Yakov Pasinkov Page #6

"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.

								

earthenware pitchers, and ate wild strawberries and sugar. The weather
was exquisite. Varvara did not care for long walks: she used soon to
get tired; but this time she did not lag behind us. She took off her
hat, her hair came down, her heavy features lighted up, and her cheeks
were flushed. Meeting two peasant girls in the wood, she sat down
suddenly on the ground, called them to her, did not patronise them, but
made them sit down beside her. Sophia looked at them from some distance
with a cold smile, and did not go up to them. She was walking with
Asanov. Zlotnitsky observed that Varvara was a regular hen for sitting.
Varvara got up and walked away. In the course of the walk she several
times went up to Pasinkov, and said to him, 'Yakov Ivanitch, I want to
tell you something,' but what she wanted to tell him--remained unknown.

But it's high time for me to get back to my story.

       *       *       *       *       *

I was glad to see Pasinkov; but when I recalled what I had done the day
before, I felt unutterably ashamed, and I hurriedly turned away to the
wall again. After a brief pause, Yakov asked me if I were unwell.

'I'm quite well,' I answered through my teeth; 'only my head aches.'

Yakov made no reply, and took up a book. More than an hour passed by; I
was just coming to the point of confessing everything to Yakov ...
suddenly there was a ring at the outer bell of my flat.

The door on to the stairs was opened.... I listened.... Asanov was
asking my servant if I were at home.

Pasinkov got up; he did not care for Asanov, and telling me in a
whisper that he would go and lie down on my bed, he went into my
bedroom.

A minute later Asanov entered.

From the very sight of his flushed face, from his brief, cool bow, I
guessed that he had not come to me without some set purpose in his
mind. 'What is going to happen?' I wondered.

'Sir,' he began, quickly seating himself in an armchair, 'I have come
to you for you to settle a matter of doubt for me.'

'And that is?'

'That is: I wish to know whether you are an honest man.'

I flew into a rage. 'What's the meaning of that?' I demanded.

'I'll tell you what's the meaning of it,' he retorted, underlining as
it were each word. 'Yesterday I showed you a pocket-book containing
letters from a certain person to me.... To-day you repeated to that
person, with reproach--with reproach, observe--some expressions from
those letters, without having the slightest right to do so. I should
like to know what explanation you can give of this?'

'And I should like to know what right you have to cross-examine me,' I
answered, trembling with fury and inward shame.

'You chose to boast of your uncle, of your correspondence; I'd nothing
to do with it. You've got all your letters all right, haven't you?'

'The letters are all right; but I was yesterday in a condition in which
you could easily----'

'In short, sir,' I began, speaking intentionally as loud as I could, 'I
beg you to leave me alone, do you hear? I don't want to know anything
about it, and I'm not going to give you any explanation. You can go to
that person for explanations!' I felt that my head was beginning to go
round.

Asanov turned upon me a look to which he obviously tried to impart an
air of scornful penetration, pulled his moustaches, and got up slowly.

'I know now what to think,' he observed; 'your face is the best
evidence against you. But I must tell you that that's not the way
honourable people behave.... To read a letter on the sly, and then to
go and worry an honourable girl....'

'Will you go to the devil!' I shouted, stamping, 'and send me a second;
I don't mean to talk to you.'

'Kindly refrain from telling me what to do,' Asanov retorted frigidly;
'but I certainly will send a second to you.'

He went away. I fell on the sofa and hid my face in my hands. Some one
touched me on the shoulder; I moved my hands--before me was standing
Pasinkov.

'What's this? is it true?' ... he asked me. 'You read another man's
letter?'

I had not the strength to answer, but I nodded in assent.

Pasinkov went to the window, and standing with his back to me, said
slowly: 'You read a letter from a girl to Asanov. Who was the girl?'

'Sophia Zlotnitsky,' I answered, as a prisoner on his trial answers the
judge.

For a long while Pasinkov did not utter a word.

'Nothing but passion could to some extent excuse you,' he began at
last. 'Are you in love then with the younger Zlotnitsky?'

'Yes.'

Pasinkov was silent again for a little.

'I thought so. And you went to her to-day and began reproaching
her?...'

'Yes, yes, yes!...' I articulated desperately. 'Now you can despise
me....'

Pasinkov walked a couple of times up and down the room.

'And she loves him?' he queried.

'She loves him....'

Pasinkov looked down, and gazed a long while at the floor without
moving.

'Well, it must be set right,' he began, raising his head,' things can't
be left like this.'

And he took up his hat.

'Where are you going?'

'To Asanov.'

I jumped up from the sofa.

'But I won't let you. Good heavens! how can you! what will he think?'

Pasinkov looked at me.

'Why, do you think it better to keep this folly up, to bring ruin on
yourself, and disgrace on the girl?'

'But what are you going to say to Asanov?'

'I'll try and explain things to him, I'll tell him you beg his
forgiveness ...'

'But I don't want to apologise to him!'

'You don't? Why, aren't you in fault?'

I looked at Pasinkov; the calm and severe, though mournful, expression
of his face impressed me; it was new to me. I made no reply, and sat
down on the sofa.

Pasinkov went out.

In what agonies of suspense I waited for his return! With what cruel
slowness the time lingered by! At last he came back--late.

'Well?' I queried in a timid voice.

'Thank goodness!' he answered; 'it's all settled.'

'You have been at Asanov's?'

'Yes.'

'Well, and he?--made a great to-do, I suppose?' I articulated with an
effort.

'No, I can't say that. I expected more ... He ... he's not such a
vulgar fellow as I thought.'

'Well, and have you seen any one else besides?' I asked, after a brief
pause.

'I've been at the Zlotnitskys'.'

'Ah!...' (My heart began to throb. I did not dare look Pasinkov in the
face.) 'Well, and she?'

'Sophia Nikolaevna is a reasonable, kind-hearted girl.... Yes, she is a
kind-hearted girl. She felt awkward at first, but she was soon at ease.
But our whole conversation only lasted five minutes.'

'And you ... told her everything ... about me ... everything?'

'I told her what was necessary.'

'I shall never be able to go and see them again now!' I pronounced
dejectedly....

'Why? No, you can go occasionally. On the contrary, you are absolutely
bound to go and see them, so that nothing should be thought....'

'Ah, Yakov, you will despise me now!' I cried, hardly keeping back my
tears.

'Me! Despise you? ...' (His affectionate eyes glowed with love.)
'Despise you ... silly fellow! Don't I see how hard it's been for you,
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