The Inn Page #7

"The Inn" by Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev is a poignant short story that explores themes of love, loneliness, and the transient nature of human connections. Set in a rural inn, the narrative revolves around a chance meeting between a disillusioned Russian gentleman and a young woman, both seeking solace from their personal struggles. Through their conversations and shared moments, Turgenev examines the complexities of their emotions, the constraints of social expectations, and the fleeting nature of happiness. The story is marked by Turgenev's lyrical prose and deep psychological insight, making it a reflective piece on the human condition.

								

brought his fist on the table. "There is nothing in my house for you,
do you hear?"

"What's this, Semyonitch, what is the matter with you?"

"There's nothing the matter with me, but I am sick of you, Naum
Ivanitch, that's what it is." The old man got up, trembling all over.
"You poke yourself in here too often, I tell you."

Naum, too, got up.

"You've gone clean off your head, old man," he said with a jeer.
"Avdotya Arefyevna, what's wrong with him?"

"I tell you," shouted Akim in a cracked voice, "go away, do you
hear? ... You have nothing to do with Avdotya Arefyevna ... I tell
you, do you hear, get out!"

"What's that you are saying to me?" Naum asked significantly.

"Go out of the house, that's what I am telling to you. Here's God and
here's the door ... do you understand? Or there will be trouble."

Naum took a step forward.

"Good gracious, don't fight, my dears," faltered Avdotya, who till
then had sat motionless at the table.

Naum glanced at her.

"Don't be uneasy, Avdotya Arefyevna, why should we fight? Fie,
brother, what a hullabaloo you are making!" he went on, addressing
Akim. "Yes, really. You are a hasty one! Has anyone ever heard of
turning anyone out of his house, especially the owner of it?" Naum
added with slow deliberateness.

"Out of his house?" muttered Akim. "What owner?"

"Me, if you like."

And Naum screwed up his eyes and showed his white teeth in a grin.

"You? Why, it's my house, isn't it?"

"What a slow-witted fellow you are! I tell you it's mine."

Akim gazed at him open-eyed.

"What crazy stuff is it you are talking? One would think you had gone
silly," he said at last. "How the devil can it be yours?"

"What's the good of talking to you?" cried Naum impatiently. "Do you
see this bit of paper?" he went on, pulling out of his pocket a sheet
of stamped paper, folded in four, "do you see? This is the deed of
sale, do you understand, the deed of sale of your land and your house;
I have bought them from the lady, from Lizaveta Prohorovna; the deed
was drawn up at the town yesterday; so I am master here, not you. Pack
your belongings today," he added, putting the document back in his
pocket, "and don't let me see a sign of you here to-morrow, do you
hear?"

Akim stood as though struck by a thunderbolt.

"Robber," he moaned at last, "robber.... Heigh, Fedka, Mitka, wife,
wife, seize him, seize him--hold him."

He lost his head completely.

"Mind now, old man," said Naum menacingly, "mind what you are about,
don't play the fool...."

"Beat him, wife, beat him!" Akim kept repeating in a tearful voice,
trying helplessly and in vain to get up. "Murderer, robber.... She is
not enough for you, you want to take my house, too, and everything....
But no, stop a bit ... that can't be.... I'll go myself, I'll speak
myself ... how ... why should she sell it? Wait a bit, wait a bit."

And he dashed out bareheaded.

"Where are you off to, Akim Ivanitch?" said the servant Fetinya,
running into him in the doorway.

"To our mistress! Let me pass! To our mistress!" wailed Akim, and
seeing Naum's cart which had not yet been taken into the yard, he
jumped into it, snatched the reins and lashing the horse with all his
might set off at full speed to his mistress's house.

"My lady, Lizaveta Prohorovna," he kept repeating to himself all the
way, "how have I lost your favour? I should have thought I had done my
best!"

And meantime he kept lashing and lashing the horse. Those who met him
moved out of his way and gazed after him.

In a quarter of an hour Akim had reached Lizaveta Prohorovna's house,
had galloped up to the front door, jumped out of the cart and dashed
straight into the entry.

"What do you want?" muttered the frightened footman who was sleeping
sweetly on the hall bench.

"The mistress, I want to see the mistress," said Akim loudly.

The footman was amazed.

"Has anything happened?" he began.

"Nothing has happened, but I want to see the mistress."

"What, what," said the footman, more and more astonished, and he
slowly drew himself up.

Akim pulled himself up.... He felt as though cold water had been
poured on him.

"Announce to the mistress, please, Pyotr Yevgrafitch," he said with a
low bow, "that Akim asks leave to see her."

"Very good ... I'll go ... I'll tell her ... but you must be drunk,
wait a bit," grumbled the footman, and he went off.

Akim looked down and seemed confused.... His determination had
evaporated as soon as he went into the hall.

Lizaveta Prohorovna was confused, too, when she was informed that Akim
had come. She immediately summoned Kirillovna to her boudoir.

"I can't see him," she began hurriedly, as soon as the latter
appeared. "I absolutely cannot. What am I to say to him? I told you he
would be sure to come and complain," she added in annoyance and
agitation. "I told you."

"But why should you see him?" Kirillovna answered calmly, "there is no
need to. Why should you be worried! No, indeed!"

"What is to be done then?"

"If you will permit me, I will speak to him."

Lizaveta Prohorovna raised her head.

"Please do, Kirillovna. Talk to him. You tell him ... that I found it
necessary ... but that I will compensate him ... say what you think
best. Please, Kirillovna."

"Don't you worry yourself, madam," answered Kirillovna, and she went
out, her shoes creaking.

A quarter of an hour had not elapsed when their creaking was heard
again and Kirillovna walked into the boudoir with the same unruffled
expression on her face and the same sly shrewdness in her eyes.

"Well?" asked her mistress, "how is Akim?"

"He is all right, madam. He says that it must all be as you graciously
please; that if only you have good health and prosperity he can get
along very well."

"And he did not complain?"

"No, madam. Why should he complain?"

"What did he come for, then?" Lizaveta Prohorovna asked in some
surprise.

"He came to ask whether you would excuse his yearly payment for next
year, that is, until he has been compensated."

"Of course, of course," Lizaveta Prohorovna caught her up eagerly. "Of
course, with pleasure. And tell him, in fact, that I will make it up
to him. Thank you, Kirillovna. I see he is a good-hearted man. Stay,"
she added, "give him this from me," and she took a three-rouble note
out of her work-table drawer, "Here, take this, give it to him."

"Certainly, madam," answered Kirillovna, and going calmly back to her
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