Andrei Kolosov Page #5

"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.

• Novel

								

silence, and jealously and shyly concealed it. I myself enjoyed this
agonising ferment of silent passion. My sufferings did not rob me of my
sleep, nor of my appetite; but for whole days together I was conscious
of that peculiar physical sensation in my breast which is a symptom of
the presence of love. I am incapable of depicting the conflict of
various sensations which took place within me when, for example,
Kolosov came in from the garden with Varia, and her whole face was
aglow with ecstatic devotion, exhaustion from excess of bliss.... She
so completely lived in his life, was so completely taken up with him,
that unconsciously she adopted his ways, looked as he looked, laughed
as he laughed.... I can imagine the moments she passed with Andrei, the
raptures she owed to him.... While he ... Kolosov did not lose his
freedom; in her absence he did not, I suppose, even think of her; he
was still the same unconcerned, gay, and happy fellow we had always
known him.

And, as I have already told you, we used, Kolosov and I, to go pretty
often to Ivan Semyonitch's. Sometimes, when he was out of humour, the
retired lieutenant did not make me sit down to cards; on such
occasions, he would shrink into a corner in silence, scowling and
looking crossly at every one. The first time I was delighted at his
letting me off so easily; but afterwards I would sometimes begin myself
begging him to sit down to whist, the part of third person was so
insupportable! I was so unpleasantly in Kolosov's and Varia's way,
though they did assure each other that there was no need to mind me!...

Meanwhile time went on.... They were happy.... I have no great fondness
for describing other people's happiness. But then I began to notice
that Varia's childish ecstasy had gradually given way to a more
womanly, more restless feeling. I began to surmise that the new song
was being sung to the old tune--that is, that Kolosov was...little by
little...cooling. This discovery, I must own, delighted me; I did not
feel, I must confess, the slightest indignation against Andrei.

The intervals between our visits became longer and longer.... Varia
began to meet us with tear-stained eyes. Reproaches were heard ...
Sometimes I asked Kolosov with affected indifference, 'Well, shall we
go to Ivan Semyonitch's to-day?' ... He looked coldly at me, and
answered quietly, 'No, we're not going.' I sometimes fancied that he
smiled slily when he spoke to me of Varia.... I failed generally to
fill Gavrilov's place with him.... Gavrilov was a thousand times more
good-natured and foolish than I.

Now allow me a slight digression.... When I spoke of my university
comrades, I did not mention a certain Mr. Shtchitov. He was
five-and-thirty; he had been a student for ten years already. I can see
even now his rather long pale face, his little brown eyes, his long
hawk nose crooked at the end, his thin sarcastic lips, his solemn
upstanding shock of hair, and his chin that lost itself complacently in
the wide striped cravat of the colour of a raven's wing, the shirt
front with bronze buttons, the open blue frock-coat and striped
waistcoat.... I can hear his unpleasantly jarring laugh.... He went
everywhere, was conspicuous at all possible kinds of 'dancing classes.'
... I remember I could not listen to his cynical stories without a
peculiar shudder.... Kolosov once compared him to an unswept Russian
refreshment bar ... a horrible comparison! And with all that, there was
a lot of intelligence, common sense, observation, and wit in the
man.... He sometimes impressed us by some saying so apt, so true and
cutting, that we were all involuntarily reduced to silence and looked
at him with amazement. But, to be sure, it is just the same to a
Russian whether he has uttered an absurdity or a clever thing.
Shtchitov was especially dreaded by those self-conscious, dreamy, and
not particularly gifted youths who spend whole days in painfully
hatching a dozen trashy lines of verse and reading them in sing-song to
their 'friends,' and who despise every sort of positive science. One
such he simply drove out of Moscow, by continually repeating to him two
of his own lines. Yet all the while Shtchitov himself did nothing and
learnt nothing.... But that's all in the natural order of things. Well,
Shtchitov, God only knows why, began jeering at my romantic attachment
to Kolosov. The first time, with noble indignation, I told him to go to
the devil; the second time, with chilly contempt, I informed him that
he was not capable of judging of our friendship--but I did not send him
away; and when, on taking leave of me, he observed that without
Kolosov's permission I didn't even dare to praise him, I felt annoyed;
Shtchitov's last words sank into my heart.--For more than a fortnight I
had not seen Varia.... Pride, love, a vague anticipation, a number of
different feelings were astir within me ... with a wave of the hand and
a fearful sinking at my heart, I set off alone to Ivan Semyonitch's.

I don't know how I made my way to the familiar little house; I remember
I sat down several times by the road to rest, not from fatigue, but
from emotion. I went into the passage, and had not yet had time to
utter a single word when the door of the drawing-room flew open and
Varia ran to meet me. 'At last,' she said, in a quavering voice;
'where's Andrei Nikolaevitch?' 'Kolosov has not come,' I muttered with
an effort. 'Not come!' she repeated. 'Yes ... he told me to tell you
that ... he was detained....' I positively did not know what I was
saying, and I did not dare to raise my eyes. Varia stood silent and
motionless before me. I glanced at her: she turned away her head; two
big tears rolled slowly down her cheeks. In the expression of her face
there was such sudden, bitter suffering; the conflict between
bashfulness, sorrow, and confidence in me was so simply, so touchingly
apparent in the unconscious movement of her poor little head that it
sent a pang to my heart. I bent a little forward ... she gave a hurried
start and ran away. In the parlour I was met by Ivan Semyonitch. 'How's
this, my good sir, are you alone?' he asked me, with a queer twitch of
his left eyelid. 'Yes, I've come alone,' I stammered. Sidorenko went
off into a sudden guffaw and departed into the next room.

I had never been in such a foolish position; it was too devilishly
disgusting! But there was nothing to be done. I began walking up and
down the room. 'What was the fat pig laughing at?' I wondered. Matrona
Semyonovna came into the room with a stocking in her hands and sat down
in the window. I began talking to her. Meanwhile tea was brought in.
Varia came downstairs, pale and sorrowful. The retired lieutenant made
jokes about Kolosov. 'I know,' said he, 'what sort of customer he is;
you couldn't tempt him here with lollipops now, I expect!' Varia
hurriedly got up and went away. Ivan Semyonitch looked after her and
gave a sly whistle. I glanced at him in perplexity. 'Can it be,' I
wondered, 'that he knows all about it?' And the lieutenant, as though
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