Old Portraits Page #8

"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.

								

'Let me go back, master; otherwise, look out, beware.... I will kill
you.'"

If a chaffinch or a bullfinch could talk and had begun to assure me that
it would claw another bird, it would not have caused me greater
astonishment than did Iván on that occasion.--What! Ványa Sukhíkh, that
dancer, jester, buffoon, that favourite of the children, and a child
himself--that kindest-hearted of beings--a murderer! What nonsense! I
did not believe him for a single moment. I was startled in the extreme
that he should have been able to utter such a word! Nevertheless, I
betook myself to Alexyéi Sergyéitch. I did not repeat to him what Iván
had said to me, but I tried in every way to beg him to see whether he
could not set the matter right.

"My little sir," the old man replied to me, "I would be only too
delighted, but how can I?--I have offered that Topknot[49] huge
remuneration. I offered him three hundred rubles, I assure thee on my
honour! but in vain. What is one to do? We had acted illegally, on
faith, after the ancient fashion ... and now see what a bad thing has
come of it! I am sure that Topknot will take Iván from me by force the
first thing we know; he has a strong hand, the Governor eats sour
cabbage-soup with him--the Topknot will send a soldier! I'm afraid of
those soldiers! In former days, there's no denying it, I would have
defended Iván,--but just look at me now, how decrepit I have grown. How
am I to wage war?"--And, in fact, during my last visit I found that
Alexyéi Sergyéitch had aged very greatly; even the pupils of his eyes
had acquired a milky hue--like that in infants--and on his lips there
appeared not the discerning smile of former days, but that
strainedly-sweet, unconscious smirk which never leaves the faces of very
old people even in their sleep.

I imparted Alexyéi Sergyéitch's decision to Iván. He stood a while, held
his peace, and shook his head.--"Well," he said at last, "what is fated
to be cannot be avoided. Only my word is firm. That is to say: only one
thing remains for me ... play the wag to the end.--Master, please give
me something for liquor!" I gave it; he drank himself drunk--and on that
same day he danced "the fish" in such wise that the maidens and married
women fairly squealed with delight, so whimsically amusing was he.

The next day I went home, and three months later--when I was already in
Petersburg--I learned that Iván had actually kept his word!--He had been
sent to his new master; his master had summoned him to his study and
announced to him that he was to serve as his coachman, that he entrusted
him with a tróika of Vyátka horses,[50] and that he should exact a
strict account from him if he treated them badly, and, in general, if he
were not punctual.--"I'm not fond of jesting," he said.--Iván listened
to his master, first made obeisance to his very feet, and then informed
him that it was as his mercy liked, but he could not be his
servant.--"Release me on quit-rent, Your High-Born," he said, "or make a
soldier of me; otherwise there will be a catastrophe before long."

The master flared up.--"Akh, damn thee! What is this thou darest to say
to me?--Know, in the first place, that I am 'Your Excellency,' and not
'Your High-Born'; in the second place, thou art beyond the age, and thy
size is not such that I can hand thee over as a soldier; and, in
conclusion,--what calamity art thou threatening me with? Art thou
preparing to commit arson?"

"No, your Excellency, not to commit arson."

"To kill me, then, pray?"

Iván maintained a stubborn silence.--"I will not be your servant," he
said at last.

"Here, then, I'll show thee," roared the gentleman, "whether thou wilt
be my servant or not!"--And after having cruelly flogged Iván, he
nevertheless ordered that the tróika of Vyátka horses should be placed
in his charge, and appointed him a coachman at the stables.

Iván submitted, to all appearances; he began to drive as coachman. As he
was a proficient in that line his master speedily took a fancy to
him,--the more so as Iván behaved very discreetly and quietly, and the
horses throve under his care; he tended them so that they became as
plump as cucumbers,--one could never leave off admiring them! The master
began to drive out more frequently with him than with the other
coachmen. He used to ask: "Dost thou remember, Iván, how unpleasant was
thy first meeting with me? I think thou hast got rid of thy folly?" But
to these words Iván never made any reply.

So, then, one day, just before the Epiphany, the master set out for the
town with Iván in his tróika with bells, in a broad sledge lined with
rugs. The horses began to ascend a hill at a walk, while Iván descended
from the box and went back to the sledge, as though he had dropped
something.--The cold was very severe. The master sat there all wrapped
up, and with his beaver cap drawn down over his ears. Then Iván pulled a
hatchet out from under the skirts of his coat, approached his master
from behind, knocked off his cap, and saying: "I warned thee, Piótr
Petróvitch--now thou hast thyself to thank for this!"--he laid open his
head with one slash. Then he brought the horses to a standstill, put the
cap back on his murdered master's head, and again mounting the box, he
drove him to the town, straight to the court-house.

"Here's the general from Sukhóy for you, murdered; and I killed him.--I
told him I would do it, and I have done it. Bind me!"

They seized Iván, tried him, condemned him to the knout and then to
penal servitude.--The merry, bird-like dancer reached the mines--and
there vanished forever....

Yes; involuntarily--although in a different sense,--one repeats with
Alexyéi Sergyéitch:--"The old times were good ... well, yes, but God be
with them! I want nothing to do with them!"
								Rate this book:0.0 / 0 votes