Old Portraits Page #7

"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.

								

tears.

"Come, don't cry, silly one; perchance the Lord God will make us young
again there--and we shall again be a fine young pair!"

"He will make us young, Alexis!"

"Everything is possible to Him, to the Lord," remarked Alexyéi
Sergyéitch.--"He is a worker of wonders!--I presume He will make thee a
clever woman also.... Come, my dear, I was jesting; give me thy hand to
kiss."

"And I will kiss thine."

And the two old people kissed each other's hands.

Alexyéi Sergyéitch began to quiet down and sink into a comatose state.
Malánya Pávlovna gazed at him with emotion, brushing the tears from her
eyelashes with the tip of her finger. She sat thus for a couple of
hours.

"Has he fallen asleep?" asked in a whisper the old woman who knew how to
pray so tastily, peering out from behind Irinárkh, who was standing as
motionless as a pillar at the door, and staring intently at his dying
master.

"Yes," replied Malánya Pávlovna, also in a whisper. And suddenly Alexyéi
Sergyéitch opened his eyes.

"My faithful companion," he stammered, "my respected spouse, I would
like to bow myself to thy feet for all thy love and faithfulness--but
how am I to rise? Let me at least sign thee with the cross."

Malánya Pávlovna drew nearer, bent over.... But the hand which had been
raised fell back powerless on the coverlet, and a few moments later
Alexyéi Sergyéitch ceased to be.

His daughters with their husbands only arrived in time for the funeral;
neither one of them had any children. Alexyéi Sergyéitch had not
discriminated against them in his will, although he had not referred to
them on his death-bed.

"My heart is locked against them," he had said to me one day. Knowing
his kind-heartedness, I was surprised at his words.--It is a difficult
matter to judge between parents and children.--"A vast ravine begins
with a tiny rift," Alexyéi Sergyéitch had said to me on another
occasion, referring to the same subject. "A wound an arshín long will
heal over, but if you cut off so much as a nail, it will not grow
again!"

I have an idea that the daughters were ashamed of their eccentric old
folks.

A month later Malánya Pávlovna expired also. She hardly rose from her
bed again after the day of Alexyéi Sergyéitch's death, and did not
array herself; but they buried her in the blue jacket, and with the
medal of Orlóff on her shoulder, only minus the diamonds. The daughters
shared those between them, under the pretext that those diamonds were to
be used for the setting of holy pictures; but as a matter of fact they
used them to adorn their own persons.

And now how vividly do my old people stand before me, and what a good
memory I cherish of them! And yet, during my very last visit to them (I
was already a student at the time) an incident occurred which injected
some discord into the harmoniously-patriarchal mood with which the
Telyégin house inspired me.

Among the number of the household serfs was a certain Iván, nicknamed
"Sukhíkh--the coachman, or the little coachman, as he was called, on
account of his small size, in spite of his years, which were not few. He
was a tiny scrap of a man, nimble, snub-nosed, curly-haired, with a
perennial smile on his infantile countenance, and little, mouse-like
eyes. He was a great joker and buffoon; he was able to acquire any
trick; he set off fireworks, snakes, played all card-games, galloped his
horse while standing erect on it, flew higher than any one else in the
swing, and even knew how to present Chinese shadows. There was no one
who could amuse children better than he, and he would have been only
too glad to occupy himself with them all day long. When he got to
laughing he set the whole house astir. People would answer him from this
point and that--every one would join in.... They would both abuse him
and laugh.--Iván danced marvellously--especially 'the fish.'--The chorus
would thunder out a dance tune, the young fellow would step into the
middle of the circle, and begin to leap and twist about and stamp his
feet, and then come down with a crash on the ground--and there represent
the movements of a fish which has been thrown out of the water upon the
dry land; and he would writhe about this way and that, and even bring
his heels up to his neck; and then, when he sprang to his feet and began
to shout, the earth would simply tremble beneath him! Alexyéi Sergyéitch
was extremely fond of choral songs and dances, as I have already said;
he could never refrain from shouting: 'Send hither Vániushka! the little
coachman! Give us 'the fish,' be lively!'--and a minute later he would
whisper in ecstasy: 'Akh, what a devil of a man he is!'"

Well, then,--on my last visit this same Iván Sukhíkh comes to me in my
room, and without uttering a word plumps down on his knees.

"What is the matter with thee, Iván?"

"Save me, master!"

"Why, what's the trouble?"

And thereupon Iván related to me his grief.

He had been swapped twenty years previously by the Messrs. Sukhóy for
another serf, a man belonging to the Telyégins--he had simply been
exchanged, without any formalities and documents. The man who had been
given in exchange for him had died, but the Messrs. Sukhóy had forgotten
all about Iván and had left him in Alexyéi Sergyéitch's house as his
property; his nickname alone served as a reminder of his
origin.[46]--But lo and behold! his former owners had died also, their
estate had fallen into other hands, and the new owner, concerning whom
rumours were in circulation to the effect that he was a cruel man, a
torturer, having learned that one of his serfs was to be found at
Alexyéi Sergyéitch's without any passport and right, began to demand his
return; in case of refusal he threatened to have recourse to the courts
and a penalty--and he did not threaten idly, as he himself held the rank
of Privy Councillor,[47] and had great weight in the government.[48]
Iván, in his affright, darted to Alexyéi Sergyéitch. The old man was
sorry for his dancer, and he offered to buy Iván from the privy
councillor at a good price; but the privy councillor would not hear of
such a thing; he was a Little Russian and obstinate as the devil. The
poor fellow had to be surrendered.

"I have got used to living here, I have made myself at home here, I have
eaten bread here, and here I wish to die," Ivan said to me--and there
was no grin on his face now; on the contrary, he seemed turned into
stone.... "But now I must go to that malefactor.... Am I a dog that I am
to be driven from one kennel to another with a slip-noose round my
neck--and a 'take that'? Save me, master; entreat your uncle,--remember
how I have always amused you.... Or something bad will surely come of
it; the matter will not pass off without sin."

"Without what sin, Iván?"

"Why, I will kill that gentleman.--When I arrive I shall say to him:
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