Andrei Kolosov Page #4

"Andrei Kolosov" is a short story by Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev that explores themes of love, longing, and the complexities of human relationships. The narrative follows the titular character, Andrei Kolosov, who grapples with his feelings for a woman he cannot have, revealing the depths of his emotional turmoil and the societal constraints that shape his experiences. Turgenev's lyrical prose captures the nuances of Kolosov's internal struggles, ultimately reflecting on the nature of desire and the bittersweet aspects of life. Through this poignant tale, Turgenev offers a rich exploration of the human condition.

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a little forward, a faint colour kept flitting across her whole face;
from time to time she sighed deeply, suddenly dropped her eyes, and
softly laughed to herself.... I rejoiced for Kolosov.... But at the
same time, deuce take it, I was envious....

After supper, Kolosov and I promptly took up our caps, which did not,
however, prevent the lieutenant from saying, with a yawn: 'You've paid
us a long visit, gentlemen; it's time to say good-bye.' Varia
accompanied Kolosov into the passage: 'When are you coming, Andrei
Nikolaevitch?' she whispered to him. 'In a few days, for certain.'
'Bring him too,' she added, with a very sly smile. 'Of course, of
course.' ... 'Your humble servant!' thought I....

On the way home, I heard the following story. Six months before,
Kolosov had become acquainted with Mr. Sidorenko in a rather queer way.
One rainy evening, Kolosov was returning home from shooting, and had
reached the gate of the city, when suddenly, at no great distance from
the highroad, he heard groans, interspersed with curses. He had a gun;
without thinking long, he made straight for the sound, and found a man
lying on the ground with a dislocated ankle. This man was Mr.
Sidorenko. With great difficulty he got him home, handed him over to
the care of his frightened sister and his daughter, and ran for the
doctor.... Meantime it was nearly morning; Kolosov was almost dropping
with fatigue. With the permission of Matrona Semyonovna, he lay down on
the sofa in the parlour, and slept till eight o'clock. On waking up he
would at once have gone home; but they kept him and gave him some tea.
In the night he had twice succeeded in catching a glimpse of the pale
face of Varvara Ivanovna; he had not particularly noticed her, but in
the morning she made a decidedly agreeable impression on him. Matrona
Semyonovna garrulously praised and thanked Kolosov; Varvara sat silent,
pouring out the tea, glanced at him now and then, and with timid
shame-faced attentiveness handed him first a cup of tea, then the
cream, then the sugar-basin. Meanwhile the lieutenant waked up, loudly
called for his pipe, and after a short pause bawled: 'Sister! hi,
sister!' Matrona Semyonovna went to his bedroom. 'What about
that...what the devil's his name? is he gone?' 'No, I'm still here,'
answered Kolosov, going up to the door; 'are you better now?' 'Yes,'
answered the lieutenant; 'come in here, my good sir.' Kolosov went in.
Sidorenko looked at him, and reluctantly observed: 'Well, thanks; come
sometimes and see me--what's your name? who the devil's to know?'
'Kolosov,' answered Andrei. 'Well, well, come and see us; but it's no
use your sticking on here now, I daresay they're expecting you at
home.' Kolosov retreated, said good-bye to Matrona Semyonovna, bowed to
Varvara Ivanovna, and returned home. From that day he began to visit
Ivan Semyonitch, at first at long intervals, then more and more
frequently. The summer came on; he would sometimes take his gun, put on
his knapsack, and set off as if he were going shooting. He would go to
the retired lieutenant's, and stay on there till evening.

Varvara Ivanovna's father had served twenty-five years in the army, had
saved a small sum of money, and bought himself a few acres of land a
mile and a half from Moscow. He could scarcely read and write; but in
spite of his external clumsiness and coarseness, he was shrewd and
cunning, and even, on occasion, capable of sharp practice, like many
Little Russians. He was a fearful egoist, obstinate as an ox, and in
general exceedingly impolite, especially with strangers; I even
detected in him something like a contempt for the whole human race. He
indulged himself in every caprice, like a spoilt child; would know no
one, and lived for his own pleasure. We were once somehow or other
talking about marriages with him; 'Marriage ... marriage,' said he;
'whom the devil would I let my daughter marry? Eh? what should I do it
for? for her husband to knock her about as I used to my wife? Besides,
whom should I be left with?' Such was the retired lieutenant, Ivan
Semyonitch. Kolosov used to go and see him, not on his account, of
course, but for the sake of his daughter. One fine evening, Andrei was
sitting in the garden with her, chatting about something; Ivan
Semyonitch went up to him, looked sullenly at Varia, and called Andrei
away. 'Listen, my dear fellow,' he said to him; 'you find it good fun,
I see, gossiping with my only child, but I'm dull in my old age; bring
some one with you, or I've nobody to deal a card to; d'ye hear? I
shan't give admittance to you by yourself.' The next day Kolosov turned
up with Gavrilov, and poor Sevastian Sevastianovitch had for a whole
autumn and winter been playing cards in the evenings with the retired
lieutenant; that worthy treated him without ceremony, as it is
called--in other words, fearfully rudely. You now probably realise why
it was that, after Gavrilov's death, Kolosov took me with him to Ivan
Semyonitch's. As he communicated all these details, Kolosov added, 'I
love Varia, she is the dearest girl; she liked you.'

I have forgotten, I fancy, to make known to you that up to that time I
had been afraid of women and avoided them, though I would sometimes, in
solitude, spend whole hours in dreaming of tender interviews, of love,
of mutual love, and so on. Varvara Ivanovna was the first girl with
whom I was forced to talk, by necessity--by necessity it really was.
Varia was an ordinary girl, and yet there are very few such girls in
holy Russia. You will ask me--why so? Because I never noticed in her
anything strained, unnatural, affected; because she was a simple,
candid, rather melancholy creature, because one could never call her 'a
young lady.' I liked her soft smile; I liked her simple-hearted,
ringing little voice, her light and mirthful laugh, her attentive
though by no means 'profound' glances. The child promised nothing; but
you could not help admiring her, as you admire the sudden, soft cry of
the oriole at evening, in the lofty, dark birch-wood. I must confess
that at the present time I should pass by such a creature with some
indifference; I've no taste now for solitary evening strolls, and
orioles; but in those days ...

I've no doubt, gentlemen, that, like all well-educated persons, you
have been in love at least once in the course of your life, and have
learnt from your own experience how love springs up and develops in the
human heart, and therefore I'm not going to enlarge too much on what
took place with me at that time. Kolosov and I used to go pretty often
to Ivan Semyonitch's; and though those damned cards often drove me to
utter despair, still, in the mere proximity of the woman one loves (I
had fallen in love with Varia) there is a sort of strange, sweet,
tormenting joy. I made no effort to suppress this growing feeling;
besides, by the time I had at last brought myself to call the emotion
by its true name, it was already too strong.... I cherished my love in
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