Read Ebook: Liza; Or A Nest of Nobles by Turgenev Ivan Sergeevich Ralston William Ralston Shedden Translator

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Ebook has 1161 lines and 70639 words, and 24 pages

"A husband is always to blame, madam, if you will allow me to say so, when his wife behaves ill."

Gedeonovsky's only reply was a forced smile. For a short time he remained silent, but presently he said, "May I be allowed to be so inquisitive as to ask for whom this pretty scarf is intended?"

Marfa Timofeevna looked up at him quickly.

"For whom is it intended?" she said. "For a man who never slanders, who does not intrigue, and who makes up no falsehoods--if, indeed, such a man is to be found in the world. I know Fedia thoroughly well; the only thing for which he is to blame is that he spoilt his wife. To be sure he married for love; and from such love-matches no good ever comes," added the old lady, casting a side glance at Maria Dmitrievna. Then, standing up, she added: "But now you can whet your teeth on whom you will; on me, if you like. I'm off. I won't hinder you any longer." And with these words she disappeared.

"She is always like that," said Maria Dmitrievna following her aunt with her eyes--"always."

"What else can be expected of her at her time of life?" replied Gedeonovsky. "Just see now! 'Who does not intrigue?' she was pleased to say. But who is there nowadays who doesn't intrigue? It is the custom of the present age. A friend of mine--a most respectable man, and one, I may as well observe, of no slight rank--used to say, 'Nowadays, it seems, if a hen wants a grain of corn she approaches it cunningly, watches anxiously for an opportunity of sidling up to it.' But when I look at you, dear lady, I recognize in you a truly angelic nature. May I be allowed to kiss your snow-white hand?"

Maria Dmitrievna slightly smiled, and held out her plump hand to Gedeonovsky, keeping the little finger gracefully separated from the rest; and then, after he had raised her hand to his lips, she drew her chair closer to his, bent a little towards him, and asked, in a low voice--

"So you have seen him? And is he really well and in good spirits?"

"In excellent spirits," replied Gedeonovsky in a whisper.

"You haven't heard where his wife is now?"

"A short time ago she was in Paris; but she is gone away, they say, and is now in Italy."

"Really it is shocking--Fedia's position. I can't think how he manages to bear it. Every one, of course, has his misfortunes; but his affairs, one may say, have become known all over Europe."

Gedeonovsky sighed.

"Quite so, quite so! They say she has made friends with artists and pianists; or, as they call them there, with lions and other wild beasts. She has completely lost all sense of shame--"

"It's very, very sad," said Maria Dmitrievna; "especially for a relation. You know, don't you, Sergius Petrovich, that he is a far-away cousin of mine?"

"To be sure, to be sure! You surely don't suppose I could be ignorant of any thing that concerns your family."

"Will he come to see us? What do you think?"

"One would suppose so; but afterwards, I am told, he will go and live on his estate in the country."

Maria Dmitrievna lifted her eyes towards heaven.

"Oh, Sergius Petrovich, Sergius Petrovich! how often I think how necessary it is for us women to behave circumspectly!"

"There are women and women, Maria Dmitrievna. There are, unfortunately, some who are--of an unstable character; and then there is a certain time of life--and, besides, good principles have not been instilled into them when they were young."

Here Sergius Petrovich drew from his pocket a blue handkerchief, of a check pattern, and began to unfold it.

"Such women, in fact, do exist."

Here Sergius Petrovich applied a corner of the handkerchief to each of his eyes in turn.

"But, generally speaking, if one reflects--that is to say--The dust in the streets is something extraordinary," he ended by saying.

Maria Dmitrievna rose from her chair. Sergius Petrovich also got up and bowed.

"My respects to Elena Mikhailovna," he said; and, discreetly retiring to a corner, he betook himself to blowing his long straight nose.

"What a lovely horse he has!" continued the little girl. "He was at the garden gate just now, and he told me and Liza that he would come up to the front door."

The sound of hoofs was heard, and a well appointed cavalier, mounted on a handsome bay horse, rode up to the house, and stopped in front of the open window.

"Good-evening, Maria Dmitrievna!" exclaimed the rider's clear and pleasant voice. "How do you like my new purchase?"

Maria Dmitrievna went to the window.

"Good-evening, Woldemar! Ah, what a splendid horse! From whom did you buy it?"

"From our remount-officer. He made me pay dear for it, the rascal."

"What is it's name?"

The horse neighed, pawed the air, and tossed the foam from its nostrils.

"Come and stroke it, Lenochka; don't be afraid."

"Now then, stroke him, Lenochka," repeated the horseman; "I don't mean to let him have his own way."

Lenochka stretched out her hand a second time, and timidly touched the quivering nostrils of Orlando, who champed his bit, and kept incessantly fidgeting.

"Bravo!" exclaimed Maria Dmitrievna; "but now get off, and come in."

The rider wheeled his horse sharply round, drove the spurs into its sides, rode down the street at a hand gallop, and turned into the court-yard. In another minute he had crossed the hall and entered the drawing-room, flourishing his whip in the air.

At the same moment there appeared on the threshold of another doorway a tall, well-made, dark-haired girl of nineteen--Maria Dmitrievna's elder daughter, Liza.

The young man whom we have just introduced to our readers was called Vladimir Nikolaevich Panshine. He occupied a post at St. Petersburg--one devoted to business of a special character--in the Ministry of the Interior. He had come to O. about certain affairs of a temporary nature, and was placed there at the disposal of the governor, General Zonnenberg, to whom he was distantly related.

Panshine's father, a retired cavalry officer, who used to be well known among card-players, was a man of a worn face, with weak eyes, and a nervous contraction about the lips. Throughout his life he always revolved in a distinguished circle, frequenting the English Clubs of both capitals, and being generally considered a man of ability and a pleasant companion, though not a person to be confidently depended upon. In spite of all his ability, he was almost always just on the verge of ruin, and he ultimately left but a small and embarrassed property to his only son. About that son's education, however, he had, after his own fashion, taken great pains.

Panshine really was very adroit--not less so than his father had been. And besides this, he was endowed with no small talent; nothing was too difficult for him. He sang pleasantly, drew confidently, could write poetry, and acted remarkably well.

He was now only in his twenty eighth year, but he was already a Chamberlain, and he had arrived at a highly respectable rank in the service. He had thorough confidence in himself, in his intellect, and in his sagacity. He went onwards under full sail, boldly and cheerfully; the stream of his life flowed smoothly along. He was accustomed to please every one, old and young alike; and he imagined that he thoroughly understood his fellow-creatures, especially women--that he was intimately acquainted with all their ordinary weaknesses.

As one who was no stranger to Art, he felt within him a certain enthusiasm, a glow, a rapture, in consequence of which he claimed for himself various exemptions from ordinary rules. He led a somewhat irregular life, he made acquaintance with people who were not received into society, and in general he behaved in an unconventional and unceremonious manner. But in his heart of hearts he was cold and astute; and even in the midst of his most extravagant rioting, his keen hazel eye watched and took note of every thing. It was impossible for this daring and unconventional youth ever quite to forget himself, or to be thoroughly carried away. It should be mentioned to his credit, by the way, that he never boasted of his victories. To Maria Dmitrievna's house he had obtained access as soon as he arrived in O., and he soon made himself thoroughly at home in it. As to Maria Dmitrievna herself, she thought there was nobody in the world to be compared with him.

Panshine bowed in an engaging manner to all the occupants of the room; shook hands with Maria Dmitrievna and Elizaveta Mikhailovna, lightly tapped Gedeonovsky on the shoulder, and, turning on his heels, took Lenochka's head between his hands and kissed her on the forehead.

"Are not you afraid to ride such a vicious horse?" asked Maria Dmitrievna.

"I beg your pardon, it is perfectly quiet. No, but I will tell you what I really am afraid of. I am afraid of playing at preference with Sergius Petrovich. Yesterday, at the Bielenitsines', he won all the money I had with me."

Gedeonovsky laughed a thin and cringing laugh; he wanted to gain the good graces of the brilliant young official from St. Petersburg, the governor's favorite. In his conversations with Maria Dmitrievna, he frequently spoke of Panshine's remarkable faculties. "Why, really now, how can one help praising him?" he used to reason. "The young man is a success in the highest circles of society, and at the same time he does his work in the most perfect manner, and he isn't the least bit proud." And indeed, even at St. Petersburg, Panshine was looked upon as an efficient public servant; the work "burnt under his hands;" he spoke of it jestingly, as a man of the world should, who does not attach any special importance to his employment; but he was a "doer." Heads of departments like such subordinates; he himself never doubted that in time, supposing he really wished it, he would be a Minister.

"You are so good as to say that I won your money," said Gedeonovsky; "but who won fifteen roubles from me last week? And besides--"

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