you to such champagne

  Blinov: Has the Zharge (St. George) an organ?

  Zhazikov: No, there is no organ at the St. George.

  Blinov: Well, then I don’t go to that place. Take me to a cafe with an organ.

  Zhazikov: Very well.

  [Matvei enters.]

  Zhazikov: Oh, you are back? Well, did you find him?

  Matvei: Yes, I found him and I hav
e an answer.