Smoke (Alma Classics)

by Ivan Turgenev

  “I am very honoured, Mr Potugin,” but since we are, according to you, in the same position, why don’t you read sermons like that to yourself? Or should I ascribe your fears to another feeling?”

  “To jealousy, you mean? Oh, young man, you should be ashamed of not understanding the bitter grief that speaks through my mouth. No, you and I are not in the same position. Me, I am an old, ludicrous, totally harmless crank, while you… What is there to talk about? Not for one second would you agree to take on the role I play, and am grateful to play. But jealousy? No one is jealous who lacks a scintilla of hope, and now would not be the first time for me to experience this feeling. I’m simply terrified, terrified for her; you must understand that. And could I have expected, when she sent me to you, that the feeling of guilt which she confessed to having would take her so far?”

  “But allow me to say, Sozont Ivanovich, you seem to know—”

  “I know nothing and know everything. I know,” he added, turning away, “I know where she was yesterday. But there’s no restraining her now; like a stone cast into water, she must sink to the bottom. I would be an even bigger madman if I believed that my words would immediately restrain you… you to whom such a woman… But enough of that. I was not able to restrain myself; that is my entire excuse. In the end, how can one know, and why not try? Perhaps you will change your mind; perhaps some word of mine will enter your soul. You will not want to ruin her, yourself or that fine, innocent being. Oh, don’t get angry! Don’t stamp your foot! Why should I be afraid? Why stand on ceremony? It’s not my jealousy or irritation which is speaking now. I am ready to fall at your feet. Anyway, goodbye. Don’t worry – all this will remain confidential. I wished you well.”

  Potugin strode off down the avenue and soon vanished in the gloom, which was already gathering. Litvinov did not detain him.

  Potugin had mentioned to Litvinov a “dark and terrible story” and had not wanted to tell it… Let us address it in a few words.

  Some eight years previously it fell to him to be temporarily seconded from his ministry to Count Reisenbach. This happened in summer. Potugin would go to the Count’s dacha with papers and spend whole days there. Irina was also living in the Count’s house. She never looked down on lowly placed people, or at least she did not shun them, and the Countess reproached her more than once for her excessive Muscovite familiarity. Irina soon detected an intelligent man in this modest functionary, clad in an official frock coat buttoned up to the neck. She chatted with him willingly and frequently, while he… he fell in love with her passionately, profoundly and secretly. Secretly! So he thought. The summer passed; the Count no longer had need of an outside assistant. Potugin lost sight of Irina, but could not forget her. Some three years later, quite unexpectedly, he received an invitation from a lady of modest means, whom he knew only slightly. At first this lady struggled somewhat to express herself, but, having obtained from him an undertaking that he would keep everything he heard strictly confidential, suggested to him that he should marry a certain girl who occupied an enviable position in society and for whom marriage had become a necessity. The lady dropped the merest hint about an important personage and immediately promised Potugin money – a great deal of money. Potugin was not offended – surprise had muffled all feelings of anger – but, of course, he refused point-blank. Then the lady handed him a note. It was from Irina and addressed to him.

  “You are a kind and noble man,” she wrote, “and I know that you will do anything for me. I ask this sacrifice of you. You will be the salvation of a person who is dear to me. In saving her you will save me too. Don’t ask how. I would not have ventured to request this of just anyone, but to you I stretch out my hands and say: ‘Do this for me.’”

  Potugin pondered this and replied that for Irina Pavlovna he was indeed ready to do much, but would like to hear her wishes from her own lips. The meeting took place that very evening; it did not last long and no one knew about it except the lady. Irina was no longer living in Count Reisenbach’s house.

  “What made you think of me exactly?” Potugin asked her.

  She was about to expatiate on his good qualities, but suddenly stopped.

  “No,” she said, “I must speak the truth to you. I knew, I know you love me. That’s why I took the decision…” With that, she told him everything.

  Eliza Belskaya was an orphan; her relatives did not love her and had designs on her inheritance. She was faced with ruin. In saving her, Irina was in reality doing a service for the man who was the cause of everything and who had become extremely close to Irina. Potugin looked at Irina in silence for a long time – and agreed. She began to weep and threw herself on his neck in floods of tears. He too began to weep, but their tears were different. Already everything was being made ready for a secret marriage, a powerful hand having removed all obstacles. But illness struck, then a daughter was born, then the mother poisoned herself. What was to be done with the child? Potugin took it under his care from the same hands, from Irina’s hands.

  A terrible, dark story… Pass on, reader, pass on.

  More than an hour passed before Litvinov decided to return to his hotel. He was already approaching it when he heard footsteps behind him. It seemed that someone was dogging his steps and going faster whenever Litvinov increased his pace. Litvinov went and stood under a street lamp, turned round and recognized General Ratmirov. Wearing a white cravat and a modishly flung-open overcoat, with a string of stars and crosses on a gold chain in the buttonhole of his frock coat, the General was returning from dinner, alone. His eyes, fixed directly and boldly on Litvinov, expressed such contempt and hatred, his whole demeanour was so insistently challenging, that Litvinov felt obliged, reluctantly, to approach him and face up to a “scene”. But, as the General drew level with Litvinov, his face altered instantly; once again it assumed its usual playful refinement, and a hand in a light-purple glove raised a well-buffed hat. Litvinov silently doffed his, and each went their separate ways.

  “I’m sure he’s noticed something,” thought Litvinov.

  “If only it had been someone else,” thought the General.

  Tatyana was playing picquet with her aunt when Litvinov came into their room.

  “You’re a fine one, sir,” exclaimed Kapitolina Markovna, throwing her cards onto the table. “Our first day and you disappear for the whole evening. We’ve been waiting and waiting, scolding and scolding.”

  “I didn’t say anything, Auntie,” Tatyana observed.

  “Well, you wouldn’t say ‘boo’ to a goose. You should be ashamed of yourself, sir. And you her fiancé!”

  Litvinov mumbled his excuses and sat down at the table.

  “Why have you stopped playing cards?” he asked after a short silence.

  “That’s rich, coming from you. We were playing cards out of boredom, when there was nothing else to do. But you’ve come now.”

  “If you’d like to hear this evening’s music,” said Litvinov, “I’d be very happy to accompany you.”

  Kapitolina Markovna looked at her niece.

  “Let’s go, Auntie. I’m ready,” said Tatyana, “but wouldn’t it be better to stay at home?”

  “That’s the spirit! Let’s drink tea, Russian style, Moscow style, with a samovar. And let’s have a good talk. We haven’t yet had a good chinwag like we should have done.”

  Litvinov ordered tea, but the good talk was not forthcoming. He felt a constant gnawing of conscience; whatever he said it seemed to him all the time that he was lying and that Tatyana guessed as much. Meanwhile, no change could be detected in her; she comported herself quite naturally, although her gaze did not rest on Litvinov, but rather slipped past him, somewhat superciliously and fearfully, and she was paler than usual.

  Kapitolina Markovna asked whether she had a headache.

  At first Tatyana wanted to reply in the negative, but on reflection said: “Yes, a little.”


  “From all the travelling,” said Litvinov and even blushed with shame.

  “From all the travelling,” Tatyana repeated and her gaze again slipped past him.

  “You must rest, Tanya.”

  “I’m going to bed soon enough, Auntie.”

  On the table lay a copy of the Guide des voyageurs.* Litvinov began reading aloud a description of the environs of Baden.

  “That’s all very well,” Kapitolina Markovna interrupted, “but we mustn’t forget this: they say linen is very cheap here. We should buy some for the trousseau.”

  Tatyana lowered her eyes.

  “We’ll have time to do that, Auntie. You never think of yourself, but you must have a new dress made without fail. You can see how well dressed everyone is here.”

  “Ah, my dear, what use would that be? What sort of a fashion plate am I? It would be all right if I were beautiful, like what’s her name – that friend of yours, Grigory Mikhailovich.”

  “What friend?”

  “The one we met today.”

  “Ah! That one!” said Litvinov with feigned indifference, and again he felt disgust and shame.

  “No,” he thought, “we can’t go on like this.”

  He was sitting beside his fiancée, just a few inches away from her, and in his pocket was Irina’s handkerchief.

  Kapitolina Markovna went into another room for a minute.

  “Tanya,” Litvinov forced himself to say. It was the first time that day he had used the familiar form of her name.

  She turned to him.

  “I… I have something very important to say to you.”

  “Indeed! When? Now?”

  “No, tomorrow.”

  “Ah! Tomorrow. All right then.”

  Boundless pity instantly filled Litvinov’s heart. He took Tatyana’s hand and kissed it timidly, like a guilty man. She felt a pang in her heart and the kiss brought her no joy.

  That night, after one o’clock, Kapitolina Markovna, who was sleeping in the same room as her niece, suddenly raised her head and listened.

  “Tanya,” she said, “are you crying?”

  Tatyana did not answer at once.

  “No, Auntie,” came her gentle voice, “I have a cold.”

  20

  “Why did I tell her that?” Litvinov thought the next morning as he sat in front of the window in his room. He shrugged his shoulders irritably. He had said that to Tatyana in order to cut off his line of retreat. On the window ledge lay a note from Irina, inviting him to call on her by midday. He was constantly reminded of Potugin’s words; they sounded like a sinister, albeit faint, underground rumble. He grew angry and was unable to rid himself of them. Someone knocked at the door.

  “Wer da?”* Litvinov asked.

  “Ah, so you’re in. Open up!” came the hoarse sound of Bindasov’s voice.

  The door handle began to rattle. Litvinov grew pale with anger.

  “I’m not in,” he said sharply.

  “What do you mean – not in? What sort of a joke is this?”

  “I’ve told you – I’m not in. Go away.”

  “That’s nice. And I was coming to borrow a bit of money,” Bindasov grumbled.

  However, he retreated, clicking his heels as usual.

  Litvinov almost leapt out of the room after him, so keen was he to wring the neck of this repulsive, impudent fellow. The events of recent days had upset his nerves; it would not have taken much to make him burst into tears. He drank a glass of cold water, locked the drawers in every piece of furniture, without knowing why, and set off to see Tatyana.

  He found her alone. Kapitolina Markovna had gone off shopping. Tatyana was sitting on the sofa, holding a book in both hands; she was not reading it and scarcely knew what the book was. She was not stirring, but her heart was pounding and the white collar round her neck fluttered perceptibly and evenly.

  Litvinov was embarrassed. Nevertheless, he sat down beside her, greeted her and smiled. She bowed to him when he came in, not in a friendly manner, but politely, and did not look at him. He held out his hand to her; she gave him her chilled fingers, immediately withdrawing them, and again took up her book. Litvinov felt that to begin a conversation with trivial matters was to insult Tatyana. She, as usual, made no demands, but everything about her said: “I’m waiting, I’m waiting.” He had to honour his promise. But although he had thought of nothing else for almost the whole night, he had not prepared even the first introductory words, he had absolutely no idea how to break this cruel silence.

  “Tanya,” he began finally, “I said yesterday that I had something important to tell you” (when they were alone in Dresden he had begun to use the familiar form of address with her, but now this was unthinkable). “I’m ready, only first I ask you in advance not to be angry with me and to be assured that my feelings towards you…”

  He stopped and caught his breath.

  Tatyana still did not stir, nor did she look at him, merely clutching her book more firmly.

  “Between us,” Litvinov went on, leaving his previous speech unfinished, “between us there was always complete openness; I respect you too much to play tricks with you. I want to prove to you that I can appreciate the exalted and liberated nature of your soul… although, of course…”

  “Grigory Mikhailovich,” Tatyana began in an even tone; a deathly pallor covered her whole face. “I will come to your aid. You’ve fallen out of love with me and don’t know how to tell me.”

  Litvinov gave an involuntary shudder.

  “But why?” he said, scarcely audibly. “Why do you think that… I really do not understand…”

  “So it’s not true? Tell me, tell me: is it not true?”

  Tatyana turned her whole body to face Litvinov; her hair was thrown back, her face came near his face and her eyes, which for so long had not looked at him, bored into his.

  “Is it not true?” she repeated.

  He said nothing, made not a single sound. He could not have told a lie at that moment, even if he had known that she would believe him and that his lie would save her. He did not even have the strength to endure her gaze. Litvinov said nothing, but Tatyana no longer needed an answer. She could read his answer in his very silence, in his guilty, downcast eyes, and, leaning backwards, she dropped her book. She had still been in doubt until that moment; Litvinov understood that. He understood that she had still been in doubt, and how hideous, really hideous, was everything he had done!

  He threw himself to his knees before her.

  “Tanya,” he exclaimed, “if you knew how hard it is to see you in this situation, how horrible it is for me to think that it’s me… me! My heart is torn apart; I don’t recognize myself; I’ve lost myself, you, everything… Everything is destroyed, Tanya, everything. Could I have expected that I… that I would deal you such a blow, you, my best friend, my guardian angel? Could I have expected that we should meet like this, should spend a day like yesterday together?”

  Tatyana tried to rise to her feet and leave. Litvinov detained her by the edge of her dress.

  “No, hear me out for another minute. You can see I kneel before you, but it’s not forgiveness that I’ve come to ask for. You cannot, and must not, forgive me. I’ve come to tell you that your friend is ruined, that he is falling into an abyss and does not want to drag you in with him. As for saving me – no! Even you cannot save me. I would have pushed you away myself. I’m ruined, Tanya, irrevocably ruined.”

  Tanya looked at Litvinov.

  “You’re ruined?” she said, as if not fully understanding. “You’re ruined?”

  “Yes, Tanya, I’m ruined. Everything that has been dear to me, everything whereby I’ve lived hitherto, is ruined for me; everything is wrecked; everything is ripped apart, and I don’t know what lies ahead for me. You’ve just told me that I’ve fallen out of love
with you… No, Tanya, I have not fallen out of love with you, but another terrible, ineluctable feeling has come over me, has flooded over me. I resisted as long as I could.”

  Tatyana stood up. Her brows knitted. Her face grew dark. Litvinov also rose.

  “You have fallen in love with another woman,” she began, “and I can guess who she is. We met yesterday, didn’t we? Well then, I know what remains for me to do. Since you yourself say that the feeling you have is unalterable” – Tatyana stopped for a second; perhaps she hoped that Litvinov would not let her last words pass without reply, but he said nothing – “it remains for me to… absolve you from your word.”

  Litvinov bowed his head, as if humbly accepting a deserved blow.

  “You have the right to be disgusted with me,” he said. “You have the absolute right to reproach me with pusillanimity and deceit.”

  Tatyana again looked at him.

  “I wasn’t reproaching you, Litvinov. I don’t blame you. I agree with you: the bitterest truth is better than what happened yesterday. What sort of a life would ours have been?”

  “What sort of life will mine be?” Litvinov reflected sorrowfully.

  Tatyana went up to the door of the bedroom.

  “I ask you to leave me alone for some time, Grigory Mikhailovich. We’ll see each other again and speak further. I must compose myself a little. Leave me. Spare my pride. We’ll see each other again.”

  With that, Tatyana hurried out, locking the door behind her.

  Litvinov went out into the street like a man deafened and befuddled. Something dark and heavy had insinuated itself into the very depths of his soul. A similar sensation must be experienced by a man who has knifed another; at the same time he felt more at ease with himself, as if he had finally thrown off a hateful burden. Tatyana’s magnanimity had annihilated him; he was keenly aware of what he was losing. And yet remorse was mingled with irritation. He hankered for Irina as his only remaining refuge – and was angry with her. For some time Litvinov’s feelings had grown daily more complex and confused. This confusion tormented and exasperated him; he was lost amid this chaos. He yearned for one thing – to set off along a road, any road, so long as he no longer went round in circles in this meaningless semi-darkness. Positive people such as Litvinov ought not to be led astray by passion: it destroys the very meaning of their lives. But nature has no truck with logic, with our human logic; it has its own logic, which we do not understand and do not recognize until, like a wheel, it runs us over.