Works of Ivan Turgenev (Illustrated) (335 page)

But enough of him. Let us talk a little about Alexey Sergeitch’s wife,

Malania Pavlovna. Malania Pavlovna was born at Moscow.

She had been famous as the greatest beauty in Moscow —
la Vénus de Moscou
. I knew her as a thin old woman with delicate but insignificant features, with crooked teeth, like a hare’s, in a tiny little mouth, with a multitude of finely crimped little yellow curls on her forehead, and painted eyebrows. She invariably wore a pyramidal cap with pink ribbons, a high ruff round her neck, a short white dress, and prunella slippers with red heels; and over her dress she wore a jacket of blue satin, with a sleeve hanging loose from her right shoulder. This was precisely the costume in which she was arrayed on St. Peter’s Day in the year 1789! On that day she went, being still a girl, with her relations to the Hodinskoe field to see the famous boxing - match arranged by Orlov. ‘And Count Alexey Grigorievitch’ (oh, how often I used to hear this story!) ‘noticing me, approached, bowed very low, taking his hat in both hands, and said: “Peerless beauty,” said he, “why have you hung that sleeve from your shoulder? Do you, too, wish to try a tussle with me? … By all means; only I will tell you beforehand you have vanquished me — I give in! And I am your captive.” And every one was looking at us and wondering.’ And that very costume she had worn continually ever since. ‘Only I didn’t wear a cap, but a hat
à la bergère de Trianon
; and though I was powdered, yet my hair shone through it, positively shone through it like gold!’ Malania Pavlovna was foolish to the point of ‘holy innocence,’ as it is called; she chattered quite at random, as though she were hardly aware herself of what dropped from her lips — and mostly about Orlov. Orlov had become, one might say, the principal interest of her life. She usually walked … or rather swam, into the room with a rhythmic movement of the head, like a peacock, stood still in the middle, with one foot strangely turned out, and two fingers holding the tip of the loose sleeve (I suppose this pose, too, must once have charmed Orlov); she would glance about her with haughty nonchalance, as befits a beauty — and with a positive sniff, and a murmur of ‘What next!’ as though some importunate gallant were besieging her with compliments, she would go out again, tapping her heels and shrugging her shoulders. She used, too, to take Spanish snuff out of a tiny bonbonnière, picking it up with a tiny golden spoon; and from time to time, especially when any one unknown to her was present, she would hold up — not to her eyes, she had splendid sight, but to her nose — a double eyeglass in the shape of a half - moon, with a coquettish turn of her little white hand, one finger held out separate from the rest. How often has Malania Pavlovna described to me her wedding in the church of the Ascension, in Arbaty — such a fine church! — and how all Moscow was there … ‘and the crush there was! — awful! Carriages with teams, golden coaches, outriders … one outrider of Count Zavadovsky got run over! and we were married by the archbishop himself — and what a sermon he gave us! every one was crying — wherever I looked I saw tears … and the governor - general’s horses were tawny, like tigers. And the flowers, the flowers that were brought! … Simply loads of flowers!’ And how on that day a foreigner, a wealthy, tremendously wealthy person, had shot himself from love — and how Orlov too had been there…. And going up to Alexey Sergeitch, he had congratulated him and called him a lucky man…. ‘A lucky man you are, you silly fellow!’ said he. And how in answer to these words Alexey Sergeitch had made a wonderful bow, and had swept the floor from left to right with the plumes of his hat, as if he would say: ‘Your Excellency, there is a line now between you and my spouse, which you will not overstep!’ And Orlov, Alexey Grigorievitch understood at once, and commended him. ‘Oh! that was a man! such a man!’ And how, ‘One day, Alexis and I were at his house at a ball — I was married then — and he had the most marvellous diamond buttons! And I could not resist it, I admired them. “What marvellous diamonds you have, Count!” said I. And he, taking up a knife from the table, at once cut off a button and presented it to me and said: “In your eyes, my charmer, the diamonds are a hundred times brighter; stand before the looking - glass and compare them.” And I stood so, and he stood beside me. “Well, who’s right?” said he, while he simply rolled his eyes, looking me up and down. And Alexey Sergeitch was very much put out about it, but I said to him: “Alexis,” said I, “please don’t you be put out; you ought to know me better!” And he answered me: “Don’t disturb yourself, Melanie!” And these very diamonds are now round my medallion of Alexey Grigorievitch — you’ve seen it, I dare say, my dear; — I wear it on feast - days on a St. George ribbon, because he was a brave hero, a knight of St. George: he burned the Turks.’

For all that, Malania Pavlovna was a very kind - hearted woman; she was easily pleased. ‘She’s not one to snarl, nor to sneer,’ the maids used to say of her. Malania Pavlovna was passionately fond of sweet things — and a special old woman who looked after nothing but the jam, and so was called the jam - maid, would bring her, ten times a day, a china dish with rose - leaves crystallised in sugar, or barberries in honey, or sherbet of bananas. Malania Pavlovna was afraid of solitude — dreadful thoughts are apt to come over one, she would say — and was almost always surrounded by companions, whom she would urgently implore: ‘Talk, talk! why do you sit like that, simply keeping your seats warm!’ and they would begin twittering like canaries. She was no less devout than Alexey Sergeitch, and was very fond of praying; but as, in her own words, she had never learned to repeat prayers well, she kept for the purpose a poor deacon’s widow who prayed with such relish! Never stumbled over a word in her life! And this deacon’s widow certainly could utter the words of prayer in a sort of unbroken flow, not interrupting the stream to breathe out or draw breath in, while Malania Pavlovna listened and was much moved. She had another widow in attendance on her — it was her duty to tell her stories in the night. ‘But only the old ones,’ Malania Pavlovna would beg — ’those I know already; the new ones are all so far - fetched.’ Malania Pavlovna was flighty in the extreme, and at times she was fanciful too; some ridiculous notion would suddenly come into her head. She did not like the dwarf, Janus, for instance; she was always fancying he would suddenly get up and shout, ‘Don’t you know who I am? The prince of the Buriats. Mind, you are to obey me!’ Or else that he would set fire to the house in a fit of spleen. Malania Pavlovna was as liberal as Alexey Sergeitch; but she never gave money — she did not like to soil her hands — but kerchiefs, bracelets, dresses, ribbons; or she would send pies from the table, or a piece of roast meat, or a bottle of wine. She liked feasting the peasant - women, too, on holidays; they would dance, and she would tap with her heels and throw herself into attitudes.

Alexey Sergeitch was well aware that his wife was a fool; but almost from the first year of his marriage he had schooled himself to keep up the fiction that she was very witty and fond of saying cutting things. Sometimes when her chatter began to get beyond all bounds, he would threaten her with his finger, and say as he did so: ‘Ah, the tongue, the tongue! what it will have to answer for in the other world! It will be pierced with a redhot pin!’

Malania Pavlovna was not offended, however, at this; on the contrary, she seemed to feel flattered at hearing a reproof of that sort, as though she would say, ‘Well! is it my fault if I’m naturally witty?’

Malania Pavlovna adored her husband, and had been all her life an exemplarily faithful wife; but there had been a romance even in her life — a young cousin, an hussar, killed, as she supposed, in a duel on her account; but, according to more trustworthy reports, killed by a blow on the head from a billiard - cue in a tavern brawl. A water - colour portrait of this object of her affections was kept by her in a secret drawer. Malania Pavlovna always blushed up to her ears when she mentioned Kapiton — such was the name of the young hero — and Alexey Sergeitch would designedly scowl, shake his finger at his wife again, and say: ‘No trusting a horse in the field nor a woman in the house. Don’t talk to me of Kapiton, he’s Cupidon!’ Then Malania Pavlovna would be all of a flutter and say: ‘Alexis, Alexis, it’s too bad of you! In your young days you flirted, I’ve no doubt, with all sorts of misses and madams — and so now you imagine….’ ‘Come, that’s enough, that’s enough, my dear Malania,’ Alexey Sergeitch interrupted with a smile. ‘Your gown is white — but whiter still your soul!’ ‘Yes, Alexis, it is whiter!’ ‘Ah, what a tongue, what a tongue!’ Alexis would repeat, patting her hand.

To speak of ‘views’ in the case of Malania Pavlovna would be even more inappropriate than in the case of Alexey Sergeitch; yet I once chanced to witness a strange manifestation of my aunt’s secret feelings. In the course of conversation I once somehow mentioned the famous chief of police, Sheshkovsky; Malania Pavlovna turned suddenly livid — positively livid, green, in spite of her rouge and paint — and in a thick and perfectly unaffected voice (a very rare thing with her — she usually minced a little, intoned, and lisped) she said: ‘Oh, what a name to utter! And towards nightfall, too! Don’t utter that name!’ I was astonished; what kind of significance could his name have for such a harmless and inoffensive creature, incapable — not merely of doing — even of thinking of anything not permissible? Anything but cheerful reflections were aroused in me by this terror, manifesting itself after almost half a century.

Alexey Sergeitch died in his eighty - eighth year — in the year 1848, which apparently disturbed even him. His death, too, was rather strange. He had felt well the same morning, though by that time he never left his easy - chair. And all of a sudden he called his wife: ‘Malania, my dear, come here.’ ‘What is it, Alexis?’ ‘It’s time for me to die, my dear, that’s what it is.’ ‘Mercy on you, Alexey Sergeitch! What for?’ ‘Because, first of all, one must know when to take leave; and, besides, I was looking the other day at my feet…. Look at my feet … they are not mine … say what you like … look at my hands, look at my stomach … that stomach’s not mine — so really I’m using up another man’s life. Send for the priest; and meanwhile, put me to bed — from which I shall not get up again.’ Malania Pavlovna was terribly upset; however, she put the old man to bed and sent for the priest. Alexey Sergeitch confessed, took the sacrament, said good - bye to his household, and fell asleep. Malania Pavlovna was sitting by his bedside. ‘Alexis!’ she cried suddenly, ‘don’t frighten me, don’t shut your eyes! Are you in pain?’ The old man looked at his wife: ‘No, no pain … but it’s difficult … difficult to breathe.’ Then after a brief silence: ‘Malania,’ he said, ‘so life has slipped by — and do you remember when we were married … what a couple we were?’ ‘Yes, we were, my handsome, charming Alexis!’ The old man was silent again. ‘Malania, my dear, shall we meet again in the next world?’ ‘I will pray God for it, Alexis,’ and the old woman burst into tears. ‘Come, don’t cry, silly; maybe the Lord God will make us young again then — and again we shall be a fine pair!’ ‘He will make us young, Alexis!’ ‘With the Lord all things are possible,’ observed Alexey Sergeitch. ‘He worketh great marvels! — maybe He will make you sensible…. There, my love, I was joking; come, let me kiss your hand.’ ‘And I yours.’ And the two old people kissed each other’s hands simultaneously.

Alexey Sergeitch began to grow quieter and to sink into forgetfulness. Malania Pavlovna watched him tenderly, brushing the tears off her eyelashes with her finger - tips. For two hours she continued sitting there. ‘Is he asleep?’ the old woman with the talent for praying inquired in a whisper, peeping in behind Irinarh, who, immovable as a post, stood in the doorway, gazing intently at his expiring master. ‘He is asleep,’ answered Malania Pavlovna also in a whisper. And suddenly Alexey Sergeitch opened his eyes. ‘My faithful companion,’ he faltered, ‘my honoured wife, I would bow down at your little feet for all your love and faithfulness — but how to get up? Let me sign you with the cross.’ Malania Pavlovna moved closer, bent down…. But the hand he had raised fell back powerless on the quilt, and a few moments later Alexey Sergeitch was no more.

His daughters arrived only on the day of the funeral with their husbands; they had no children either of them. Alexey Sergeitch showed them no animosity in his will, though he never even mentioned them on his death - bed. ‘My heart has grown hard to them,’ he once said to me. Knowing his kindly nature, I was surprised at his words. It is hard to judge between parents and children. ‘A great ravine starts from a little rift,’ Alexey Sergeitch said to me once in this connection: ‘a wound a yard wide may heal; but once cut off even a finger nail, it will not grow again.’

I fancy the daughters were ashamed of their eccentric old parents.

A month later and Malania Pavlovna too passed away. From the very day of Alexey Sergeitch’s death she had hardly risen from her bed, and had not put on her usual attire; but they buried her in the blue jacket, and with Orlov’s medallion on her shoulder, only without the diamonds. Those her daughters divided, on the pretext that the diamonds should be used in the setting of some holy pictures; in reality, they used them to adorn their own persons.

And so I can see my old friends as though they were alive and before my eyes, and pleasant is the memory I preserve of them. And yet on my very last visit to them (I was a student by then) an incident occurred which jarred upon the impression of patriarchal harmony always produced in me by the Teliegin household.

Among the house - serfs there was one Ivan, called ‘Suhys’ Ivan,’ a coachman or coach - boy, as they called him on account of his small size, in spite of his being no longer young. He was a tiny little man, brisk, snub - nosed, curly - headed, with an everlastingly smiling, childish face, and little eyes, like a mouse’s. He was a great joker, a most comic fellow; he was great at all sorts of tricks — he used to fly kites, let off fireworks and rockets, to play all sorts of games, gallop standing up on the horse’s back, fly higher than all the rest in the swing, and could even make Chinese shadows. No one could amuse children better; and he would gladly spend the whole day looking after them. When he started laughing, the whole house would seem to liven up; they would answer him — one would say one thing, one another, but he always made them all merry…. And even if they abused him, they could not but laugh. Ivan danced marvellously, especially the so - called ‘fish dance.’ When the chorus struck up a dance tune, the fellow would come into the middle of the ring, and then there would begin such a turning and skipping and stamping, and then he would fall flat on the ground, and imitate the movement of a fish brought out of the water on to dry land; such turning and wriggling, the heels positively clapped up to the head; and then he would get up and shriek — the earth seemed simply quivering under him. At times Alexey Sergeitch, who was, as I have said already, exceedingly fond of watching dancing, could not resist shouting, ‘Little Vania, here! coach - boy! Dance us the fish, smartly now’; and a minute later he would whisper enthusiastically: ‘Ah, what a fellow it is!’