Works of Ivan Turgenev (Illustrated) (381 page)

“How was it that thou didst see her?” muttered the astounded Alexyéi Sergyéitch, who now heard a coherent speech from him for the first time. — ”What is she like? Has she a scythe?”

“No,” replied Prince L. — ”She’s a plain old woman in a loose gown — only she has but one eye in her forehead, and that eye has no lid.”

And on the following day Prince L. actually expired, after having fulfilled all his religious obligations and taken leave of every one intelligently and with emotion.

“That’s the way I shall die also,” Alexyéi Sergyéitch was wont to remark. And, in fact, something similar happened with him — of which, later on.

But now let us return to our former subject. Alexyéi Sergyéitch did not consort with the neighbours, as I have already said; and they did not like him any too well, calling him eccentric, arrogant, a mocker, and even a Martinist who did not recognise the authorities, without themselves understanding, of course, the meaning of the last word. To a certain extent the neighbours were right. Alexyéi Sergyéitch had resided for nearly seventy years in succession in his Sukhodól, having almost no dealings whatever with the superior authorities, with the military officials, or the courts. “The court is for the bandit, the military officer for the soldier,” he was wont to say; “but I, God be thanked, am neither a bandit nor a soldier.” Alexyéi Sergyéitch really was somewhat eccentric, but the soul within him was not of the petty sort. I will narrate a few things about him.

I never found out authoritatively what were his political views, if, indeed, one can apply to him such a very new - fangled expression; but he was, in his way, rather an aristocrat than a nobly - born master of serfs. More than once he complained because God had not given him a son and heir “for the honour of the race, for the continuation of the family.” On the wall of his study hung the genealogical tree of the Telyégins, with very profuse branches, and multitudinous circles in the shape of apples, enclosed in a gilt frame.

“We Telyégins,” he said, “are a very ancient stock, existing from remote antiquity; there have been a great many of us Telyégins, but we have not run after foreigners, we have not bowed our backs, we have not wearied ourselves by standing on the porches of the mighty, we have not nourished ourselves on the courts, we have not earned wages, we have not pined for Moscow, we have not intrigued in Peter; we have sat still, each on his place, his own master on his own land … thrifty, domesticated birds, my dear sir! — Although I myself have served in the Guards, yet it was not for long, I thank you!”

Alexyéi Sergyéitch preferred the olden days. — ”Things were freer then, more seemly, I assure you on my honour! But ever since the year one thousand and eight hundred” (why precisely from that year he did not explain), “this warring and this soldiering have come into fashion, my dear fellow. These military gentlemen have mounted upon their heads some sort of plumes made of cocks’ tails, and made themselves like cocks; they have drawn their necks up tightly, very tightly … they speak in hoarse tones, their eyes are popping out of their heads — and how can they help being hoarse? The other day some police corporal or other came to see me. — ’I have come to you, Your Well - Born,’ quoth he…. (A pretty way he had chosen to surprise me! … for I know myself that I am well - born….) ‘I have a matter of business with you.’ But I said to him: ‘Respected sir, first undo the hooks on thy collar. Otherwise, which God forbid, thou wilt sneeze! Akh, what will become of thee! What will become of thee! — Thou wilt burst like a puff - ball…. And I shall be responsible for it!’ And how they drink, those military gentlemen — o - ho - ho! I generally give orders that they shall be served with champagne from the Don, because Don champagne and Pontacq are all the same to them; it slips down their throats so smoothly and so fast — how are they to distinguish the difference? And here’s another thing: they have begun to suck that sucking - bottle, to smoke tobacco. A military man will stick that same sucking - bottle under his moustache, between his lips, and emit smoke through his nostrils, his mouth, and even his ears — and think himself a hero! There are my horrid sons - in - law, for example; although one of them is a senator, and the other is some sort of a curator, they suck at the sucking - bottle also, — and yet they regard themselves as clever men!…”

Alexyéi Sergyéitch could not endure smoking tobacco, nor dogs, especially small dogs. — ”Come, if thou art a Frenchman, then keep a lap - dog. Thou runnest, thou skippest hither and thither, and it follows thee, with its tail in the air … but of what use is it to fellows like me?” — He was very neat and exacting. He never spoke of the Empress Katherine otherwise than with enthusiasm, and in a lofty, somewhat bookish style: “She was a demi - god, not a human being! — Only contemplate yon smile, my good sir,” he was wont to add, pointing at the Lampi portrait, “and admit that she was a demi - god! I, in my lifetime, have been so happy as to have been vouchsafed the bliss of beholding yon smile, and to all eternity it will never be erased from my heart!” — And thereupon he would impart anecdotes from the life of Katherine such as it has never been my lot to read or hear anywhere. Here is one of them. Alexyéi Sergyéitch did not permit the slightest hint at the failings of the great Empress. “Yes, and in conclusion,” he cried: “is it possible to judge her as one judges other people? — One day, as she was sitting in her powder - mantle, at the time of her morning toilet, she gave orders that her hair should be combed out…. And what happened? The waiting - woman passes the comb through it, and electric sparks fly from it in a perfect shower! — Then she called to her the body physician, Rodgerson, who was present on duty, and says to him: ‘I know that people condemn me for certain actions; but dost thou see this electricity? Consequently, with such a nature and constitution as mine, thou mayest thyself judge, for thou art a physician, that it is unjust to condemn me, but they should understand me!’“

The following incident was ineffaceably retained in the memory of Alexyéi Sergyéitch. He was standing one day on the inner watch in the palace, and he was only sixteen years of age. And lo, the Empress passes him — he presents arms…. “And she,” cried Alexyéi Sergyéitch, again with rapture, “smiling at my youth and my zeal, deigned to give me her hand to kiss, and patted me on the cheek, and inquired who I was, and whence I came, and from what family? And then …” (here the old man’s voice generally broke) … “then she bade me give my mother her compliments and thank her for rearing her children so well. And whether I was in heaven or on earth, and how and whither she withdrew, — whether she soared up on high, or passed into another room, — I know not to this day!”

I often tried to question Alexyéi Sergyéitch about those olden days, about the men who surrounded the Empress…. But he generally evaded the subject. “What’s the use of talking about old times?” — he said … “one only tortures himself. One says to himself, — ’Thou wert a young man then, but now thy last teeth have vanished from thy mouth.’ And there’s no denying it — the old times were good … well, and God be with them! And as for those men — I suppose, thou fidgety child, that thou art talking about the accidental men? Thou hast seen a bubble spring forth on water? So long as it is whole and lasts, what beautiful colours play upon it! Red and yellow and blue; all one can say is, ‘‘Tis a rainbow or a diamond!’ — But it soon bursts, and no trace of it remains. And that’s what those men were like.”

“Well, and how about Potyómkin?” I asked one day.

Alexyéi Sergyéitch assumed a pompous mien. “Potyómkin, Grigóry Alexándritch, was a statesman, a theologian, a nursling of Katherine’s, her offspring, one must say…. But enough of that, my little sir!”

Alexyéi Sergyéitch was a very devout man and went to church regularly, although it was beyond his strength. There was no superstition perceptible in him; he ridiculed signs, the evil eye, and other “twaddle,” yet he did not like it when a hare ran across his path, and it was not quite agreeable for him to meet a priest. He was very respectful to ecclesiastical persons, nevertheless, and asked their blessing, and even kissed their hand every time, but he talked with them reluctantly. — ”They emit a very strong odour,” he explained; “but I, sinful man that I am, have grown effeminate beyond measure; — their hair is so long and oily, and they comb it out in all directions, thinking thereby to show me respect, and they clear their throats loudly in the middle of conversation, either out of timidity or because they wish to please me in that way also. Well, but they remind me of my hour of death. But be that as it may, I want to live a while longer. Only, little sir, don’t repeat these remarks of mine; respect the ecclesiastical profession — only fools do not respect it; and I am to blame for talking nonsense in my old age.”

Alexyéi Sergyéitch had received a scanty education, like all nobles of that epoch; but he had completed it, to a certain degree, by reading. He read only Russian books of the end of the last century; he considered the newer writers unleavened and weak in style. During his reading he placed beside him, on a round, one - legged little table, a silver jug filled with a special effervescent kvas flavoured with mint, whose pleasant odour disseminated itself through all the rooms. He placed large, round spectacles on the tip of his nose; but in his later years he did not so much read as stare thoughtfully over the rims of the spectacles, elevating his brows, mowing with his lips and sighing. Once I caught him weeping, with a book on his knees, which greatly surprised me, I admit.

He recalled the following wretched doggerel:

    O all - conquering race of man!

    Rest is unknown to thee!

    Thou findest it only

    When thou swallowest the dust of the grave….

    Bitter, bitter is this rest!

    Sleep, ye dead…. But weep, ye living!

These verses were composed by a certain Górmitch - Gormítzky, a roving poetaster, whom Alexyéi Sergyéitch had harboured in his house because he seemed to him a delicate and even subtle man; he wore shoes with knots of ribbon, pronounced his
o’s
broadly, and, raising his eyes to heaven, he sighed frequently. In addition to all these merits, Górmitch - Gormítzky spoke French passably well, for he had been educated in a Jesuit college, while Alexyéi Sergyéitch only “understood” it. But having once drunk himself dead - drunk in a dram - shop, this same subtle Gormítzky displayed outrageous violence. He thrashed “to flinders” Alexyéi Sergyéitch’s valet, the cook, two laundresses who happened along, and even an independent carpenter, and smashed several panes in the windows, yelling lustily the while: “Here now, I’ll just show these Russian sluggards, these unlicked katzápy!” — And what strength that puny little man displayed! Eight men could hardly control him! For this turbulence Alexyéi Sergyéitch gave orders that the rhymster should be flung out of the house, after he had preliminarily been rolled in the snow (it happened in the winter), to sober him.

“Yes,” Alexyéi Sergyéitch was wont to say, “my day is over; the horse is worn out. I used to keep poets at my expense, and I used to buy pictures and books from the Jews — and my geese were quite as good as those of Mukhán, and I had genuine slate - coloured tumbler - pigeons…. I was an amateur of all sorts of things! Except that I never was a dog - fancier, because of the drunkenness and the clownishness! I was mettlesome, untamable! God forbid that a Telyégin should be anything but first - class in everything! And I had a splendid horse - breeding establishment…. And those horses came … whence, thinkest thou, my little sir? — From those very renowned studs of the Tzar Iván Alexyéitch, the brother of Peter the Great…. I’m telling you the truth! All stallions, dark brown in colour, with manes to their knees, tails to their hoofs…. Lions! Vanity of vanities, all is vanity! But what’s the use of regretting it? Every man has his limit fixed for him. — You cannot fly higher than heaven, nor live in the water, nor escape from the earth…. Let us live on a while longer, at any rate!”

And again the old man smiled and took a pinch of his Spanish tobacco.

His peasants loved him. Their master was kind, according to them, and not a heart - breaker. — Only, they also repeated that he was a worn - out steed. Formerly Alexyéi Sergyéitch had gone into everything himself: he had ridden out into the fields, and to the flour - mill, and to the oil - mill and the storehouses, and looked in to the peasants’ cottages; every one was familiar with his racing - drozhky, upholstered in crimson plush and drawn by a well - grown horse with a broad blaze extending clear across its forehead, named “Lantern” — from that same famous breeding establishment. Alexyéi Sergyéitch drove him himself with the ends of the reins wound round his fists. But when his seventieth birthday came the old man gave up everything, and entrusted the management of his estate to the peasant bailiff Antíp, of whom he secretly stood in awe and called Micromegas (memories of Voltaire!), or simply “robber.”

“Well, robber, hast thou gathered a big lot of stolen goods?” he would say, looking the robber straight in the eye.

“Everything is according to your grace,” Antíp would reply merrily.