Old Portraits Page #3

"Old Portraits" is a collection of short stories by Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev, exploring themes of nostalgia, memory, and the passage of time. Through a series of rich character studies and evocative settings, Turgenev reflects on the lives and relationships of individuals, often highlighting the impact of the past on the present. The narratives delve into the emotional landscapes of the characters, revealing deep insights into human nature and the fleeting nature of beauty and youth. Turgenev's lyrical prose captures the essence of Russian society in the 19th century, making this work a poignant meditation on life, love, and loss.

								

well-born....) 'I have a matter of business with you.' But I said to him:
'Respected sir, first undo the hooks on thy collar. Otherwise, which God
forbid, thou wilt sneeze! Akh, what will become of thee! What will
become of thee!--Thou wilt burst like a puff-ball.... And I shall be
responsible for it!' And how they drink, those military
gentlemen--o-ho-ho! I generally give orders that they shall be served
with champagne from the Don, because Don champagne and Pontacq are all
the same to them; it slips down their throats so smoothly and so
fast--how are they to distinguish the difference? And here's another
thing: they have begun to suck that sucking-bottle, to smoke tobacco. A
military man will stick that same sucking-bottle under his moustache,
between his lips, and emit smoke through his nostrils, his mouth, and
even his ears--and think himself a hero! There are my horrid
sons-in-law, for example; although one of them is a senator, and the
other is some sort of a curator, they suck at the sucking-bottle
also,--and yet they regard themselves as clever men!..."

Alexyéi Sergyéitch could not endure smoking tobacco, nor dogs,
especially small dogs.--"Come, if thou art a Frenchman, then keep a
lap-dog. Thou runnest, thou skippest hither and thither, and it follows
thee, with its tail in the air ... but of what use is it to fellows like
me?"--He was very neat and exacting. He never spoke of the Empress
Katherine otherwise than with enthusiasm, and in a lofty, somewhat
bookish style: "She was a demi-god, not a human being!--Only contemplate
yon smile, my good sir," he was wont to add, pointing at the Lampi
portrait, "and admit that she was a demi-god! I, in my lifetime, have
been so happy as to have been vouchsafed the bliss of beholding yon
smile, and to all eternity it will never be erased from my heart!"--And
thereupon he would impart anecdotes from the life of Katherine such as
it has never been my lot to read or hear anywhere. Here is one of them.
Alexyéi Sergyéitch did not permit the slightest hint at the failings of
the great Empress. "Yes, and in conclusion," he cried: "is it possible
to judge her as one judges other people?--One day, as she was sitting in
her powder-mantle, at the time of her morning toilet, she gave orders
that her hair should be combed out.... And what happened? The
waiting-woman passes the comb through it, and electric sparks fly from
it in a perfect shower!--Then she called to her the body physician,
Rodgerson, who was present on duty, and says to him: 'I know that people
condemn me for certain actions; but dost thou see this electricity?
Consequently, with such a nature and constitution as mine, thou mayest
thyself judge, for thou art a physician, that it is unjust to condemn
me, but they should understand me!'"

The following incident was ineffaceably retained in the memory of
Alexyéi Sergyéitch. He was standing one day on the inner watch in the
palace, and he was only sixteen years of age. And lo, the Empress passes
him--he presents arms.... "And she," cried Alexyéi Sergyéitch, again with
rapture, "smiling at my youth and my zeal, deigned to give me her hand
to kiss, and patted me on the cheek, and inquired who I was, and whence
I came, and from what family? And then ..." (here the old man's voice
generally broke) ... "then she bade me give my mother her compliments
and thank her for rearing her children so well. And whether I was in
heaven or on earth, and how and whither she withdrew,--whether she
soared up on high, or passed into another room,--I know not to this
day!"

I often tried to question Alexyéi Sergyéitch about those olden days,
about the men who surrounded the Empress.... But he generally evaded the
subject. "What's the use of talking about old times?"--he said ... "one
only tortures himself. One says to himself,--'Thou wert a young man
then, but now thy last teeth have vanished from thy mouth.' And there's
no denying it--the old times were good ... well, and God be with them!
And as for those men--I suppose, thou fidgety child, that thou art
talking about the accidental men? Thou hast seen a bubble spring forth
on water? So long as it is whole and lasts, what beautiful colours play
upon it! Red and yellow and blue; all one can say is, ''Tis a rainbow
or a diamond!'--But it soon bursts, and no trace of it remains. And
that's what those men were like."

"Well, and how about Potyómkin?" I asked one day.

Alexyéi Sergyéitch assumed a pompous mien. "Potyómkin, Grigóry
Alexándritch, was a statesman, a theologian, a nursling of Katherine's,
her offspring, one must say.... But enough of that, my little sir!"

Alexyéi Sergyéitch was a very devout man and went to church regularly,
although it was beyond his strength. There was no superstition
perceptible in him; he ridiculed signs, the evil eye, and other
"twaddle," yet he did not like it when a hare ran across his path, and
it was not quite agreeable for him to meet a priest.[34] He was very
respectful to ecclesiastical persons, nevertheless, and asked their
blessing, and even kissed their hand every time, but he talked with them
reluctantly.--"They emit a very strong odour," he explained; "but I,
sinful man that I am, have grown effeminate beyond measure;--their hair
is so long[35] and oily, and they comb it out in all directions,
thinking thereby to show me respect, and they clear their throats loudly
in the middle of conversation, either out of timidity or because they
wish to please me in that way also. Well, but they remind me of my hour
of death. But be that as it may, I want to live a while longer. Only,
little sir, don't repeat these remarks of mine; respect the
ecclesiastical profession--only fools do not respect it; and I am to
blame for talking nonsense in my old age."

Alexyéi Sergyéitch had received a scanty education,[36] like all nobles
of that epoch; but he had completed it, to a certain degree, by reading.
He read only Russian books of the end of the last century; he considered
the newer writers unleavened and weak in style. During his reading he
placed beside him, on a round, one-legged little table, a silver jug
filled with a special effervescent kvas flavoured with mint, whose
pleasant odour disseminated itself through all the rooms. He placed
large, round spectacles on the tip of his nose; but in his later years
he did not so much read as stare thoughtfully over the rims of the
spectacles, elevating his brows, mowing with his lips and sighing. Once
I caught him weeping, with a book on his knees, which greatly surprised
me, I admit.

He recalled the following wretched doggerel:

    O all-conquering race of man!
    Rest is unknown to thee!
    Thou findest it only
    When thou swallowest the dust of the grave....
    Bitter, bitter is this rest!
    Sleep, ye dead.... But weep, ye living!

These verses were composed by a certain Górmitch-Gormítzky, a roving
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