Russian Literature – Children Books – Russian Poetry – Ivan Turgenev – First Love – Contents
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X
My real tortures began from that moment. I cudgelled my brains, I pondered and pondered again, and watched Zinaída importunately, but secretly, as far as possible. A change had taken place in her, that was evident. She took to going off alone to walk, and walked a long while. Sometimes she did not show herself to her visitors; she sat for hours together in her chamber. This had not been her habit hitherto. Suddenly I became—or it seemed to me that I became—extremely penetrating. “Is it he? Or is it not he?”—I asked myself, as in trepidation I mentally ran from one of her admirers to another. Count Malévsky (although I felt ashamed to admit it for Zinaída’s sake) privately seemed to me more dangerous than the others.
My powers of observation extended no further than the end of my own nose, and my dissimulation probably failed to deceive any one; at all events, Doctor Lúshin speedily saw through me. Moreover, he also had undergone a change of late; he had grown thin, he laughed as frequently as ever, but somehow it was in a duller, more spiteful, a briefer way;—an involuntary, nervous irritability had replaced his former light irony and feigned cynicism.
“Why are you forever tagging on here, young man?”—he said to me one day, when he was left alone with me in the Zasyékins’ drawing-room. (The young Princess had not yet returned from her stroll and the shrill voice of the old Princess was resounding in the upper story; she was wrangling with her maid.)—“You ought to be studying your lessons, working while you are young;—but instead of that, what are you doing?”
“You cannot tell whether I work at home,”—I retorted not without arrogance, but also not without confusion.
“Much work you do! That’s not what you have in your head. Well, I will not dispute … at your age, that is in the natural order of things. But your choice is far from a happy one. Can’t you see what sort of a house this is?”
“I do not understand you,”—I remarked.
“You don’t understand me? So much the worse for you. I regard it as my duty to warn you. Fellows like me, old bachelors, may sit here: what harm will it do us? We are a hardened lot. You can’t pierce our hide, but your skin is still tender; the air here is injurious for you,—believe me, you may become infected.”
“How so?”
“Because you may. Are you healthy now? Are you in a normal condition? Is what you are feeling useful to you, good for you?”
“But what am I feeling?”—said I;—and in my secret soul I admitted that the doctor was right.
“Eh, young man, young man,”—pursued the doctor, with an expression as though something extremely insulting to me were contained in those two words;—“there’s no use in your dissimulating, for what you have in your soul you still show in your face, thank God! But what’s the use of arguing? I would not come hither myself, if …” (the doctor set his teeth) … “if I were not such an eccentric fellow. Only this is what amazes me—how you, with your intelligence, can fail to see what is going on around you.”
“But what is going on?”—I interposed, pricking up my ears.
The doctor looked at me with a sort of sneering compassion.
“A nice person I am,”—said he, as though speaking to himself.—“What possessed me to say that to him. In a word,”—he added, raising his voice,—“I repeat to you: the atmosphere here is not good for you. You find it pleasant here, and no wonder! And the scent of a hothouse is pleasant also—but one cannot live in it! Hey! hearken to me,—set to work again on Kaidánoff.”
The old Princess entered and began to complain to the doctor of toothache. Then Zinaída made her appearance.
“Here,”—added the old Princess,—“scold her, doctor, do. She drinks iced water all day long; is that healthy for her, with her weak chest?”
“Why do you do that?”—inquired Lúshin.
“But what result can it have?”
“What result? You may take cold and die.”
“Really? Is it possible? Well, all right—that just suits me!”
“You don’t say so!”—growled the doctor. The old Princess went away.
“I do say so,”—retorted Zinaída.—“Is living such a cheerful thing? Look about you…. Well—is it nice? Or do you think that I do not understand it, do not feel it? It affords me pleasure to drink iced water, and you can seriously assure me that such a life is worth too much for me to imperil it for a moment’s pleasure—I do not speak of happiness.”
“Well, yes,”—remarked Lúshin:—“caprice and independence…. Those two words sum you up completely; your whole nature lies in those two words.”
Zinaída burst into a nervous laugh.
“You’re too late by one mail, my dear doctor. You observe badly; you are falling behind.—Put on your spectacles.—I am in no mood for caprices now; how jolly to play pranks on you or on myself!—and as for independence…. M’sieu Voldemar,”—added Zinaída, suddenly stamping her foot,—“don’t wear a melancholy face. I cannot endure to have people commiserating me.”—She hastily withdrew.
“This atmosphere is injurious, injurious to you, young man,”—said Lúshin to me once more.
< < < Chapter IX
Chapter XI > > >
Russian Literature – Children Books – Russian Poetry – Ivan Turgenev – First Love – Contents
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