Three Portraits Page #8

"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.

								

parting... and for the last time he kissed her chilly hands....

Next morning--Olga Ivanovna had only just risen from her bed--her door
opened... and Anna Pavlovna appeared in the doorway. She was supported
by Vassily. In silence she got as far as an arm-chair, and in silence
she sat down. Vassily stood at her side. He looked composed; his brows
were knitted and his lips slightly parted. Anna Pavlovna, pale,
indignant, angry, tried to speak, but her voice failed her. Olga
Ivanovna glanced in horror from her benefactress to her lover, with a
terrible sinking at her heart... she fell on her knees with a shriek in
the middle of the room, and hid her face in her hands.

'Then it's true... is it true?' murmured Anna Pavlovna, and bent down to
her.... 'Answer!' she went on harshly, clutching Olga by the arm.

'Mother!' rang out Vassily's brazen voice, 'you promised me not to be
hard on her.'

'I want... confess... confess... is it true? is it true?'

'Mother... remember...' Vassily began deliberately.

This one word moved Anna Pavlovna greatly. She leaned back in her chair,
and burst into sobs.

Olga Ivanovna softly raised her head, and would have flung herself at
the old lady's feet, but Vassily kept her back, raised her from the
ground, and led her to another arm-chair. Anna Pavlovna went on weeping
and muttering disconnected words....

'Come, mother,' began Vassily, 'don't torment yourself, the trouble may
yet be set right.... If Rogatchov...'

Olga Ivanovna shuddered, and drew herself up.

'If Rogatchov,' pursued Vassily, with a meaning glance at Olga Ivanovna,
'imagines that he can disgrace an honourable family with impunity...'

Olga Ivanovna was overcome with horror.

'In my house,' moaned Anna Pavlovna.

'Calm yourself, mother. He took advantage of her innocence, her youth,
he--you wish to say something'--he broke off, seeing that Olga made a
movement towards him....

Olga Ivanovna sank back in her chair.

'I will go at once to Rogatchov. I will make him marry her this very
day. You may be sure I will not let him make a laughing-stock of us....'

'But... Vassily Ivanovitch... you...' whispered Olga.

He gave her a prolonged, cold stare. She sank into silence again.

'Mother, give me your word not to worry her before I return. Look, she
is half dead. And you, too, must rest. Rely upon me; I answer for
everything; in any case, wait till I return. I tell you again, don't
torture her, or yourself, and trust to me.'

He went to the door and stopped. 'Mother,' said he, 'come with me, leave
her alone, I beg of you.'

Anna Pavlovna got up, went up to the holy picture, bowed down to the
ground, and slowly followed her son. Olga Ivanovna, without a word or a
movement, looked after them.

Vassily turned back quickly, snatched her hand, whispered in her ear,
'Rely on me, and don't betray us,' and at once withdrew.... 'Bourcier!'
he called, running swiftly down the stairs, 'Bourcier!'

A quarter of an hour later he was sitting in his carriage with his
valet.

That day the elder Rogatchov was not at home. He had gone to the
district town to buy cloth for the liveries of his servants. Pavel
Afanasievitch was sitting in his own room, looking through a collection
of faded butterflies. With lifted eyebrows and protruding lips, he was
carefully, with a pin, turning over the fragile wings of a 'night
sphinx' moth, when he was suddenly aware of a small but heavy hand on
his shoulder. He looked round. Vassily stood before him.

'Good-morning, Vassily Ivanovitch,' he said in some amazement.

Vassily looked at him, and sat down on a chair facing him.

Pavel Afanasievitch was about to smile... but he glanced at Vassily, and
subsided with his mouth open and his hands clasped.

'Tell me, Pavel Afanasievitch,' said Vassily suddenly, 'are you meaning
to dance at your wedding soon?'

'I?... soon... of course... for my part... though as you and your sister
... I, for my part, am ready to-morrow even.'

'Very good, very good. You're a very impatient person, Pavel
Afanasievitch.'

'How so?'

'Let me tell you,' pursued Vassily Ivanovitch, getting up, 'I know all;
you understand me, and I order you without delay to-morrow to marry
Olga.'

'Excuse me, excuse me,' objected Rogatchov, not rising from his seat;
'you order me. I sought Olga Ivanovna's hand of myself and there's no
need to give me orders.... I confess, Vassily Ivanovitch, I don't quite
understand you.'

'You don't understand me?'

'No, really, I don't understand you.'

'Do you give me your word to marry her to-morrow?'

'Why, mercy on us, Vassily Ivanovitch... haven't you yourself put off
our wedding more than once? Except for you it would have taken place
long ago. And now I have no idea of breaking it off. What is the meaning
of your threats, your insistence?'

Pavel Afanasievitch wiped the sweat off his face.

'Do you give me your word? Say yes or no!' Vassily repeated
emphatically.

'Excuse me... I will... but...'

'Very good. Remember then... She has confessed everything.'

'Who has confessed?'

'Olga Ivanovna.'

'Why, what has she confessed?'

'Why, what are you pretending to me for, Pavel Afanasievitch? I'm not a
stranger to you.'

'What am I pretending? I don't understand you, I don't, I positively
don't understand a word. What could Olga Ivanovna confess?'

'What? You are really too much! You know what.'

'May God slay me...'

'No, I'll slay you, if you don't marry her... do you understand?'

'What!...' Pavel Afanasievitch jumped up and stood facing Vassily. 'Olga
Ivanovna... you tell me...'

'You're a clever fellow, you are, I must own'--Vassily with a smile
patted him on the shoulder--'though you do look so innocent.'

'Good God!... You'll send me out of my mind.... What do you mean,
explain, for God's sake!'

Vassily bent down and whispered something in his ear.

Rogatchov cried out, 'What!...!?'

Vassily stamped.

'Olga Ivanovna? Olga?...'

'Yes... your betrothed...'

'My betrothed... Vassily Ivanovitch... she... she... Why, I never wish
to see her again,' cried Pavel Afanasievitch. 'Good-bye to her for ever!
What do you take me for? I'm being duped... I'm being duped... Olga
Ivanovna, how wrong of you, have you no shame?...' (Tears gushed from
his eyes.) 'Thanks, Vassily Ivanovitch, thanks very much... I never
wish to see her again now! no! no! don't speak of her.... Ah, merciful
Heavens! to think I have lived to see this! Oh, very well, very well!'

'That's enough nonsense,' Vassily Ivanovitch observed coldly. 'Remember,
you've given me your word: the wedding's to-morrow.'

'No, that it won't be! Enough of that, Vassily Ivanovitch. I say again,
what do you take me for? You do me too much honour. I'm humbly obliged.
Excuse me.'

'As you please!' retorted Vassily. 'Get your sword.'

'Sword... what for?'

'What for?... I'll show you what for.'

Vassily drew out his fine, flexible French sword and bent it a little
against the floor.

'You want... to fight... me?'

'Precisely so.'

'But, Vassily Ivanovitch, put yourself in my place! How can I, only
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