The Dream Page #3

"The Dream" is a novella by Russian author Ivan Turgenev, exploring the themes of love, loss, and the complexity of human emotions. The story follows a man who experiences a vivid dream that deeply reflects his inner desires and regrets. Through this dream, Turgenev delves into the psyche of the protagonist, revealing the tensions between idealism and reality. The work is notable for its lyrical prose and poignant insights into the nature of dreams and their impact on our waking lives. Turgenev's exploration of the characters' emotional landscapes makes "The Dream" a significant contribution to the existential literature of the 19th century.

								


"Stop," she whispered, "please stop; do not torture me now. Some day
thou shalt know...." Again she relapsed into silence. Her hands were
cold, and her pulse beat fast and unevenly. I gave her a dose of her
medicine and stepped a little to one side, in order not to disturb her.

She did not rise all day. She lay motionless and quiet, only sighing
deeply from time to time, and opening her eyes in a timorous
fashion.--Every one in the house was perplexed.

VIII

Toward night a slight fever made its appearance, and my mother sent me
away. I did not go to my own chamber, however, but lay down in the
adjoining room on the divan. Every quarter of an hour I rose, approached
the door on tiptoe, and listened.... Everything remained silent--but my
mother hardly slept at all that night. When I went into her room early
in the morning her face appeared to me to be swollen, and her eyes were
shining with an unnatural brilliancy. In the course of the day she
became a little easier, but toward evening the fever increased again.

Up to that time she had maintained an obstinate silence, but now she
suddenly began to talk in a hurried, spasmodic voice. She was not
delirious, there was sense in her words, but there was no coherency in
them. Not long before midnight she raised herself up in bed with a
convulsive movement (I was sitting beside her), and with the same
hurried voice she began to narrate to me, continually drinking water in
gulps from a glass, feebly flourishing her hands, and not once looking
at me the while.... At times she paused, exerted an effort over herself,
and went on again.... All this was strange, as though she were doing it
in her sleep, as though she herself were not present, but as though some
other person were speaking with her lips, or making her speak.

IX

"Listen to what I have to tell thee," she began. "Thou art no longer a
young boy; thou must know all. I had a good friend.... She married a man
whom she loved with all her heart, and she was happy with her husband.
But during the first year of their married life they both went to the
capital to spend a few weeks and enjoy themselves. They stopped at a
good hotel and went out a great deal to theatres and assemblies. My
friend was very far from homely; every one noticed her, all the young
men paid court to her; but among them was one in particular ... an
officer. He followed her unremittingly, and wherever she went she beheld
his black, wicked eyes. He did not make her acquaintance, and did not
speak to her even once; he merely kept staring at her in a very strange,
insolent way. All the pleasures of the capital were poisoned by his
presence. She began to urge her husband to depart as speedily as
possible, and they had fully made up their minds to the journey. One day
her husband went off to the club; some officers--officers who belonged
to the same regiment as this man--had invited him to play cards.... For
the first time she was left alone. Her husband did not return for a long
time; she dismissed her maid and went to bed.... And suddenly a great
dread came upon her, so that she even turned cold all over and began to
tremble. It seemed to her that she heard a faint tapping on the other
side of the wall--like the noise a dog makes when scratching--and she
began to stare at that wall. In the corner burned a shrine-lamp; the
chamber was all hung with silken stuff.... Suddenly something began to
move at that point, rose, opened.... And straight out of the wall, all
black and long, stepped forth that dreadful man with the wicked eyes!

"She tried to scream and could not. She was benumbed with fright. He
advanced briskly toward her, like a rapacious wild beast, flung
something over her head, something stifling, heavy and white.... What
happened afterward I do not remember.... I do not remember! It was like
death, like murder.... When that terrible fog dispersed at last--when
I ... my friend recovered her senses, there was no one in the room.
Again--and for a long time--she was incapable of crying out, but she did
shriek at last ... then again everything grew confused....

"Then she beheld by her side her husband, who had been detained at the
club until two o'clock.... His face was distorted beyond recognition. He
began to question her, but she said nothing.... Then she fell ill....
But I remember that when she was left alone in the room she examined
that place in the wall.... Under the silken hangings there proved to be
a secret door. And her wedding-ring had disappeared from her hand. This
ring was of an unusual shape. Upon it seven tiny golden stars alternated
with seven tiny silver stars; it was an ancient family heirloom. Her
husband asked her what had become of her ring; she could make no reply.
Her husband thought that she had dropped it somewhere, hunted everywhere
for it, but nowhere could he find it. Gloom descended upon him, he
decided to return home as speedily as possible, and as soon as the
doctor permitted they quitted the capital.... But imagine! On the very
day of their departure they suddenly encountered, on the street, a
litter.... In that litter lay a man who had just been killed, with a
cleft skull---and just imagine! that man was that same dreadful
nocturnal visitor with the wicked eyes.... He had been killed over a
game of cards!

"Then my friend went away to the country, and became a mother for the
first time ... and lived several years with her husband. He never
learned anything about that matter, and what could she say? She herself
knew nothing. But her former happiness had vanished. Darkness had
invaded their life--and that darkness was never dispelled.... They had
no other children either before or after ... but that son...."

My mother began to tremble all over, and covered her face with her
hands.

"But tell me now," she went on, with redoubled force, "whether my friend
was in any way to blame? With what could she reproach herself? She was
punished, but had not she the right to declare, in the presence of God
himself, that the punishment which overtook her was unjust? Then why can
the past present itself to her, after the lapse of so many years, in so
frightful an aspect, as though she were a sinner tortured by the
gnawings of conscience? Macbeth slew Banquo, so it is not to be
wondered at that he should have visions ... but I...."

But my mother's speech became so entangled and confused that I ceased to
understand her ... I no longer had any doubt that she was raving in
delirium.

X

Any one can easily understand what a shattering effect my mother's
narration produced upon me! I had divined, at her very first word, that
she was speaking of herself, and not of any acquaintance of hers; her
slip of the tongue only confirmed me in my surmise. So it really was my
father whom I had sought out in my dream, whom I had beheld when wide
awake! He had not been killed, as my mother had supposed, but merely
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