The Dream Page #4

"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.

								

wounded.... And he had come to her, and had fled, affrighted by her
fright. Everything suddenly became clear to me; the feeling of
involuntary repugnance for me which sometimes awoke in my mother, and
her constant sadness, and our isolated life.... I remember that my head
reeled, and I clutched at it with both hands, as though desirous of
holding it firmly in its place. But one thought had become riveted in it
like a nail. I made up my mind, without fail, at any cost, to find that
man again! Why? With what object?--I did not account to myself for
that; but to find him ... to find him--that had become for me a question
of life or death!

On the following morning my mother regained her composure at last ...
the fever passed off ... she fell asleep. Committing her to the care of
our landlord and landlady and the servants, I set out on my quest.

XI

First of all, as a matter of course, I betook myself to the coffee-house
where I had met the baron; but in the coffee-house no one knew him or
had even noticed him; he was a chance visitor. The proprietors had
noticed the negro--his figure had been too striking to escape notice;
but who he was, where he stayed, no one knew either. Leaving my address,
in case of an emergency, at the coffee-house, I began to walk about the
streets and the water-front of the town, the wharves, the boulevards; I
looked into all the public institutions, and nowhere did I find any one
who resembled either the baron or his companion.... As I had not caught
the baron's name, I was deprived of the possibility of appealing to the
police; but I privately gave two or three guardians of public order to
understand (they gazed at me in surprise, it is true, and did not
entirely believe me) that I would lavishly reward their zeal if they
should be successful in coming upon the traces of those two individuals,
whose personal appearance I tried to describe as minutely as possible.

Having strolled about in this manner until dinner-time, I returned home
thoroughly worn out. My mother had got out of bed; but with her habitual
melancholy there was mingled a new element, a sort of pensive
perplexity, which cut me to the heart like a knife. I sat with her all
the evening. We said hardly anything; she laid out her game of patience,
I silently looked at her cards. She did not refer by a single word to
her story, or to what had happened the day before. It was as though we
had both entered into a compact not to touch upon those strange and
terrifying occurrences.... She appeared to be vexed with herself and
ashamed of what had involuntarily burst from her; but perhaps she did
not remember very clearly what she had said in her semi-fevered
delirium, and hoped that I would spare her.... And, in fact, I did spare
her, and she was conscious of it; as on the preceding day she avoided
meeting my eyes.

A frightful storm had suddenly sprung up out of doors. The wind howled
and tore in wild gusts, the window-panes rattled and quivered;
despairing shrieks and groans were borne through the air, as though
something on high had broken loose and were flying with mad weeping
over the shaking houses. Just before dawn I lost myself in a doze ...
when suddenly it seemed to me as though some one had entered my room and
called me, had uttered my name, not in a loud, but in a decided voice. I
raised my head and saw no one; but, strange to relate! I not only was
not frightened--I was delighted; there suddenly arose within me the
conviction that now I should, without fail, attain my end. I hastily
dressed myself and left the house.

XII

The storm had subsided ... but its last flutterings could still be felt.
It was early; there were no people in the streets; in many places
fragments of chimneys, tiles, boards of fences which had been rent
asunder, the broken boughs of trees, lay strewn upon the ground....
"What happened at sea last night?" I involuntarily thought at the sight
of the traces left behind by the storm. I started to go to the port, but
my feet bore me in another direction, as though in obedience to an
irresistible attraction. Before ten minutes had passed I found myself in
a quarter of the town which I had never yet visited. I was walking, not
fast, but without stopping, step by step, with a strange sensation at my
heart; I was expecting something remarkable, impossible, and, at the
same time, I was convinced that that impossible thing would come to
pass.

XIII

And lo, it came to pass, that remarkable, that unexpected thing! Twenty
paces in front of me I suddenly beheld that same negro who had spoken to
the baron in my presence at the coffee-house! Enveloped in the same
cloak which I had then noticed on him, he seemed to have popped up out
of the earth, and with his back turned toward me was walking with brisk
strides along the narrow sidewalk of the crooked alley! I immediately
dashed in pursuit of him, but he redoubled his gait, although he did not
glance behind him, and suddenly made an abrupt turn around the corner of
a projecting house. I rushed to that corner and turned it as quickly as
the negro had done.... Marvellous to relate! Before me stretched a long,
narrow, and perfectly empty street; the morning mist filled it with its
dim, leaden light,--but my gaze penetrated to its very extremity. I
could count all its buildings ... and not a single living being was
anywhere astir! The tall negro in the cloak had vanished as suddenly as
he had appeared! I was amazed ... but only for a moment. Another feeling
immediately took possession of me; that street which stretched out
before my eyes, all dumb and dead, as it were,--I recognised it! It was
the street of my dream. I trembled and shivered--the morning was so
chilly--and instantly, without the slightest wavering, with a certain
terror of confidence, I went onward.

I began to seek with my eyes.... Yes, there it is, yonder, on the right,
with a corner projecting on the sidewalk--yonder is the house of my
dream, yonder is the ancient gate with the stone scrolls on each
side.... The house is not circular, it is true, but square ... but that
is a matter of no importance.... I knock at the gate, I knock once,
twice, thrice, ever more and more loudly.... The gate opens slowly, with
a heavy screech, as though yawning. In front of me stands a young
serving-maid with a dishevelled head and sleepy eyes. She has evidently
just waked up.

"Does the baron live here?" I inquire, as I run a swift glance over the
deep, narrow courtyard.... It is there; it is all there ... there are
the planks which I had seen in my dream.

"No," the maid answers me, "the baron does not live here."

"What dost thou mean by that? It is impossible!"

"He is not here now. He went away yesterday."

"Whither?"

"To America."

"To America!" I involuntarily repeated. "But he is coming back?"

The maid looked suspiciously at me.

"I don't know. Perhaps he will not come back at all."
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