Russian Literature – Children Books – Russian Poetry – Ivan Turgenev – The Diary of a Superfluous Man – Contents
< < < March 26. A thaw.
March 29. A light frost; last night there was a thaw. > > >
March 27. The thaw continues.
Matters were in the above-described condition: the Prince and Liza loved each other, the elder Ozhógins were waiting to see what would happen; Bizmyónkoff was present also—nothing else could be said of him; I was flopping like a fish on the ice, and keeping watch to the best of my ability,—I remember that at that time I appointed to myself the task of at least not allowing Liza to perish in the snare of the seducer, and in consequence thereof, I had begun to pay particular attention to the maid-servants and the fatal “back” entrance—although, on the other hand, I sometimes dreamed for whole nights together about the touching magnanimity with which, in the course of time, I would extend my hand to the deluded victim and say to her: “The wily man has betrayed thee; but I am thy faithful friend…. let us forget the past and be happy!”—when, suddenly, a joyful piece of news was disseminated throughout the town: the Marshal of Nobility for the county intended to give a large ball in honour of the respected visitor, at his own estate Gornostáevka, also called Gubnyakóva. All the hierarchies and powers of the town of O*** received invitations, beginning with the chief of police and ending with the apothecary, a remarkably pimple-faced German, with cruel pretensions to the ability to speak Russian purely, in consequence of which, he was constantly using violent expressions with absolute inappropriateness, as, for instance: “Devil take me, I feel a dashing fine fellow to-day.”[10]… Terrible preparations began, as was fitting. One cosmetic-shop sold sixteen dark-blue jars of pomade, with the inscription, “à la jesmin” with the Russian character denoting the hard pronunciation after the n. The young ladies supplied themselves with stiff gowns, torturingly tight at the waist-line, and with promontories on the stomach; the mammas erected on their own heads formidable decorations, under the pretext that they were caps; the bustling fathers lay without their hind legs, as the saying is.[11]…
The longed-for day arrived at last. I was among those invited. The distance from the town to Gornostáevka was reckoned at nine versts. Kiríla Matvyéevitch offered me a seat in his carriage; but I declined…. Thus do chastised children, desirous of revenging themselves well on their parents, refuse their favourite viands at table. Moreover, I felt that my presence would embarrass Liza. Bizmyónkoff took my place. The Prince drove out in his own calash, I in a miserable drozhky, which I had hired at an exorbitant price for this festive occasion.
I will not describe the ball. Everything about it was as usual: musicians with remarkably false horns in the gallery; flustered landed proprietors with antiquated families; lilac ice-cream, slimy orgeat; men in patched boots and knitted cotton gloves; provincial lions with convulsively-distorted faces; and so forth, and so forth. And all this little world circled round its sun—round the Prince. Lost in the throng, unnoticed even by the maidens of eight-and-forty with pimples on their brows and blue flowers on their temples, I kept incessantly gazing now at the Prince, now at Liza. She was very charmingly dressed and very pretty that evening. They only danced together twice (he danced the mazurka[12] with her, ‘t is true!), but, at all events, so it seemed to me, there existed between them a certain mysterious, unbroken communication. Even when he was not looking at her, was not talking to her, he seemed constantly to be addressing her, and her alone; he was handsome and brilliant, and charming with others—for her alone. She was evidently conscious that she was the queen of the ball—and beloved; her face simultaneously beamed with childish joy and innocent pride, and then suddenly was lighted up with a different, a more profound feeling. She exhaled an atmosphere of happiness. I observed all this…. It was not the first time I had had occasion to watch them…. At first this greatly pained me, then it seemed to touch me, and at last it enraged me. I suddenly felt myself remarkably malicious and, I remember, I rejoiced wonderfully over this new sensation, and even conceived a certain respect for myself. “Let ‘s show them that we have n’t perished yet!” I said to myself. When the first sounds summoning to the mazurka thundered out, I calmly glanced around, coldly, and with much ease of manner, approached a long-faced young lady with a red and shining nose, an awkwardly gaping mouth, which looked as though it had been unhooked, and a sinewy neck, which reminded one of the handle of a bass-viol,—approached her, and curtly clicking my heels together, invited her for the dance. She wore a pink gown, which seemed to have faded recently and not quite completely; above her head quivered some sort of a faded melancholy fly on a very thick brass spring; and, altogether, the young woman was impregnated through and through, if one may so express one’s self, with a sort of sour boredom and antiquated ill-success. From the very beginning of the evening, she had not stirred from her seat; no one had thought of asking her to dance. One sixteen-year-old youth, in default of any other partner, had been on the point of appealing to this young woman, and had already taken one step in her direction, but had bethought himself, taken one look, and briskly concealed himself in the crowd. You can imagine with what joyful surprise she accepted my proposal!
I solemnly led her the whole length of the hall, found two chairs, and seated myself with her in the circle of the mazurka, the tenth pair, almost opposite the Prince, to whom, of course, the first place had been conceded. The Prince, as I have already said, was dancing with Liza. Neither my partner nor I were incommoded with invitations; consequently, we had plenty of time for conversation. Truth to tell, my lady was not distinguished by ability to utter words in coherent speech: she employed her mouth more for the execution of a strange downward smile, hitherto unbeheld by me; at the same time, she rolled her eyes upward, as though some invisible force were stretching her face; but I had no need of her eloquence. Fortunately, I felt vicious, and my partner did not inspire me with timidity. I set to criticising everything and everybody in the world, laying special stress on whipper-snappers from the capital, and Petersburg fops, and waxed so angry, at last, that my lady gradually ceased to smile, and instead of rolling her eyes upward, she suddenly began—with amazement, it must have been—to look cross-eyed, and in such a queer way, to boot, as though she had perceived, for the first time, that she had a nose on her face; and my next neighbour, one of those lions of whom I have spoken above, more than once scanned me with a glance, even turned to me with the expression of an actor on the stage who has waked up in an unknown land, as much as to say: “Art thou still at it?” However, while I sang like a nightingale, as the saying is, I still continued to watch the Prince and Liza. They were constantly invited; but I suffered less when both of them were dancing; and even when they were sitting side by side and chatting with each other, and smiling with that gentle smile which refuses to leave the face of happy lovers,—even then I was not so greatly pained; but when Liza was fluttering through the hall with some gallant dandy, and the Prince, with her blue gauze scarf on his knees, thoughtfully followed her with his eyes, as though admiring his conquest,—then, oh, then I experienced unbearable tortures, and in my vexation I emitted such malicious remarks, that the pupils of my partner’s eyes reclined completely from both sides, on her nose!
In the meantime, the mazurka was drawing to a close…. They began to execute the figure known as “la confidente.” In this figure the lady seats herself in the centre of the circle, chooses another lady for her confidante and whispers in her ear the name of the gentleman with whom she wishes to dance; the cavalier leads up to her the dancers, one by one, and the confidante refuses them until, at last, the happy man who has already been designated makes his appearance. Liza sat in the centre of the circle, and chose the daughter of the hostess, one of those young girls of whom it is said that they are “God bless them.”[13] The Prince began to search for the chosen man. In vain did he present about half a score of young men (the hostess’ daughter refused them all, with a pleasant smile), and, at last, had recourse to me. Something unusual took place in me at that moment: I seemed to wink with my whole body, and tried to decline; nevertheless, I rose and went. The Prince conducted me to Liza…. She did not even glance at me; the hostess’ daughter shook her head in negation, the Prince turned toward me, and, prompted probably by the goose-like expression of my face, made me a profound bow. This mocking reverence, this refusal, presented to me by my triumphant rival, his negligent smile, Liza’s indifferent inattention,—all this provoked an explosion on my part. I stepped up to the Prince and whispered in a frenzied rage: “I think you are permitting yourself to jeer at me?”
The Prince stared at me with scornful surprise, again took me by the hand, and with the air of leading me back to my seat, replied coldly: “I?”
“Yes, you, you!”—I went on in a whisper, obeying him, nevertheless; that is to say, following him to my seat;—”you! But I do not intend to allow any frivolous Petersburg upstart …”
The Prince smiled calmly, almost patronisingly, gripped my hand hard, whispered: “I understand you; but this is not the proper place; we will talk it over,” turned away from me, approached Bizmyónkoff and led him to Liza. The pale little petty official proved to be the chosen cavalier. Liza rose to meet him.
As I sat beside my partner with the melancholy fly on her head, I felt myself almost a hero. My heart thumped violently within me, my bosom swelled nobly under my starched shirt-front, my breath came fast and deep—and all of a sudden, I stared at the adjacent lion in so magnificent a manner, that he involuntarily wiggled the leg which was turned toward me. Having rid myself of this man, I ran my eyes over the circle of dancers…. It seemed to me that two or three gentlemen were gazing at me not without amazement; but, on the whole, my conversation with the Prince had not been noticed…. My rival was already seated on his chair, perfectly composed, and with his former smile on his face. Bizmyónkoff led Liza to her place. She gave him a friendly nod and immediately turned to the Prince, as it seemed to me, with a certain anxiety; but he laughed in response, waved his hand gracefully, and must have said something very agreeable to her, for she flushed all over with pleasure, dropped her eyes, and then riveted them on him once more with affectionate reproach.
The heroic frame of mind which had suddenly developed in me did not disappear until the end of the mazurka; but I made no more jests, and did not criticise, and merely cast a severe and gloomy glance from time to time at my lady, who was, evidently, beginning to be afraid of me, and was reduced to a state of complete stammering and winked incessantly, when I led her to the natural stronghold of her mother, a very fat woman with a red head-dress. Having handed over the frightened young girl as behooved me, I walked off to the window, clasped my hands, and waited to see what would happen. I waited a good while. The Prince was constantly surrounded by the host,—precisely that, surrounded, as England is surrounded by the sea,—not to mention the other members of the county Marshal of the Nobility’s family, and the other guests; and, moreover, he could not, without arousing universal surprise, approach such an insignificant man as I, and enter into conversation with him. This insignificance of mine, I remember, was even a source of delight to me then. “Fiddlesticks!” I thought, as I watched him turning courteously now to one, now to another respected personage who sought the honour of being noticed by him, if only for “the twinkling of an eye,” as the poets say:—”Fiddlesticks, my dear fellow!…. Thou wilt come to me by and by—for I have insulted thee.”
At last the Prince, having cleverly got rid of the crowd of his adorers, strode past me, darted a glance, not exactly at the window, nor yet exactly at my hair, was on the point of turning away, and suddenly came to a halt, as though he had just remembered something.
“Akh, yes!”—he said, addressing me with a smile;—”by the way, I have a little matter of business with you.”
Two landed proprietors, the most persistent of all, who were obstinately following up the Prince, probably thought that the “little matter of business” was connected with the service, and respectfully retreated. The Prince put his arm in mine, and led me to one side. My heart thumped in my breast.
“You,”—he began, drawling out the word you, and staring at my chin with a contemptuous expression which, strange to say, was infinitely becoming to his fresh, handsome face,—”you said something insolent to me, I believe.”
“I said what I thought,”—I retorted, raising my voice.
“Ssssh …. speak more quietly,”—he remarked:—”well-bred men do not shout. Perhaps you would like to fight with me?”
“That is your affair,”—I replied, drawing myself up.
“I shall be compelled to call you out,”—he said carelessly,—”if you do not withdraw your expressions….”
“I have no intention of withdrawing anything,”—I retorted proudly.
“Really?”—he remarked, not without a sneering smile.—”In that case,”—he went on, after a brief pause,—”I shall have the honour to send my second to you to-morrow.”
“Very well, sir,”—I said in the most indifferent tone I could muster.
The Prince bowed slightly.
“I cannot forbid you to think me a frivolous man,”—he added, arrogantly narrowing his eyes;—”but it is impossible that the Princes N*** should be upstarts. Farewell for the present, Mr…. Mr. Shtukatúrin.”
He quickly turned his back on me, and again approached his host, who had already begun to grow agitated.
“Mr. Shtukatúrin”!…. My name is Tchulkatúrin…. I could find no reply to make to this last insult of his, and only stared after him in a violent rage.—”Farewell until to-morrow,” I whispered, setting my teeth, and immediately hunted up an officer of my acquaintance, Captain Koloberdyáeff of the uhlans, a desperate carouser and a splendid fellow, narrated to him in a few words my quarrel with the Prince, and asked him to be my second. He, of course, immediately consented, and I wended my way homeward.
I could not get to sleep all night—from agitation, not from pusillanimity. I am no coward. I even thought very little indeed about the impending possibility of losing my life, that highest good on earth, according to the Germans. I thought of Liza only, of my dead hopes, of what I ought to do. “Ought I to try to kill the Prince?” I asked myself, and, of course, wanted to kill him,—not out of vengeance, but out of a desire for Liza’s good. “But she will not survive that blow,” I went on. “No, it will be better to let him kill me!”
I confess that it was also pleasant to me to think that I, an obscure man from the country, had forced so important a personage to fight a duel with me.
Dawn found me engrossed in these cogitations; and later in the morning, Koloberdyáeff presented himself.
“Well,”—he asked me, noisily entering my bedroom,—”and where ‘s the Prince’s second?”
“Why, good gracious!”—I replied with vexation,—”it ‘s only seven o’clock in the morning now; I presume the Prince is still fast asleep.”
“In that case,”—returned the irrepressible cavalry-captain,—”order them to give me some tea. I have a headache from last night’s doings….. I have n’t even been undressed. However,”—he added with a yawn,—”I rarely do undress anyway.”
Tea was served to him. He drank six glasses with rum, smoked four pipes, told me that on the preceding day he had bought for a song a horse which the coachmen had given up as a bad job, and intended to break it in by tying up one of its forelegs,—and fell asleep, without undressing, on the couch, with his pipe still in his mouth. I rose, and put my papers in order. One note of invitation from Liza, the only note I had received from her, I was on the point of putting in my breast, but changed my mind, and tossed it into a box. Koloberdyáeff was snoring faintly, with his head hanging down from the leather cushions…. I remember that I surveyed for a long time his dishevelled, dashing, care-free and kindly face. At ten o’clock my servant announced the arrival of Bizmyónkoff. The Prince had selected him for his second.
Together we roused the soundly-sleeping captain. He rose, stared at us with eyes owlishly stupid from sleep, and in a hoarse voice asked for vodka;—he recovered himself, and after having exchanged salutes with Bizmyónkoff, went out with him into the next room for consultation. The conference of the seconds did not last long. A quarter of an hour later they both came to me in my bedroom; Koloberdyáeff announced to me that “we shall fight to-day, at three o’clock, with pistols.” I silently bowed my head, in token of assent. Bizmyónkoff immediately took leave of us, and drove away. He was somewhat pale and inwardly agitated, like a man who is not accustomed to that sort of performance, but was very polite and cold. I seemed, somehow, to feel ashamed in his presence, and I did not dare to look him in the eye.
Koloberdyáeff began to talk about his horse again. This conversation was very much to my taste. I was afraid he might mention Liza. But my good captain was no scandal-monger, and, more than that, he despised all women, calling them, God knows why, “salad.” At two o’clock we lunched, and at three were already on the field of action—in that same birch-grove where I had once strolled with Liza, a couple of paces from that cliff.
We were the first to arrive. But the Prince and Bizmyónkoff did not make us wait long for them. The Prince was, without exaggeration, as fresh as a rose; his brown eyes gazed out with extreme affability from beneath the visor of his military cap. He was smoking a straw cigar, and on catching sight of Koloberdyáeff he shook hands with him in a cordial manner. He even bowed very charmingly to me. I, on the contrary, felt conscious that I was pale, and my hands, to my intense vexation, were trembling slightly;… my throat was dry… Never, up to that time, had I fought a duel. “O God!” I thought; “if only that sneering gentleman does not take my agitation for timidity!” I inwardly consigned my nerves to all the fiends; but on glancing, at last, straight at the Prince’s face, and catching on his lips an almost imperceptible smile, I suddenly became inflated with wrath, and immediately recovered my equanimity.
In the meantime, our seconds had arranged the barrier, had paced off the distance, and loaded the pistols. Koloberdyáeff did most of the active part; Bizmyónkoff chiefly watched him. It was a magnificent day—quite equal to the day of the never-to-be-forgotten stroll. The dense azure of the sky again peeped through the gilded green of the leaves. Their rustling seemed to excite me. The Prince continued to smoke his cigar, as he leaned his shoulder against the trunk of a linden….
“Be so good as to take your places, gentlemen; all is ready,”—said Koloberdyáeff at last, handing us the pistols.
The Prince retreated a few paces, halted, and turning his head back over his shoulder, asked me: “And do you still refuse to withdraw your words?”… I tried to answer him; but my voice failed me, and I contented myself with a disdainful motion of the hand. The Prince laughed again, and took his place. We began to approach each other. I raised my pistol, and was on the point of taking aim at the breast of my enemy,—at that moment he really was my enemy,—but suddenly elevated the barrel, as though some one had jogged my elbow, and fired. The Prince staggered, raised his left hand to his left temple—a thin stream of blood trickled down his cheek from beneath his white wash-leather glove. Bizmyónkoff flew to him.
“It is nothing,”—he said, taking off his cap, which had been perforated;—”if it did not enter my head, that means it is only a scratch.”
He calmly pulled a batiste handkerchief from his pocket, and laid it on his curls, which were wet with blood. I looked at him as though petrified, and did not stir from the spot.
“Please go to the barrier!”—remarked Koloberdyáeff to me with severity.
I obeyed.
“Shall the duel go on?”—he added, addressing Bizmyónkoff.
Bizmyónkoff made him no reply; but the Prince, without removing the handkerchief from the wound, nor even giving himself the satisfaction of teasing me at the barrier, replied with a smile: “The duel is ended,” and fired into the air. I nearly wept with vexation and rage. That man, by his magnanimity, had definitively trampled me in the mud, had cut my throat. I wanted to protest, I wanted to demand that he should fire at me; but he stepped up to me, and offering me his hand, “Everything is forgotten between us, is it not?”—he said, in a cordial voice.
I cast a glance at his pale face, at that blood-stained handkerchief, and utterly losing my head, blushing with shame, and annihilated, I pressed his hand…
“Gentlemen!”—he added, addressing the seconds:—”I hope that all this will remain a secret?”
“Of course!”—exclaimed Koloberdyáeff,—”but, Prince, allow me….”
And he himself bound up his head.
The Prince, as he departed, bowed to me once more; but Bizmyónkoff did not even bestow a glance on me. Slain,—morally slain,—I returned home with Koloberdyáeff.
“But what ails you?”—the captain asked me. “Calm yourself; the wound is not dangerous. He can dance to-morrow, if he likes. Or are you sorry that you did not kill him? In that case, you ‘re wrong; he ‘s a splendid fellow.”
“Why did he spare me?!”—I muttered at last.
“Oho! so that ‘s it!”—calmly retorted the captain… “Okh, these romancers will be the death of me!”
I positively refuse to describe my tortures in the course of the evening which followed this unlucky duel. My pride suffered inexpressibly. It was not my conscience which tormented me; the consciousness of my stupidity annihilated me. “I myself have dealt myself the last, the final blow!” I kept repeating as I paced my room with long strides…. “The Prince wounded by me and forgiving me …. yes, Liza is his now. Nothing can save her now, nor hold her back on the brink of perdition.” I was very well aware that our duel could not remain a secret, in spite of the Prince’s words; in any case, it could not remain a secret to Liza. “The Prince is not so stupid”—I whispered in a frenzy—”as not to take advantage of it.”… And, nevertheless, I was mistaken: the whole town heard about the duel and its actual cause,—on the very next day, of course; but it was not the Prince who had babbled—on the contrary; when he had presented himself to Liza with a bandaged head and an excuse which had been prepared in advance, she already knew everything… Whether Bizmyónkoff had betrayed me, or whether the news had reached her by other roads, I cannot say. And, after all, is it possible to conceal anything in a small town? You can imagine how Liza took it, how the whole Ozhógin family took it! As for me, I suddenly became the object of universal indignation, of loathing, a monster, a crazily jealous man, and a cannibal. My few acquaintances renounced me, as they would have renounced a leper. The town authorities appealed to the Prince with a proposition to chastise me in a stern and exemplary manner; only the persistent and importunate entreaties of the Prince himself warded off the calamity which menaced my head. This man was fated to annihilate me in every way. By his magnanimity he had shut me up as though with my coffin-lid. It is needless to say that the Ozhógins’ house was immediately closed to me. Kiríla Matvyéevitch even returned to me a plain pencil, which I had left at his residence. In reality, he was precisely the last man who should have been incensed with me. My “crazy” jealousy, as they called it in the town, had defined, elucidated, so to speak, the relations between Liza and the Prince. The old Ozhógins themselves and the other residents began to look upon him almost in the light of a betrothed husband. In reality, that could not have been quite agreeable to him; but he liked Liza very much; and moreover, at that time he had not, as yet, attained his object…. With all the tact of a clever man of the world, he accommodated himself to his new position, immediately entered into the spirit of his new part, as the saying is….
But I!… I then gave up in despair, so far as I myself was concerned, and so far as my future was concerned. When sufferings reach such a pitch that they make our whole inward being crack and creak like an overloaded cart, they ought to cease being ridiculous…. But no! laughter not only accompanies tears to the end, to exhaustion, to the point where it is impossible to shed any more of them,—not at all! it still rings and resounds at a point where the tongue grows dumb and lamentation itself dies away…. And then, in the first place, as I have no intention of appearing absurd even to myself, and in the second place, as I am frightfully tired, I shall defer the continuation and, God willing, the conclusion of my story until to-morrow….
< < < March 26. A thaw.
March 29. A light frost; last night there was a thaw. > > >
Russian Literature – Children Books – Russian Poetry – Ivan Turgenev – The Diary of a Superfluous Man – Contents
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