Old Portraits Page #6

"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.

								

to her, half a score of times in a day, a Chinese plate now with
candied rose-leaves, again with barberries in honey, or orange sherbet.
Malánya Pávlovna feared solitude--dreadful thoughts come then--and was
almost constantly surrounded by female hangers-on whom she urgently
entreated: "Talk, talk! Why do you sit there and do nothing but warm
your seats?"--and they began to twitter like canary-birds. Being no less
devout than Alexyéi Sergyéitch, she was very fond of praying; but as,
according to her own words, she had not learned to recite prayers well,
she kept for that purpose the widow of a deacon, who prayed so tastily!
She would never stumble to all eternity! And, in fact, that deacon's
widow understood how to utter prayerful words in an irrepressible sort
of way, without a break even when she inhaled or exhaled her breath--and
Malánya Pávlovna listened and melted with emotion. She had another widow
also attached to her service; the latter's duty consisted in telling her
stories at night,--"but only old ones," entreated Malánya Pávlovna,
"those I already know; all the new ones are spurious."

Malánya Pávlovna was very frivolous and sometimes suspicious. All of a
sudden she would take some idea into her head. She did not like the
dwarf Janus, for example; it always seemed to her as though he would
suddenly start in and begin to shriek: "But do you know who I am? A
Buryát Prince! So, then, submit!"--And if she did not, he would set fire
to the house out of melancholy. Malánya Pávlovna was as lavish as
Alexyéi Sergyéitch; but she never gave money--she did not wish to soil
her pretty little hands--but kerchiefs, ear-rings, gowns, ribbons, or
she would send a patty from the table, or a bit of the roast, or if not
that, a glass of wine. She was also fond of regaling the peasant-women
on holidays. They would begin to dance, and she would click her heels
and strike an attitude.

Alexyéi Sergyéitch was very well aware that his wife was stupid; but he
had trained himself, almost from the first year of his married life, to
pretend that she was very keen of tongue and fond of saying stinging
things. As soon as she got to chattering he would immediately shake his
little finger at her and say: "Okh, what a naughty little tongue! What a
naughty little tongue! Won't it catch it in the next world! It will be
pierced with red-hot needles!"--But Malánya Pávlovna did not take
offence at this; on the contrary, she seemed to feel flattered at
hearing such remarks--as much as to say: "Well, I can't help it! It
isn't my fault that I was born witty!"

Malánya Pávlovna worshipped her husband, and all her life remained an
exemplary and faithful wife. But there had been an "object" in her life
also, a young nephew, a hussar, who had been slain, so she assumed, in
a duel on her account---but, according to more trustworthy information,
he had died from a blow received on the head from a billiard-cue, in
tavern company. The water-colour portrait of this "object" was preserved
by her in a secret casket. Malánya Pávlovna crimsoned to the very ears
every time she alluded to Kapítonushka--that was the "object's"
name;--while Alexyéi Sergyéitch scowled intentionally, again menaced his
wife with his little finger and said, "Trust not a horse in the meadow,
a wife in the house! Okh, that Kapítonushka, Kupidónushka!"--Then
Malánya Pávlovna bristled up all over and exclaimed:

"Alexis, shame on you, Alexis!--You yourself probably flirted with
divers little ladies in your youth--and so you take it for granted...."

"Come, that will do, that will do, Malániushka," Alexyéi Sergyéitch
interrupted her, with a smile;--"thy gown is white, and thy soul is
whiter still!"

"It is whiter, Alexis; it is whiter!"

"Okh, what a naughty little tongue, on my honour, what a naughty little
tongue!" repeated Alexyéi Sergyéitch, tapping her on the cheek.

To mention Malánya Pávlovna's "convictions" would be still more out of
place than to mention those of Alexyéi Sergyéitch; but I once chanced to
be the witness of a strange manifestation of my aunt's hidden feelings.
I once chanced, in the course of conversation, to mention the well-known
Sheshkóvsky.[44] Malánya Pávlovna suddenly became livid in the face,--as
livid as a corpse,--turned green, despite the layer of paint and powder,
and in a dull, entirely-genuine voice (which very rarely happened with
her--as a general thing she seemed always somewhat affected, assumed an
artificial tone and lisped) said: "Okh! whom hast thou mentioned! And at
nightfall, into the bargain!--Don't utter that name!" I was amazed; what
significance could that name possess for such an inoffensive and
innocent being, who would not have known how to devise, much less to
execute, anything reprehensible?--This alarm, which revealed itself
after a lapse of nearly half a century, induced in me reflections which
were not altogether cheerful.

Alexyéi Sergyéitch died in his eighty-eighth year, in the year 1848,
which evidently disturbed even him. And his death was rather strange.
That morning he had felt well, although he no longer quitted his
arm-chair at all. But suddenly he called to his wife: "Malániushka, come
hither!"

"What dost thou want, Alexis?"

"It is time for me to die, that's what, my darling."

"God be with you, Alexyéi Sergyéitch! Why so?"

"This is why. In the first place, one must show moderation; and more
than that; I was looking at my legs a little while ago ... they were
strange legs--and that settles it!--I looked at my hands---and those
were strange also! I looked at my belly--and the belly belonged to some
one else!--Which signifies that I am devouring some other person's
life.[45] Send for the priest; and in the meanwhile, lay me on my bed,
from which I shall not rise again."

Malánya Pávlovna was in utter consternation, but she put the old man to
bed, and sent for the priest. Alexyéi Sergyéitch made his confession,
received the holy communion, took leave of the members of his household,
and began to sink into a stupor. Malánya Pávlovna was sitting beside his
bed.

"Alexis!" she suddenly shrieked, "do not frighten me, do not close thy
dear eyes! Hast thou any pain?"

The old man looked at his wife.--"No, I have no pain ... but I find
it ... rather difficult ... difficult to breathe." Then, after a brief
pause:--"Malániushka," he said, "now life has galloped past--but dost
thou remember our wedding ... what a fine young couple we were?"

"We were, my beauty, Alexis my incomparable one!"

Again the old man remained silent for a space.

"And shall we meet again in the other world, Malániushka?"

"I shall pray to God that we may, Alexis."--And the old woman burst into
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