Three Portraits Page #3

"Three Portraits" is a novella by Russian author Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev, exploring themes of art, identity, and the impact of social change. The narrative revolves around three distinct portraits of a young woman that reveal different aspects of her character and the perceptions of those who behold them. Through these portraits, Turgenev delves into the complexities of human relationships and the elusive nature of beauty and truth, while reflecting on the cultural tensions of 19th-century Russia. The work showcases Turgenev's signature lyrical prose and his keen insight into the human condition.

								

well-built and exceedingly elegant; he spoke French excellently, and was
renowned for his skilful swordsmanship. He was considered one of the
most brilliant young men of the beginning of the reign of Catherine. My
father used often to tell me that he had known more than one old lady
who could not refer to Vassily Ivanovitch Lutchinov without heartfelt
emotion. Picture to yourselves a man endowed with exceptional strength
of will, passionate and calculating, persevering and daring, reserved in
the extreme, and--according to the testimony of all his
contemporaries--fascinatingly, captivatingly attractive. He had no
conscience, no heart, no principle, though no one could have called him
positively a bad-hearted man. He was vain, but knew how to disguise his
vanity, and passionately cherished his independence. When Vassily
Ivanovitch would half close his black eyes, smiling affectionately, when
he wanted to fascinate any one, they say it was impossible to resist him;
and even people, thoroughly convinced of the coldness and hardness of
his heart, were more than once vanquished by the bewitching power of his
personal influence. He served his own interests devotedly, and made
other people, too, work for his advantage; and he was always successful
in everything, because he never lost his head, never disdained using
flattery as a means, and well understood how to use it.

Ten years after Ivan Andreevitch had settled in the country, he came for
a four months' visit to Lutchinovka, a brilliant officer of the Guards,
and in that time succeeded positively in turning the head of the grim
old man, his father. Strange to say, Ivan Andreevitch listened with
enjoyment to his son's stories of some of his conquests. His
brothers were speechless in his presence, and admired him as a being of
a higher order. And Anna Pavlovna herself became almost fonder of him
than any of her other children who were so sincerely devoted to her.

Vassily Ivanovitch had come down into the country primarily to visit his
people, but also with the second object of getting as much money as
possible from his father. He lived sumptuously in the glare of publicity
in Petersburg, and had made a mass of debts. He had no easy task to get
round his father's miserliness, and though Ivan Andreevitch gave him on
this one visit probably far more money than he gave all his other
children together during twenty years spent under his roof, Vassily
followed the well-known Russian rule, 'Get what you can!'

Ivan Andreevitch had a servant called Yuditch, just such another tall,
thin, taciturn person as his master. They say that this man Yuditch was
partly responsible for Ivan Andreevitch's strange behaviour with Anna
Pavlovna; they say he discovered my great-grandmother's guilty intrigue
with one of my great-grandfather's dearest friends. Most likely Yuditch
deeply regretted his ill-timed jealousy, for it would be difficult to
conceive a more kind-hearted man. His memory is held in veneration by
all my house-serfs to this day. My great-grandfather put unbounded
confidence in Yuditch. In those days landowners used to have money, but
did not put it into the keeping of banks, they kept it themselves in
chests, under their floors, and so on. Ivan Andreevitch kept all his
money in a great wrought-iron coffer, which stood under the head of his
bed. The key of this coffer was intrusted to Yuditch. Every evening as
he went to bed Ivan Andreevitch used to bid him open the coffer in his
presence, used to tap in turn each of the tightly filled bags with a
stick, and every Saturday he would untie the bags with Yuditch, and
carefully count over the money. Vassily heard of all these doings, and
burned with eagerness to overhaul the sacred coffer. In the course of
five or six days he had softened Yuditch, that is, he had worked
on the old man till, as they say, he worshipped the ground his young
master trod on. Having thus duly prepared him, Vassily put on a careworn
and gloomy air, for a long while refused to answer Yuditch's questions,
and at last told him that he had lost at play, and should make an end of
himself if he could not get money somehow. Yuditch broke into sobs,
flung himself on his knees before him, begged him to think of God, not
to be his own ruin. Vassily locked himself in his room without uttering
a word. A little while after he heard some one cautiously knocking at
his door; he opened it, and saw in the doorway Yuditch pale and
trembling, with the key in his hand. Vassily took in the whole position
at a glance. At first, for a long while, he refused to take it. With
tears Yuditch repeated, 'Take it, your honour, graciously take it!'...
Vassily at last agreed. This took place on Monday. The idea occurred to
Vassily to replace the money taken out with broken bits of crockery. He
reckoned on Ivan Andreevitch's tapping the bags with his stick, and not
noticing the hardly perceptible difference in the sound, and by Saturday
he hoped to obtain and to replace the sum in the coffer. As he planned,
so he did. His father did not, in fact, notice anything. But by Saturday
Vassily had not procured the money; he had hoped to win the sum from a
rich neighbour at cards, and instead of that, he lost it all. Meantime,
Saturday had come; it came at last to the turn of the bags filled with
broken crocks. Picture, gentlemen, the amazement of Ivan Andreevitch!

'What does this mean?' he thundered. Yuditch was silent.

'You stole the money?'

'No, sir.'

'Then some one took the key from you?'

'I didn't give the key to any one.'

'Not to any one? Well then, you are the thief. Confess!'

'I am not a thief, Ivan Andreevitch.'

'Where the devil did these potsherds come from then? So you're deceiving
me! For the last time I tell you--confess!' Yuditch bowed his head and
folded his hands behind his back.

'Hi, lads!' shrieked Ivan Andreevitch in a voice of frenzy. 'A stick!'

'What, beat... me?' murmured Yuditch.

'Yes, indeed! Are you any better than the rest? You are a thief! O
Yuditch! I never expected such dishonesty of you!'

'I have grown grey in your service, Ivan Andreevitch,' Yuditch
articulated with effort.

'What have I to do with your grey hairs? Damn you and your service!'

The servants came in.

'Take him, do, and give it him thoroughly.' Ivan Andreevitch's lips were
white and twitching. He walked up and down the room like a wild beast in
a small cage.

The servants did not dare to carry out his orders.

'Why are you standing still, children of Ham? Am I to undertake him
myself, eh?'

Yuditch was moving towards the door....

'Stay!' screamed Ivan Andreevitch. 'Yuditch, for the last time I tell
you, I beg you, Yuditch, confess!'

'I can't!' moaned Yuditch.

'Then take him, the sly old fox! Flog him to death! His blood be on my
head!' thundered the infuriated old man. The flogging began.... The door
suddenly opened, and Vassily came in. He was almost paler than his
father, his hands were shaking, his upper lip was lifted, and laid bare
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