Yakov Pasinkov Page #12

"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.

								

Ivanitch, and longed for nothing but to see him, and he was always good
to me--you can ask Elisei Timofeitch.'

Masha paused.

'I have his letters,' she went on. 'Here, look.' She took several
letters out of her pocket, and handed them to me. 'Read them,' she
added.

I opened one letter and recognised Pasinkov's hand.

'Dear Masha!' (he wrote in large, distinct letters) 'you leaned your
little head against my head yesterday, and when I asked why you do so,
you told me--"I want to hear what you are thinking." I'll tell you what
I was thinking; I was thinking how nice it would be for Masha to learn
to read and write! She could make out this letter ...'

Masha glanced at the letter.

'That he wrote me in Novgorod,' she observed, 'when he was just going
to teach me to read. Look at the others. There's one from Siberia.
Here, read this.'

I read the letters. They were very affectionate, even tender. In one of
them, the first one from Siberia, Pasinkov called Masha his best
friend, promised to send her the money for the journey to Siberia, and
ended with the following words--'I kiss your pretty little hands; the
girls here have not hands like yours; and their heads are no match for
yours, nor their hearts either.... Read the books I gave you, and think
of me, and I'll not forget you. You are the only, only girl that ever
cared for me; and so I want to belong only to you....'

'I see he was very much attached to you,' I said, giving the letters
back to her.

'He was very fond of me,' replied Masha, putting the letters carefully
into her pocket, and the tears flowed slowly down her cheeks. 'I always
trusted in him; if the Lord had vouchsafed him long life, he would not
have abandoned me. God grant him His heavenly peace!'...

She wiped her eyes with a corner of her kerchief.

'Where are you living now?' I inquired.

'I'm here now, in Moscow; I came here with my mistress, but now I'm out
of a place. I did go to Yakov Ivanitch's aunt, but she is very poor
herself. Yakov Ivanitch used often to talk of you,' she added, getting
up and bowing; 'he always loved you and thought of you. I met Elisei
Timofeitch the day before yesterday, and wondered whether you wouldn't
be willing to assist me, as I'm out of a place just now....'

'With the greatest pleasure, Maria ... let me ask, what's your name
from your father?'

'Petrovna,' answered Masha, and she cast down her eyes.

'I will do anything for you I can, Maria Petrovna,' I continued; 'I am
only sorry that I am a visitor here, and know few good families.'

Masha sighed.

'If I could get a situation of some sort ... I can't cut out, but I can
sew, so I'm always doing sewing ... and I can look after children too.'

'Give her money,' I thought; 'but how's one to do it?'

'Listen, Maria Petrovna,' I began, not without faltering; 'you must,
please, excuse me, but you know from Pasinkov's own words what a friend
of his I was ... won't you allow me to offer you--for the immediate
present--a small sum?' ...

Masha glanced at me.

'What?' she asked.

'Aren't you in want of money?' I said.

Masha flushed all over and hung her head.

'What do I want with money?' she murmured; 'better get me a situation.'

'I will try to get you a situation, but I can't answer for it for
certain; but you ought not to make any scruple, really ... I'm not like
a stranger to you, you know.... Accept this from me, in memory of our
friend....'

I turned away, hurriedly pulled a few notes out of my pocket-book, and
handed them to her.

Masha was standing motionless, her head still more downcast.

'Take it,' I persisted.

She slowly raised her eyes to me, looked me in the face mournfully,
slowly drew her pale hand from under her kerchief and held it out to
me.

I laid the notes in her cold fingers. Without a word, she hid the hand
again under her kerchief, and dropped her eyes.

'In future, Maria Petrovna,' I resumed, 'if you should be in want of
anything, please apply directly to me. I will give you my address.'

'I humbly thank you,' she said, and after a short pause she added: 'He
did not speak to you of me?'

'I only met him the day before his death, Maria Petrovna. But I'm not
sure ... I believe he did say something.'

Masha passed her hand over her hair, pressed her cheek lightly, thought
a moment, and saying 'Good-bye,' walked out of the room.

I sat at the table and fell into bitter musings. This Masha, her
relations with Pasinkov, his letters, the hidden love of Sophia
Nikolaevna's sister for him.... 'Poor fellow! poor fellow!' I
whispered, with a catching in my breath. I thought of all Pasinkov's
life, his childhood, his youth, Fräulein Frederike.... 'Well,' I
thought, 'much fate gave to thee! much cause for joy!'

Next day I went again to see Sophia Nikolaevna. I was kept waiting in
the ante-room, and when I entered, Lidia was already seated by her
mother. I understood that Sophia Nikolaevna did not wish to renew the
conversation of the previous day.

We began to talk--I really don't remember what about--about the news of
the town, public affairs.... Lidia often put in her little word, and
looked slily at me. An amusing air of importance had suddenly become
apparent on her mobile little visage.... The clever little girl must
have guessed that her mother had intentionally stationed her at her
side.

I got up and began taking leave. Sophia Nikolaevna conducted me to the
door.

'I made you no answer yesterday,' she said, standing still in the
doorway; 'and, indeed, what answer was there to make? Our life is not
in our own hands; but we all have one anchor, from which one can never,
without one's own will, be torn--a sense of duty.'

Without a word I bowed my head in sign of assent, and parted from the
youthful Puritan.

All that evening I stayed at home, but I did not think of her; I kept
thinking and thinking of my dear, never-to-be-forgotten Pasinkov--the
last of the idealists; and emotions, mournful and tender, pierced with
sweet anguish into my soul, rousing echoes on the strings of a heart
not yet quite grown old.... Peace to your ashes, unpractical man,
simple-hearted idealist! and God grant to all practical men--to whom
you were always incomprehensible, and who, perhaps, will laugh even now
over you in the grave--God grant to them to experience even a hundredth
part of those pure delights in which, in spite of fate and men, your
poor and unambitious life was so rich!
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