Yakov Pasinkov Page #5

"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.

								

argue. In the sky gleamed stars innumerable. Yakov raised his eyes, and
pressing my hand he softly cried out:

    'Above our heads
    The sky with the eternal stars....
    Above the stars their Maker....'

A thrill of awe ran through me; I felt cold all over, and sank on his
shoulder.... My heart was full.... Where are those raptures? Alas!
where youth is.

In Petersburg I met Yakov again eight years after. I had only just been
appointed to a position in the service, and some one had got him a
little post in some department. Our meeting was most joyful. I shall
never forget the moment when, sitting alone one day at home, I suddenly
heard his voice in the passage....

How I started; with what throbbing at the heart I leaped up and flung
myself on his neck, without giving him time to take off his fur
overcoat and unfasten his scarf! How greedily I gazed at him through
bright, involuntary tears of tenderness! He had grown a little older
during those seven years; lines, delicate as if they had been traced by
a needle, furrowed his brow here and there, his cheeks were a little
more hollow, and his hair was thinner; but he had hardly more beard,
and his smile was just the same as ever; and his laugh, a soft, inward,
as it were breathless laugh, was the same too....

Mercy on us! what didn't we talk about that day! ... The favourite
poems we read to one another! I began begging him to move and come and
live with me, but he would not consent. He promised, however, to come
every day to see me, and he kept his word.

In soul, too, Pasinkov was unchanged. He showed himself just the same
idealist as I had always known him. However rudely life's chill, the
bitter chill of experience, had closed in about him, the tender flower
that had bloomed so early in my friend's heart had kept all its pure
beauty untouched. There was no trace of sadness even, no trace even of
melancholy in him; he was quiet, as he had always been, but
everlastingly glad at heart.

In Petersburg he lived as in a wilderness, not thinking of the future,
and knowing scarcely any one. I took him to the Zlotnitskys'. He used
to go and see them rather often. Not being self-conscious, he was not
shy, but in their house, as everywhere, he said very little; they liked
him, however. Even the tedious old man, Tatiana Vassilievna's husband,
was friendly to him, and both the silent girls were soon quite at home
with him.

Sometimes he would arrive, bringing with him in the back pocket of his
coat some book that had just come out, and for a long time would not
make up his mind to read, but would keep stretching his neck out on one
side, like a bird, looking about him as though inquiring, 'could he?'
At last he would establish himself in a corner (he always liked sitting
in corners), would pull out a book and set to reading, at first in a
whisper, then louder and louder, occasionally interrupting himself with
brief criticisms or exclamations. I noticed that Varvara was readier to
sit by him and listen than her sister, though she certainly did not
understand much; literature was not in her line. She would sit opposite
Pasinkov, her chin in her hands, staring at him--not into his eyes, but
into his whole face--and would not utter a syllable, but only heave a
noisy, sudden sigh. Sometimes in the evenings we used to play forfeits,
especially on Sundays and holidays. We were joined on these occasions
by two plump, short young ladies, sisters, and distant relations of the
Zlotnitskys, terribly given to giggling, and a few lads from the
military school, very good-natured, quiet fellows. Pasinkov always used
to sit beside Tatiana Vassilievna, and with her, judge what was to be
done to the one who had to pay a forfeit.

Sophia did not like the kisses and such demonstrations, with which
forfeits are often paid, while Varvara used to be cross if she had to
look for anything or guess something. The young ladies giggled
incessantly--laughter seemed to bubble up by some magic in them,--I
sometimes felt positively irritated as I looked at them, but Pasinkov
only smiled and shook his head. Old Zlotnitsky took no part in our
games, and even looked at us rather disapprovingly from the door of his
study. Only once, utterly unexpectedly, he came in to us, and proposed
that whoever had next to pay a forfeit should waltz with him; we, of
course, agreed. It happened to be Tatiana Vassilievna who had to pay
the forfeit. She crimsoned all over, and was confused and abashed like
a girl of fifteen; but her husband at once told Sophia to go to the
piano, while he went up to his wife, and waltzed two rounds with her of
the old-fashioned trois temps waltz. I remember how his bilious,
gloomy face, with its never-smiling eyes, kept appearing and
disappearing as he slowly turned round, his stern expression never
relaxing. He waltzed with a long step and a hop, while his wife
pattered rapidly with her feet, and huddled up with her face close to
his chest, as though she were in terror. He led her to her place, bowed
to her, went back to his room and shut the door. Sophia was just
getting up, but Varvara asked her to go on, went up to Pasinkov, and
holding out her hand, with an awkward smile, said, 'Will you like a
turn?' Pasinkov was surprised, but he jumped up--he was always
distinguished by the most delicate courtesy--and took Varvara by the
waist, but he slipped down at the first step, and leaving hold of his
partner at once, rolled right under the pedestal on which the parrot's
cage was standing.... The cage fell, the parrot was frightened and
shrieked, 'Present arms!' Every one laughed.... Zlotnitsky appeared at
his study door, looked grimly at us, and slammed the door to. From that
time forth, one had only to allude to this incident before Varvara, and
she would go off into peals of laughter at once, and look at Pasinkov,
as though anything cleverer than his behaviour on that occasion it was
impossible to conceive.

Pasinkov was very fond of music. He used often to beg Sophia to play
him something, and to sit on one side listening, and now and then
humming in a thin voice the most pathetic passages. He was particularly
fond of Schubert's Constellation. He used to declare that when he heard
the air played he could always fancy that with the sounds long rays of
azure light came pouring down from on high, straight upon him. To this
day, whenever I look upon a cloudless sky at night, with the softly
quivering stars, I always recall Schubert's melody and Pasinkov.... An
excursion into the country comes back to my mind. We set out, a whole
party of us, in two hired four-wheel carriages, to Pargolovo. I
remember we took the carriages from the Vladimirsky; they were very
old, and painted blue, with round springs, and a wide box-seat, and
bundles of hay inside; the brown, broken-winded horses that drew us
along at a slow trot were each lame in a different leg. We strolled a
long while about the pinewoods round Pargolovo, drank milk out of
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