Works of Ivan Turgenev (Illustrated) (224 page)
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Authors: IVAN TURGENEV
The storm had abated … but its last struggles could still be felt. It was very early, there were no people in the streets, many places were strewn with broken chimney - pots and tiles, pieces of wrecked fencing, and branches of trees…. ‘What was it like last night at sea?’ I could not help wondering at the sight of the traces left by the storm. I intended to go to the harbour, but my legs, as though in obedience to some irresistible attraction, carried me in another direction. Ten minutes had not gone by before I found myself in a part of the town I had never visited till then. I walked not rapidly, but without halting, step by step, with a strange sensation at my heart; I expected something extraordinary, impossible, and at the same time I was convinced that this extraordinary thing would come to pass.
And, behold, it came to pass, this extraordinary, this unexpected thing! Suddenly, twenty paces before me, I saw the very negro who had addressed the baron in the café! Muffled in the same cloak as I had noticed on him there, he seemed to spring out of the earth, and with his back turned to me, walked with rapid strides along the narrow pavement of the winding street. I promptly flew to overtake him, but he, too, redoubled his pace, though he did not look round, and all of a sudden turned sharply round the corner of a projecting house. I ran up to this corner, turned round it as quickly as the negro…. Wonderful to relate! I faced a long, narrow, perfectly empty street; the fog of early morning rilled it with its leaden dulness, but my eye reached to its very end, I could scan all the buildings in it … and not a living creature stirring anywhere! The tall negro in the cloak had vanished as suddenly as he had appeared! I was bewildered … but only for one instant. Another feeling at once took possession of me; the street, which stretched its length, dumb, and, as it were, dead, before my eyes, I knew it! It was the street of my dream. I started, shivered, the morning was so fresh, and promptly, without the least hesitation, with a sort of shudder of conviction, went on!
I began looking about…. Yes, here it was; here to the right, standing cornerwise to the street, was the house of my dream, here too the old - fashioned gateway with scrollwork in stone on both sides…. It is true the windows of the house were not round, but rectangular … but that was not important…. I knocked at the gate, knocked twice or three times, louder and louder…. The gate was opened slowly with a heavy groan as though yawning. I was confronted by a young servant girl with dishevelled hair, and sleepy eyes. She was apparently only just awake. ‘Does the baron live here?’ I asked, and took in with a rapid glance the deep narrow courtyard…. Yes; it was all there … there were the planks and beams I had seen in my dream.
‘No,’ the servant girl answered, ‘the baron’s not living here.’
‘Not? impossible!’
‘He’s not here now. He left yesterday.’
‘Where’s he gone?’
‘To America.’
‘To America!’ I repealed involuntarily. ‘But he will come back?’
The servant looked at me suspiciously.
‘We don’t know about that. May be he won’t come back at all.’
‘And has he been living here long?’
‘Not long, a week. He’s not here now.’
‘And what was his surname, the baron’s?’ The girl stared at me.
‘You don’t know his name? We simply called him the baron. — Hi! Piotr!’ she shouted, seeing I was pushing in. ‘Come here; here’s a stranger keeps asking questions.’
From the house came the clumsy figure of a sturdy workman.
‘What is it? What do you want?’ he asked in a sleepy voice; and having heard me sullenly, he repeated what the girl had told me.
‘But who does live here?’ I asked.
‘Our master.’
‘Who is he?’
‘A carpenter. They’re all carpenters in this street.’
‘Can I see him?’
‘You can’t now, he’s asleep.’
‘But can’t I go into the house?’
‘No. Go away.’
‘Well, but can I see your master later on?’
‘What for? Of course. You can always see him…. To be sure, he’s always at his business here. Only go away now. Such a time in the morning, upon my soul!’
‘Well, but that negro?’ I asked suddenly.
The workman looked in perplexity first at me, then at the servant girl.
‘What negro?’ he said at last. ‘Go away, sir. You can come later. You can talk to the master.’
I went out into the street. The gate slammed at once behind me, sharply and heavily, with no groan this time.
I carefully noted the street and the house, and went away, but not home — I was conscious of a sort of disillusionment. Everything that had happened to me was so strange, so unexpected, and meanwhile what a stupid conclusion to it! I had been persuaded, I had been convinced, that I should see in that house the room I knew, and in the middle of it my father, the baron, in the dressing - gown, and with a pipe…. And instead of that, the master of the house was a carpenter, and I could go and see him as much as I liked — and order furniture of him, I dare say.
My father had gone to America. And what was left for me to do?… To tell my mother everything, or to bury for ever the very memory of that meeting? I positively could not resign myself to the idea that such a supernatural, mysterious beginning should end in such a senseless, ordinary conclusion!
I did not want to return home, and walked at random away from the town.
I walked with downcast head, without thought, almost without sensation, but utterly buried in myself. A rhythmic hollow and angry noise raised me from my numbness. I lifted my head; it was the sea roaring and moaning fifty paces from me. I saw I was walking along the sand of the dunes. The sea, set in violent commotion by the storm in the night, was white with foam to the very horizon, and the sharp crests of the long billows rolled one after another and broke on the flat shore. I went nearer to it, and walked along the line left by the ebb and flow of the tides on the yellow furrowed sand, strewn with fragments of trailing seaweed, broken shells, and snakelike ribbons of sea - grass. Gulls, with pointed wings, flying with a plaintive cry on the wind out of the remote depths of the air, soared up, white as snow against the grey cloudy sky, fell abruptly, and seeming to leap from wave to wave, vanished again, and were lost like gleams of silver in the streaks of frothing foam. Several of them, I noticed, hovered persistently over a big rock, which stood up alone in the midst of the level uniformity of the sandy shore. Coarse seaweed was growing in irregular masses on one side of the rock; and where its matted tangles rose above the yellow line, was something black, something longish, curved, not very large…. I looked attentively…. Some dark object was lying there, lying motionless beside the rock…. This object grew clearer, more defined the nearer I got to it….
There was only a distance of thirty paces left between me and the rock…. Why, it was the outline of a human form! It was a corpse; it was a drowned man thrown up by the sea! I went right up to the rock.
The corpse was the baron, my father! I stood as though turned to stone. Only then I realised that I had been led since early morning by some unknown forces, that I was in their power, and for some instants there was nothing in my soul but the never - ceasing crash of the sea, and dumb horror at the fate that had possession of me….
He lay on his back, turned a little to one side, with his left arm behind his head … the right was thrust under his bent body. The toes of his feet, in high sailor’s boots, had been sucked into the slimy sea - mud; the short blue jacket, drenched through with brine, was still closely buttoned; a red scarf was fastened in a tight knot about his neck. The dark face, turned to the sky, looked as if it were laughing; the small close - set teeth could be seen under the lifted upper lip; the dim pupils of the half - closed eyes were scarcely discernible in the darkened eyeballs; the clotted hair, covered with bubbles of foam, lay dishevelled on the ground, and bared the smooth brow with the purple line of the scar; the narrow nose rose, a sharp white line, between the sunken cheeks. The storm of the previous night had done its work…. He would never see America again! The man who had outraged my mother, who had spoiled and soiled her life; my father — yes! my father — of that I could feel no doubt — lay helplessly outstretched in the mud at my feet. I experienced a sensation of satisfied revenge, and of pity, and repulsion, and horror, more than all … a double horror, at what I saw, and at what had happened. The wicked criminal feelings of which I have spoken, those uncomprehended impulses of rage rose up in me … choked me. ‘Aha!’ I thought, ‘so that is why I am like this … that is how my blood shows itself!’ I stood beside the corpse, and stared in suspense. Would not those dead eyes move, would not those stiff lips quiver? No! all was still; the very seaweed seemed lifeless where the breakers had flung it; even the gulls had flown; not a broken spar anywhere, not a fragment of wood, nor a bit of rigging. On all sides emptiness … only he and I, and in the distance the sounding sea. I looked back; the same emptiness there: a ridge of lifeless downs on the horizon … that was all! My heart revolted against leaving this luckless wretch in this solitude, on the briny sand of the seashore, to be devoured by fishes and birds; an inner voice told me I ought to find people, call them, if not to help — what help could there be now! — at least to lift him up, to carry him into some living habitation … but an indescribable panic suddenly seized on me. It seemed to me that this dead man knew I had come here, that he had himself planned this last meeting. I even fancied I heard the indistinct mutter I knew so well…. I ran away … looked back once…. Something glittering caught my eye; it brought me to a halt. It was a hoop of gold on the hand of the corpse…. I knew it for my mother’s betrothal ring. I remember how I forced myself to turn back, to go up, to bend down … I remember the clammy touch of the chill fingers; I remember how I held my breath, and half - closed my eyes, and set my teeth, tearing off the obstinate ring….
At last, it was off … and I was running, running away at full speed, with something flying behind me, upon my heels, overtaking me.
All I had felt and gone through was probably written on my face when I got home. My mother abruptly drew herself up directly I went into her room, and looked with such urgent inquiry at me, that, after an unsuccessful attempt to explain, I ended by holding out the ring to her in silence. She turned fearfully white, her eyes opened extraordinarily and looked dead, like
those
eyes; she uttered a faint cry, snatched the ring, reeled, fell on my breast, and fairly swooned away, her head falling back, and her blank wide - open eyes staring at me. I threw both my arms about her, and standing where I was, without moving, told her slowly, in a subdued voice, everything, without the slightest concealment: my dream, and the meeting, and everything, everything…. She heard me to the end without uttering a single word, only her bosom heaved more and more violently, and her eyes suddenly flashed and sank. Then she put the ring on her third finger, and, moving away a little, began getting her cape and hat. I asked her where she was going. She lifted eyes full of surprise upon me, and tried to answer, but her voice failed her. She shuddered several times, rubbed her hands, as though she were trying to warm them, and at last said, ‘Let us go there at once.’
‘Where, mother?’
‘Where he is lying … I want to see … I want to know … I will know….’
I endeavoured to persuade her not to go; but she almost fell into a nervous attack. I saw it was impossible to oppose her wish, and we set off.
And now I was again walking along the sand; but this time not alone. I had my mother on my arm. The sea had ebbed away, had retreated farther still; it was calmer, but its roar, though fainter, was still menacing and malignant. There, at last, rose the solitary rock before us; there was the seaweed too. I looked intently, I tried to distinguish that curved object lying on the ground — but I saw nothing. We went closer; instinctively I slackened my pace. But where was the black still object? Only the tangles of seaweed rose black against the sand, which had dried up by now. We went right up to the rock…. There was no corpse to be seen; and only where it had been lying there was still a hollow place, and one could see where the arms and where the legs had lain…. The seaweed around looked as it were crushed, and prints were visible of one man’s feet; they crossed the dune, then were lost, as they reached the heaped - up shingle.
My mother and I looked at each other, and were frightened at what we saw in each other’s faces….
Surely he had not got up of himself and gone away?
‘You are sure you saw him dead?’ she asked in a whisper.
I could only nod in assent. Three hours had not passed since I had come upon the baron’s corpse…. Some one had discovered and removed it. I must find out who had done it, and what had become of it.
But first I had to look after my mother.
