Punin and Baburin Page #3

"Punin and Baburin" is a novella by the renowned Russian author Ivan Turgenev, written in 1872. The story revolves around two central characters: the introspective Punin, a middle-aged man who grapples with his philosophical musings on life, love, and society, and the boisterous Baburin, a more practical and straightforward individual. Set against the backdrop of 19th-century Russia, the narrative explores themes of friendship, the clash of differing worldviews, and the complexities of human relationships. Through sharp dialogue and rich character development, Turgenev delves into the nuances of personal ambition and social dynamics, offering a poignant reflection on the human condition.

• Novel

								

that, I suppose?--surely he teaches you that, doesn't he?'

'No, he doesn't,' I responded. 'When we stay in the country I have no
teacher. In Moscow I have a great many teachers.'

'And will you be staying long in the country?'

'Two months, not longer; grandmother says that I'm spoilt in the
country, though I have a governess even here.'

'A French governess?'

'Yes.'

Punin scratched behind his ear. 'A mamselle, that's to say?'

'Yes; she's called Mademoiselle Friquet.' I suddenly felt it
disgraceful for me, a boy of twelve, to have not a tutor, but a
governess, like a little girl! 'But I don't mind her,' I added
contemptuously. 'What do I care!'

Punin shook his head. 'Ah, you gentlefolk, you gentlefolk! you're too
fond of foreigners! You have turned away from what is Russian,--towards
all that's strange. You've turned your hearts to those that come from
foreign parts....'

'Hullo! Are you talking in verse?' I asked.

'Well, and why not? I can do that always, as much as you please; for it
comes natural to me....'

But at that very instant there sounded in the garden behind us a loud
and shrill whistle. My new acquaintance hurriedly got up from the bench.

'Good-bye, little sir; that's my friend calling me, looking for me....
What has he to tell me? Good-bye--excuse me....'

He plunged into the bushes and vanished, while I sat on some time longer
on the seat. I felt perplexity and another feeling, rather an agreeable
one ... I had never met nor spoken to any one like this before.
Gradually I fell to dreaming, but recollected my mythology and sauntered
towards the house.

       *       *       *       *       *

At home, I learned that my grandmother had arranged to take Baburin; he
had been assigned a small room in the servants' quarters, overlooking
the stable-yard. He had at once settled in there with his friend.

When I had drunk my tea, next morning, without asking leave of
Mademoiselle Friquet, I set off to the servants' quarters. I wanted to
have another chat with the queer fellow I had seen the day before.
Without knocking at the door--the very idea of doing so would never have
occurred to us--I walked straight into the room. I found in it not the
man I was looking for, not Punin, but his protector--the philanthropist,
Baburin. He was standing before the window, without his outer garment,
his legs wide apart. He was busily engaged in rubbing his head and neck
with a long towel.

'What do you want?' he observed, keeping his hands still raised, and
knitting his brows.

'Punin's not at home, then?' I queried in the most free-and-easy manner,
without taking off my cap.

'Mr. Punin, Nikander Vavilitch, at this moment, is not at home, truly,'
Baburin responded deliberately; 'but allow me to make an observation,
young man: it's not the proper thing to come into another person's room
like this, without asking leave.'

I! ... young man! ... how dared he! ... I grew crimson with fury.

'You cannot be aware who I am,' I rejoined, in a manner no longer
free-and-easy, but haughty. 'I am the grandson of the mistress here.'

'That's all the same to me,' retorted Baburin, setting to work with his
towel again. 'Though you are the seignorial grandson, you have no right
to come into other people's rooms.'

'Other people's? What do you mean? I'm--at home here--everywhere.'

'No, excuse me: here--I'm at home; since this room has been assigned to
me, by agreement, in exchange for my work.'

'Don't teach me, if you please,' I interrupted: 'I know better than
you what ...'

'You must be taught,' he interrupted in his turn, 'for you're at an age
when you ... I know my duties, but I know my rights too very well, and
if you continue to speak to me in that way, I shall have to ask you to
go out of the room....'

There is no knowing how our dispute would have ended if Punin had not at
that instant entered, shuffling and shambling from side to side. He most
likely guessed from the expression of our faces that some unpleasantness
had passed between us, and at once turned to me with the warmest
expressions of delight.

'Ah! little master! little master!' he cried, waving his hands wildly,
and going off into his noiseless laugh: 'the little dear! come to pay me
a visit! here he's come, the little dear!' (What's the meaning of it? I
thought: can he be speaking in this familiar way to me?) 'There, come
along, come with me into the garden. I've found something there.... Why
stay in this stuffiness here! let's go!'

I followed Punin, but in the doorway I thought it as well to turn round
and fling a glance of defiance at Baburin, as though to say, I'm not
afraid of you!

He responded in the same way, and positively snorted into the
towel--probably to make me thoroughly aware how utterly he despised me!

What an insolent fellow your friend is!' I said to Punin, directly the
door had closed behind me.

Almost with horror, Punin turned his plump face to me.

'To whom did you apply that expression?' he asked me, with round eyes.

'Why, to him, of course.... What's his name? that ... Baburin.'

'Paramon Semyonevitch?'

'Why, yes; that ... blackfaced fellow.'

'Eh ... eh ... eh ...!' Punin protested, with caressing reproachfulness.
'How can you talk like that, little master! Paramon Semyonevitch is the
most estimable man, of the strictest principles, an extraordinary
person! To be sure, he won't allow any disrespect to him, because--he
knows his own value. That man possesses a vast amount of knowledge--and
it's not a place like this he ought to be filling! You must, my dear,
behave very courteously to him; do you know, he's ...' here Punin bent
down quite to my ear,--'a republican!'

I stared at Punin. This I had not at all expected. From Keidanov's
manual and other historical works I had gathered the fact that at some
period or other, in ancient times, there had existed republicans, Greeks
and Romans. For some unknown reason I had always pictured them all in
helmets, with round shields on their arms, and big bare legs; but that
in real life, in the actual present, above all, in Russia, in the
province of X----, one could come across republicans--that upset all my
notions, and utterly confounded them!

'Yes, my dear, yes; Paramon Semyonitch is a republican,' repeated Punin;
'there, so you'll know for the future how one should speak of a man like
that! But now let's go into the garden. Fancy what I've found there! A
cuckoo's egg in a redstart's nest! a lovely thing!'

I went into the garden with Punin; but mentally I kept repeating:
'republican! re ... pub ... lican!'

'So,' I decided at last--'that's why he has such a blue chin!'

       *       *       *       *       *

My attitude to these two persons--Punin and Baburin--took definite shape
from that very day. Baburin aroused in me a feeling of hostility with
which there was, however, in a short time, mingled something akin to
respect. And wasn't I afraid of him! I never got over being afraid of
him even when the sharp severity of his manner with me at first had
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