Yakov Pasinkov Page #10

"Yakov Pasinkov" is a short story by Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev that explores the life and struggles of a rural Russian peasant. The narrative focuses on the titular character, Yakov, who grapples with the harsh realities of peasant life, including poverty, social injustice, and personal despair. Through a blend of poignant character study and social commentary, Turgenev sheds light on the emotional and psychological impacts of societal constraints on individuals. The story reflects Turgenev's deep empathy for the plight of the lower classes and his critique of the broader socio-economic conditions of 19th-century Russia.

								

Asanov.... Oh yes, of course, he's a cannon, a copper cannon, and his
gun-carriage is green. That's how it is he's liked. Is it a star has
fallen? No, it's an arrow flying.... Ah, how quickly, and straight into
my heart!... Who shot it? You, Sonitchka?'

He bent his head and began muttering disconnected words. I glanced at
Elisei; he was standing, his hands clasped behind his back, gazing
ruefully at his master.

'Ah, brother, so you've become a practical person, eh?' he asked
suddenly, turning upon me such a clear, such a fully conscious glance,
that I could not help starting and was about to reply, but he went on
at once: 'But I, brother, have not become a practical person, I
haven't, and that's all about it! A dreamer I was born, a dreamer!
Dreaming, dreaming.... What is dreaming? Sobakevitch's peasant--that's
dreaming. Ugh!...'

Almost till morning Pasinkov wandered in delirium; at last he gradually
grew quieter, sank back on the pillow, and dozed off. I went back into
my room. Worn out by the cruel night, I slept soundly.

Elisei again waked me.

'Ah, sir!' he said in a shaking voice, 'I do believe Yakov Ivanitch is
dying....'

I ran in to Pasinkov. He was lying motionless. In the light of the
coming day he looked already a corpse. He recognised me.

'Good-bye,' he whispered; 'greet her for me, I'm dying....'

'Yasha!' I cried; 'nonsense! you are going to live....'

'No, no! I am dying.... Here, take this as a keepsake.' ... (He pointed
to his breast.) ...

'What's this?' he began suddenly; 'look: the sea ... all golden, and
blue isles upon it, marble temples, palm-trees, incense....'

He ceased speaking ... stretched....

Within half an hour he was no more. Elisei flung himself weeping at his
feet. I closed his eyes.

On his neck there was a little silken amulet on a black cord. I took
it.

Three days afterwards he was buried.... One of the noblest hearts was
hidden for ever in the grave. I myself threw the first handful of earth
upon him.

III

Another year and a half passed by. Business obliged me to visit Moscow.
I took up my quarters in one of the good hotels there. One day, as I
was passing along the corridor, I glanced at the black-board with the
list of visitors staying in the hotel, and almost cried out aloud with
astonishment. Opposite the number 12 stood, distinctly written in
chalk, the name, Sophia Nikolaevna Asanova. Of late I had chanced to
hear a good deal that was bad about her husband. I had learned that he
was addicted to drink and to gambling, had ruined himself, and was
generally misconducting himself. His wife was spoken of with
respect.... In some excitement I went back to my room. The passion,
that had long long ago grown cold, began as it were to stir within my
heart, and it throbbed. I resolved to go and see Sophia Nikolaevna.
'Such a long time has passed since the day we parted,' I thought, 'she
has, most likely, forgotten everything there was between us in those
days.'

I sent Elisei, whom I had taken into my service after the death of
Pasinkov, with my visiting-card to her door, and told him to inquire
whether she was at home, and whether I might see her. Elisei quickly
came back and announced that Sophia Nikolaevna was at home and would
see me.

I went at once to Sophia Nikolaevna. When I went in, she was standing
in the middle of the room, taking leave of a tall stout gentleman.

'As you like,' he was saying in a rich, mellow voice; 'he is not a
harmless person, he's a useless person; and every useless person in a
well-ordered society is harmful, harmful, harmful!'

With those words the tall gentleman went out. Sophia Nikolaevna turned
to me.

'How long it is since we met!' she said. 'Sit down, please....'

We sat down. I looked at her.... To see again after long absence the
features of a face once dear, perhaps beloved, to recognise them, and
not recognise them, as though across the old, unforgotten countenance a
new one, like, but strange, were looking out at one; instantaneously,
almost unconsciously, to note the traces time has laid upon it;--all
this is rather melancholy. 'I too must have changed in the same way,'
each is inwardly thinking....

Sophia Nikolaevna did not, however, look much older; though, when I had
seen her last, she was sixteen, and that was nine years ago.

Her features had become still more correct and severe; as of old, they
expressed sincerity of feeling and firmness; but in place of her former
serenity, a sort of secret ache and anxiety could be discerned in them.
Her eyes had grown deeper and darker. She had begun to show a likeness
to her mother....

Sophia Nikolaevna was the first to begin the conversation.

'We are both changed,' she began. 'Where have you been all this time?'

'I've been a rolling stone,' I answered. 'And have you been living in
the country all the while?'

'For the most part I've been in the country. I'm only here now for a
little time.'

'How are your parents?'

'My mother is dead, but my father is still in Petersburg; my brother's
in the service; Varia lives with him.'

'And your husband?'

'My husband,' she said in a rather hurried voice--'he's just now in
South Russia for the horse fairs. He was always very fond of horses,
you know, and he has started stud stables ... and so, on that account
... he's buying horses now.'

At that instant there walked into the room a little girl of eight years
old, with her hair in a pigtail, with a very keen and lively little
face, and large dark grey eyes. On seeing me, she at once drew back her
little foot, dropped a hasty curtsey, and went up to Sophia Nikolaevna.

'This is my little daughter; let me introduce her to you,' said Sophia

Nikolaevna, putting one finger under the little girl's round chin; 'she
would not stop at home--she persuaded me to bring her with me.'

The little girl scanned me with her rapid glance and faintly dropped
her eyelids.

'She is a capital little person,' Sophia Nikolaevna went on: 'there's
nothing she's afraid of. And she's good at her lessons; I must say that
for her.'

'Comment se nomme monsieur?' the little girl asked in an undertone,
bending over to her mother.

Sophia Nikolaevna mentioned my name.

The little girl glanced at me again.

'What is your name?' I asked her.

'My name is Lidia,' answered the little girl, looking me boldly in the
face.

'I expect they spoil you,' I observed.

'Who spoil me?'

'Who? everyone, I expect; your parents to begin with.'

(The little girl looked, without a word, at her mother.) 'I can fancy
Konstantin Alexandritch,' I was going on ...

'Yes, yes,' Sophia Nikolaevna interposed, while her little daughter
kept her attentive eyes fastened upon her; 'my husband, of course--he
is very fond of children....'

A strange expression flitted across Lidia's clever little face. There
was a slight pout about her lips; she hung her head.

'Tell me,' Sophia Nikolaevna added hurriedly; 'you are here on
business, I expect?'

'Yes, I am here on business.... And are you too?'
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