Works of Ivan Turgenev (Illustrated)

by Ivan Turgenev

  Tropachev [pointing to Karpachov to look out for Kuzovkin’s glass]: Won’t you have another drink?

  Kuzovkin: No. Permit me . . .

  Tropachev: Just for a little courage.

  Kuzovkin: Well, for the sake of a little courage . . . [He drinks and wipes his forehead with his handkerchief.] And so I dare to report that the village Vietrovo, about which we have been talking, that this village I inherited straight from my grandfather, Kuzovkin, Maksim, Major Maksim. Maybe you have heard of him. He was the brother of my father, Semen, and my uncle Niktopolion. My father with his own brother, and my uncle never separated their possessions while they were alive, and my uncle died and left no children, left no children — that’s what I want you to remember — but he died after my father died, and they had a sister, Katerina, and this Katerina married a man by the name of Iagushkin, Porfiri, and this Iagushkin had from his first wife, who was a Polish woman, a son by the name of Ilia, who was a drunkard and a scamp, and to whom my uncle, Niktopolion, as the gossip came from Sister Katerina, gave a note for a thousand and seven hundred rubles, and Katerina herself gave to her husband, Porfiri, a note for a thousand and seven hundred rubles, and a note from my father for two thousand rubles endorsed by the district judge, Galush - kin, and his wife. Just at that time, my faher — blessed be his memory! — died; then the notes were turned over for collection. Niktopolion tried to avoid payment this way and that way, then he said that he had not divided the property with his nephew. Katerina demanded a fourteenth part. The government taxes also appeared for collection. It was trouble upon trouble. Galushkin’s wife demanded payment upon her note. Niktopolion said that the nephew had to pay that note, but I wasn’t of age, and how could I be responsible for notes? Galushkin sent the matter to court. The Polish woman’s son also turned the matter over to court, not even sparing his stepmother. He said that he wouldn’t come down any from the face value. He said that she had got the servant, Akulin, into the habit of drinking. Thus the porridge was cooked up. Petition after petition went to court. They went to the local courts, then to the state courts; from the state courts again into the local courts, with all kinds of inscriptions on them, and after the death of Niktopolion, the matter became even worse. I demanded the possession of my estate, and the command came that for the back taxes the village of Vietrovo should be sold at auction. The German Hanginmeister proclaimed his rights . . . and the peasants came running from all sides like partridges. The County leader gave me a calling - down, and said that I must be put under a conservator, but under what conservator . . . how? The rightful heir was not given possession ... his own stepmother brought in a complaint against Ilia to the Senate (highest court).

  [The general laughter confuses Kuzovkin and he stops talking. Trembinski, who very attentively has looked after the welfare of the master and his company, laughs out heartily. Petr lets out a very foolish laugh while standing in the doorway. Karpachov laughs in a deep voice, but with some precaution. Tropachev laughs unrestrainedly. Eletski laughs somewhat contemptuously and winks his eyes. Ivanov alone, who all the time has kept pulling Kuzovkin by the coat, sits there with his head hanging low.]

  Eletski [to Kuzovkin while laughing]: Continue — why did you stop?

  Tropachev: Please continue.

  Kuzovkin: I . . . Pardon me ... I broke the peace . . . I know . . .

  Tropachev: I see what’s the matter. . . . You’re afraid, isn’t that right . . . you’re afraid?

  Kuzovkin [in a low voice]: That’s right, that’s right.

  Tropachev: Well, we can fix that for you. [Lifting up an empty bottle.] Waiter! Let’s have some more wine. [To Eletski.] Vous permettez?

  Eletski: Certainly, help yourself. [To Trembinski.] Is there any champagne?

  Tbembinski: Yes, sir, there is. [He runs to the cooler and brings it up to the table quickly. Kuzovkin smiles and takes hold of the button of his own coat.]

  Tropachev [to Kuzovkin]: That isn’t nice, my esteemed man. To be afraid, while in respectable company, isn’t good manners. [To Eletski, pointing to the cooler.] How’s this? It’s almost frozen. Mais c’est magnifique! [Fills up the glass.] This is undoubtedly good wine. [To Kuzovkin.] This is for you. Don’t refuse. Well, you got mixed up a little bit, but what of it? Pavel Nikolaich, tell him to drink . . .

  Eletski: To the health of the future owner of Vietrovo! Drink, Vasili Aleksieich.

  [Kuzovkin drinks.]

  Teopachev: Now, for this I love you. [He and Eletski get up. After them, all get up and walk to the front of the stage.] What an excellent lunch we have had! [To Kuzovkin.] Well, what’s the result? Who are you litigating with now, hm?

  Kuzovkin [beginning to feel the influence of the wine]: With Hanginmeister’s heirs, of course.

  Teopachev: Who is that gentleman?

  Kuzovkin: It’s self - evident he’s a German. He bought all the notes, though people say that he simply took them away. I am really of the same opinion. He frightened the women - folks and took them away from them.

  Tropachev: What was Katerina doing? And what was Ilia doing while he was taking the notes away from them?

  Kuzovkin: Oh, they are all dead now. The Polish woman’s son burned to death in a gin - mill, while he was drunk on the highroad, on account of a fire. [To Ivanov.] Stop pulling me by the coat! I am in the presence of gentlemen, and as it is demanded of me, I will explain myself. They are calling for an explanation. There’s nothing bad about it.

  Eletski: Leave him alone, Gospodin Ivanov. We are rather enjoying listening to him.

  Kuzovkin [to Ivanov]: That’s it. [To Eletski and Teopachev.] Gentlemen, what do I ask now? Really, all I ask is justice. A legal form of things. I am not selfish. What’s the use of being selfish? The Lord be with them! Judge yourself. If I am to blame — well, then I’m to blame — and if I am right, well, just say that I’m right.

  Tropachev [interrupting him]: Another glass?

  Kuzovkin: No, I am extremely much obliged. What do I ask . . .?

  Tropachev: If that’s the case, let me embrace you.

  Kuzovkin [not ivithout a little amazement]: You are doing me a great honor. ... I am extremely . i„ .

  Tropachev: No, I like you very much. . . . [He embraces him and holds him that way for a few minutes.] I should love to kiss you now, but on second thought I believe I had better wait a little.

  Kuzovkin: As you like.

  Tropachev [winking at Karpachov]: Well, Karpach, now it is your turn.

  Karpachov [with deep laughter]: Well, Vasili Semenych, let me press you to my heart. . . . [Embraces Kuzovkin, and turns around with him. Everybody is laughing according to his individual characteristic laughter.]

  Kuzovkin [tearing himself away from Karpachov’s embrace]: Enough for you!

  Karpachov: Don’t be so stubborn. [To Tropachev.] You Flegont Alexandrych, tell him to sing a song. He is a first - class singer.

  Tropachev: Do you sing, my friend? Oh, please, show us your talent.

  Kuzovkin [to Karpachov]: What are you trying to think up about me? I’m no singer.

  Karpachov: You used to sing at the table when the old master was alive, didn’t you?

  Kuzovkin [in a lower voice]: When the master was alive, yes, but I have grown very old since that time. I am an old man now.

  Tropachev: Why, you are not an old man!

  Karpachov [pointing to Kuzovkin]: You sang and danced.

  Tropachev: Is that so? Hm! I see you are quite a fellow. Now be a friend and . . . [To Eletski.] C’est un peu vulgaire. Well, it’s in the country. [Aloud to Kuzovkin.] What are you waiting for? Start. [Begins to sing.] “On the street . . .” Well, why don’t you start?

  Kuzovkin: Please don’t ask me to do it.

  Tropachev: What an obstinate fellow you are! Eletski, you tell him to do it.

  Eletski [in an undecided tone]: Vasili Semenych, why don’t you want to sing a little now?

  Kuzovkin: My singing days are over, Pavel Nikolaich. Don’t ask me, please.


  Trembinski [listening and smiling at all present]: If I remember, it was at the wedding of his brother, — [pointing to Ivanov] — that you quite distinguished yourself.

  Tropachev: I told you so.

  Trembinski: In a squatting position you danced across the room.

  Teopachev: If that’s the case, you can’t refuse now. Why do you want to insult me and Pavel Nikolaich?

  Kuzovkin: That was of my own free will.

  Tropachev: And now, we are asking you. You must take into consideration that your refusal may be attributed to your lack of appreciation, and the lack of appreciation is a mean vice.

  Kuzovkin: But I have no voice at all, and as far as my lack of appreciation is concerned, I shall remain under obligations to my grave, and I shall be ready to make any sacrifice.

  Tropachev: But we don’t ask any sacrifice from you.

  Just sing us a song — that’s all. Well . . . [Kuzovkin is silent.] Commence.

  Kuzovkin [after a moment’s silence, starts]: “On the street . . .” [but his voice breaks down at the second word]. I can’t, so help me God, I can’t!

  Tropachev: Well, well, don’t be timid!

  Kuzovkin [looking at him]: No, I am not going to sing!

  Tropachev: You will not?

  Kuzovkin: I cannot.

  Tropachev: If that’s the case, do you see this glass of champagne? I’ll pour it down the back of your collar!

  Kuzovkin [with some little agitation]: You wouldn’t do that! I haven’t deserved it. No one ever allowed himself . . . Please, that isn’t nice.

  Eletski [to Tropachev]: Finissez . . . You see he’s quite upset.

  Tropachev [to Kuzovkin]: You don’t want to sing?

  Kuzovkin: I cannot sing!

  Tropachev: You don’t want to? [Goes up to him.] One . . .

  Kuzovkin [pleadingly to Eletski]: Pavel Nikolaich . . .

  Tropachev: Two . . . [Going up nearer to Kuzovkin.]

  Kuzovkin [stepping backward, mournfully and with some despair]: Please! Why do you behave like that towards me? I don’t even have the honor of knowing you. . . . And I am, as it were, a nobleman myself. Please take note of that. And I cannot sing! You saw it yourself. . . .

  Tropachev: For the last time . . .

  Kuzovkin: Enough, I tell you. ... I am not your clown!

  Tropachev: Is it so unusual for you to be one?

  Kuzovkin [a little hotly]: Find another clown for yourself!

  Eletski: Really, leave him alone.

  Teopachev: Why, he used to be your father - in - law’s clown.

  Kuzovkin: That’s a matter of the past. [Wiping his face.] And my head doesn’t seem to work right to - day somehow.

  Eletski: Well, just as you please about it.

  Kuzovkin [somewhat downcast]: Don’t be angry with me, Pavel Nikolaich.

  Eletski: What makes you think that I am angry?

  Kuzovkin: Some other time I might do it with pleasure. [Trying to assume a jolly aspect.] But now, be so magnanimous as to pardon me if I have transgressed somewhat. I got a little excited, gentlemen, but what could I do? I am old, and out of the habit of drinking.

  Teopachev: Well, drink this glass at least.

  Kuzovkin [joyfully]: With pleasure. With great pleasure. [Takes the glass and drinks.] To the health of the esteemed and dear arrival . . .

  Teopachev: And won’t you sing for us now?

  Kuzovkin [the wine beginning to show its effect on him, and increasing as he drinks the last glass]: So help me God, I can’t! [Laughs.] In years gone by, I sang no worse than others, but now times have changed. Who am I now? A nonentity. The same as he. . . . [Pointing to Ivanov and laughing.] Now I am good for nothing. However, you’ll pardon me. I am old — that’s what is the matter with me. All I have drunk to - day is two or three glasses, but there is something wrong up here. [Points to his head.]

  Teopachev [who, in the meantime, has been whispering to Karpachov]: That’s only the way it seems to you. [Karpachov goes away and takes Petr with him.] Why didn’t you finish telling us your story?

  Kuzovkin: That’s right, that’s right — I didn’t finish it. If you want me to, I’m ready. [Laughs.] But be a little indulgent. Permit me to sit down. My legs refuse to hold me up.

  Tropachev [hands him a chair]: Sit down, sit down.

  Kuzovkin [sits down with his face towards the audience and speaks slowly, growing more drunk quickly]: Where did I stop? Oh, yes! Hanginmeister. Hanginmeister is a German — that’s understood. What did he care? He worked in the commissary department, and stole all there was. Then he said that the note was his too, and I am a nobleman. But what did I want to say? Oh, yes, he said, “Either pay or make me possessor of the estate. Either pay or make me possessor of the estate. Either pay or make me possessor of the estate . . .”

  Tropachev: You are asleep, my dear fellow. Wake up!

  Kuzovkin [wakes up a little, then falls into a sleeping condition again. He speaks with some effort]: Who — I? What makes you think . . . But that doesn’t matter. I am not sleeping. People sleep nighttime, now, now it’s daytime. Hanginmeister — this Hanginmeister, Hanginmeister, he is my real enemy. People tell me about this and that ... but I say, Hanginmeister. Hanginmeister is the man who stands in my way. Karpachov enters vrith a huge clown’s cap made of blue, stiff paper, and after having winked at Tropachev, he stealthily walks up in the rear of Kuzovkin. Trembinski is bursting with laughter. Ivanov, pale and down - hearted, looks out from under lowered brows.] And I know why he doesn’t like me. I know he spoiled my whole life, this Hanginmeister. From my very childhood . . . [Karpachov carefully puts the cap on Kuzovkin.] But I forgive him. May the Lord be with him! May the Lord be with him . . . [Everybody is giggling. Kuzovkin stops talking, and perplexedly looks around him. Ivanov goes up to him, takes hold of his hand, and whispers to him, “Look what they’ve put on your head. They are making a clovm out of you.” Kuzovkin lifts his hand up to his head, feels the cap, and slowly puts his hand down over his face, closes his eyes, and suddenly begins to wvep, murmuring.] Why, why, why? [But he does not take off the cap.]

  [Tropachev, Trembinski, and Karpachov continue to laugh. Pete also laughs, and looks in through the door.]

  Eletski: Enough, Vasili Semenych. Aren’t you ashamed to cry over a little nonsense like this?

  Kuzovkin [taking his hand away from his face]: A little nonsense! No, that’s not nonsense, Pavel Nikolaich. [Gets up and throws the cap on the floor.] On the first day of your arrival ... On the first day . . . [His voice breaks down.] That’s the way you behave towards an old man — towards an old man, Pavel Nikolaich. That’s the way! Why, why do you besmirch me like that? What have I done to you? I have awaited your arrival with the greatest joy . . . Why, Pavel Nikolaich . . .?

  Tropachev: Well, well, what is the matter with you anyway?

  Kuzovkin [growing paler and letting himself go]: I am not talking to you. You permitted yourself to make a fool of me, and you are glad. I am addressing you, Pavel Nikolaich. Because your deceased father - in - law permitted himself to joke with me a little, for the bread that he gave me and the clothes, that doesn’t follow that you ought to do the same. Yes, for his presents I paid with my blood, with bitter tears. Well do you envy me too? Oh, Pavel Nikolaich, it’s a shame, it’s a shame, for men like you . . . And you are considered an educated man from the capital.

  Eletski [haughtily]: Listen,’ it seems that you have forgotten yourself. Go into your room and sleep it off. You are drunk. You can hardly stand up.

  Kuzovkin [losing control of himself more and more]: I’ll sleep it off, Pavel Nikolaich. Possibly I am drunk, but who got me drunk. But that isn’t the point, Pavel Nikolaich. Take note of this: You have poked fun at me in the presence of everybody. You have besmirched me. The very first day of your arrival, and if I should want to, if I should want to say one word . . .

  Ivanov [semi - audibly]: Bethink yourself, Vasili.

  Kuzovkin: Let me alone. Yes, my dear
sir, if I should want to . . .

  Eletski: Oh, he’s drunk. He doesn’t know what he is talking about.

  Kuzovkin: I beg your pardon, I am drunk, but I know what I’m talking about. You are now a great man, an official, an educated man, and I am a clown, a fool — I am not worth a copper, I am a beggar, I eat the bread of charity, but do you know who I am? You married . . . Whom did you marry?

  Eletski [starts to take Tropachev away]: I beg your pardon, I didn’t expect such nonsense.

  Tropachev: I must confess I didn’t either.

  Eletski [to Trembinski]: Take him out of here, please. [Starts to go into the reception - room.]

  Kuzovkin: Wait a minute, my dear sir. You haven’t told me yet whom you married.