A Desperate Character Page #6

"A Desperate Character" is a short story by Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev that explores themes of love, longing, and the complexity of human emotions. The narrative centers around a young woman named Zinaida, who finds herself trapped in a tumultuous relationship with a man entangled in despair and existential angst. The story delves into the inner turmoil of its characters, capturing the essence of unfulfilled desires and the contradictions of the human condition. Turgenev's poignant prose and keen psychological insight invite readers to reflect on the intricacies of love and the depths of desperation.

• Novel

								

now we are all rejoicing and making merry! ... Uncle! Do you know it's
only with beggars, God's people, that one can live in the world ... by
God, it is!'

I made him no answer ... but at that moment he struck me as such
a kind good creature, his face expressed such childlike
simple-heartedness.... A light seemed suddenly as it were to dawn upon
me, and I felt a pang in my heart.... 'Get into the carriage,' I said
to him. He was taken aback....

'What? Into the carriage?'

'Yes, get in, get in,' I repeated; 'I want to make you a suggestion. Sit
down.... Come along with me.'

'Well, as you will.' He sat down. 'Well, and you, my honoured friends,
my dear comrades,' he added, addressing the beggars, 'fare-well, till we
meet again.' Misha took off his high cap, and bowed low. The beggars all
seemed overawed.... I told the coachman to whip up the horses, and the
carriage rolled off.

The suggestion I wanted to make Misha was this: the idea suddenly
occurred to me to take him with me to my home in the country, about
five-and-twenty miles from that station, to rescue him, or at least to
make an effort to rescue him. 'Listen, Misha,' I said; 'will you come
along and live with me? ... You shall have everything provided you; you
shall have clothes and linen made you; you shall be properly fitted out,
and you shall have money to spend on tobacco, and so on, only on one
condition, that you give up drink.... Do you agree?'

Misha was positively aghast with delight; he opened his eyes wide,
flushed crimson, and suddenly falling on my shoulder, began kissing me,
and repeating in a broken voice, 'Uncle ... benefactor ... God reward
you.' ... He burst into tears at last, and taking off his cap fell to
wiping his eyes, his nose, his lips with it.

'Mind,' I observed; 'remember the condition, not to touch strong drink.'

'Damnation to it!' he cried, with a wave of both arms, and with this
impetuous movement, I was more than ever conscious of the strong smell
of spirits with which he seemed always saturated.... 'Uncle, if you
knew what my life has been.... If it hadn't been for sorrow, a cruel
fate.... But now I swear, I swear, I will mend my ways, I will show
you.... Uncle, I've never told a lie--you can ask whom you like.... I'm
honest, but I'm an unlucky fellow, uncle; I've known no kindness from
any one....'

Here he broke down finally into sobs. I tried to soothe him, and
succeeded so far that when we reached home Misha had long been lost in a
heavy sleep, with his head on my knees.

VII

He was at once assigned a room for himself, and at once, first thing,
taken to the bath, which was absolutely essential. All his clothes, and
his dagger and cap and torn boots, were carefully put away in a loft; he
was dressed in clean linen, slippers, and some clothes of mine, which,
as is always the way with poor relations, at once seemed to adapt
themselves to his size and figure. When he came to table, washed, clean,
and fresh, he seemed so touched and happy, he beamed all over with such
joyful gratitude, that I too felt moved and joyful.... His face was
completely transformed.... Boys of twelve have faces like that on Easter
Sundays, after the communion, when, thickly pomaded, in new jacket and
starched collars, they come to exchange Easter greetings with their
parents. Misha was continually--with a sort of cautious
incredulity--feeling himself and repeating: 'What does it mean? ... Am I
in heaven?' The next day he announced that he had not slept all night,
he had been in such ecstasy.

I had living in my house at that time an old aunt with her niece; both
of them were extremely disturbed when they heard of Misha's presence;
they could not comprehend how I could have asked him into my house!
There were very ugly rumours about him. But in the first place, I knew
he was always very courteous with ladies; and, secondly, I counted on
his promises of amendment. And, in fact, for the first two days of his
stay under my roof Misha not merely justified my expectations but
surpassed them, while the ladies of the household were simply enchanted
with him. He played piquet with the old lady, helped her to wind her
worsted, showed her two new games of patience; for the niece, who had a
small voice, he played accompaniments on the piano, and read Russian and
French poetry. He told both the ladies lively but discreet anecdotes; in
fact, he showed them every attention, so that they repeatedly expressed
their surprise to me, and the old lady even observed how unjust people
sometimes were.... The things--the things they had said of him ... and
he such a quiet fellow, and so polite ... poor Misha! It is true that at
table 'poor Misha' licked his lips in a rather peculiar, hurried way, if
he simply glanced at the bottle. But I had only to shake my finger at
him, and he would turn his eyes upwards, and lay his hand on his
heart ... as if to say, I have sworn.... 'I am regenerated now,' he
assured me.... 'Well, God grant it be so,' was my thought.... But
this regeneration did not last long.

The first two days he was very talkative and cheerful. But even on the
third day he seemed somehow subdued, though he remained, as before, with
the ladies and tried to entertain them. A half mournful, half dreamy
expression flitted now and then over his face, and the face itself was
paler and looked thinner. 'Are you unwell?' I asked him.

'Yes,' he answered; 'my head aches a little.' On the fourth day he was
completely silent; for the most part he sat in a corner, hanging his
head disconsolately, and his dejected appearance worked upon the
compassionate sympathies of the two ladies, who now, in their turn,
tried to amuse him. At table he ate nothing, stared at his plate, and
rolled up pellets of bread. On the fifth day the feeling of compassion
in the ladies began to be replaced by other emotions--uneasiness and
even alarm. Misha was so strange, he held aloof from people, and kept
moving along close to the walls, as though trying to steal by unnoticed,
and suddenly looking round as though some one had called him. And what
had become of his rosy colour? It seemed covered over by a layer of
earth. 'Are you still unwell?' I asked him.

'No, I'm all right,' he answered abruptly.

'Are you dull?'

'Why should I be dull?' But he turned away and would not look me
in the face.

'Or is it that wretchedness come over you again?' To this he made no
reply. So passed another twenty-four hours.

Next day my aunt ran into my room in a state of great excitement,
declaring that she would leave the house with her niece, if Misha was to
remain in it.

'Why so?'

'Why, we are dreadfully scared with him.... He's not a man, he's a
wolf,--nothing better than a wolf. He keeps moving and moving about, and
doesn't speak--and looks so wild.... He almost gnashes his teeth at me.
My Katia, you know, is so nervous.... She was so struck with him the
first day.... I'm in terror for her, and indeed for myself too.' ... I
didn't know what to say to my aunt. I couldn't, anyway, turn Misha out,
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