 First part of the Diary of a Superfluous Man. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Martin Giesen. The Diary of a Superfluous Man by Ivan Turgenev. Translated by Constance Garnett. Part 1. Village of Sheep's Springs. March the 20th, 18. The Doctor has just left me. At last I have got at something definite. For all his cunning he had to speak out at last. Yes, I am soon, very soon, to die. The frozen rivers will break up, and with the last snow I shall most likely swim away. Wither, God knows, to the ocean too. Well, well, since one must die one may as well die in the spring. But isn't it absurd to begin a diary, a fortnight perhaps before death? What does it matter? And by how much of fourteen days, less than fourteen years, fourteen centuries? Beside eternity, they say, all is nothingness. Yes, but in that case, eternity too is nothing. I see I am letting myself drop into metaphysics. That's a bad sign. Am I not rather faint-hearted, perchance? I had better begin a description of some sort. It's damp and windy out of doors. I'm forbidden to go out. What can I write about then? No decent man talks of his maladies. To write a novel is not in my line. Reflections on elevated topics are beyond me. Descriptions of the life going on around me could not even interest me. While I am weary of doing nothing and too lazy to read. Ah, I have it. I will write the story of all my life for myself. A first-rate idea. Just before death, it is a suitable thing to do and can be of no harm to anyone. I will begin. I was born thirty years ago, the son of fairly well-to-do landowners. My father had a passion for gambling. My mother was a woman of character. A very virtuous woman. Only I have known no woman whose moral excellence was less productive of happiness. She was crushed beneath the weight of her own virtues and was a source of misery to everyone from herself upwards. In all the fifty years of her life she never once took rest or sat with her hands in her lap. She was forever fussing and bustling about like an ant and to absolutely no good purpose, which cannot be said of the ant. The worm of restlessness retted her night and day. Only once I saw her perfectly tranquil and that was the day after her death in her coffin. Looking at her it positively seemed to me that her face wore an expression of subdued amazement with the half-open lips, the sunken cheeks and the meekly staring eyes. It seemed expressing all over the words how good to be at rest. Yes, it is good, good to be rid at last of the wearing sense of life, of the persistent, restless consciousness of existence. But that's neither here nor there. I was brought up badly and not happily. My father and mother both loved me but that made things no better for me. My father was not even in his own house of the slightest authority or consequence, being a man openly abandoned to a shameful and ruinous vice. He was conscious of his degradation and not having the strength of will to give up his darling passion. He tried at least by his invariably amiable and humble demeanour and his unswerving submissiveness to win the condescending consideration of his exemplary wife. My mother certainly did bear her trial with a superb and majestic long suffering of virtue, in which there is so much of egoistic pride. She never reproached my father for anything, gave him her last penny and paid his debts without a word. He exalted her as a paragon to her face and behind her back but did not like to be at home and caressed me by stealth as though he were afraid of contaminating me by his presence. But at such times his distorted features were full of such kindness. The nervous grin on his lips was replaced by such a touching smile and his brown eyes encircled by fine wrinkles shone with such love that I could not help pressing my cheek to his which was wet and warm with tears. I wiped away those tears with my handkerchief and they flowed again without effort like water from a brimming glass. I felt a crying too and he comforted me, stroking my back and kissing me all over my face with his quivering lips. Even now more than twenty years after his death when I think of my poor father dumb sobs rise in my throat and my heart beats as hotly and bitterly and aches with as poignant a pity as if it had longed to go on beating as if there were anything to be sorry for. My mother's behaviour to me on the contrary was always the same, kind but cold. In children's books one often comes across such mothers sermonising and just. She loved me but I did not love her. Yes, I fought shy of my virtuous mother and passionately loved my vicious father. But enough for today. It's a beginning and as for the end whatever it may be I needn't trouble my head about it. That's for my illness to see too. March the twenty first. Today it is marvellous weather, warm, bright the sunshine frolicking gaily on the melting snow everything shining, steaming, dripping the sparrows chattering like mad things about the drenched dark hedges. Sweetly and terribly too the moist air frets my sick chest. Spring, spring is coming. I sit at the window and look across the river into the open country. Oh nature, nature, I love thee so but I came forth from thy womb good for nothing not fit even for life. There goes a cock sparrow hopping along without spread wings. He chirrups and every note, every ruffled feather on his little body is breathing with health strength. What follows from that nothing he is well and has a right to chirrup and ruffle his wings but I am ill and must die that's all. It's not worthwhile to say more about it and tearful invocations to nature are mortally absurd. Let us get back to my story. I was brought up as I have said very badly and not happily. I had no brothers or sisters and I was educated at home and indeed what would my mother have had to occupy her if I had been sent to a boarding school or a government college. That's what children are for that their parents may not be bored. We lived for the most part in the country and sometimes went to Moscow. I had tutors and teachers as a matter of course. One in particular has remained in my memory a dried up, tearful German, Rickmann, an exceptionally mournful creature cruelly maltreated by destiny and fruitlessly consumed by an intense pining for his far-off fatherland. Sometimes near the stove in the fearful stuffiness of the close anterum full of the sour smell of stale kvass my unshaved man nurse Vassili nicknamed Goose would sit playing cards with the coachman Potap in a new sheepskin, white as foam and superb tarred boots while in the next room Rickmann would sing behind the partition. Herz, mein Herz, warum so traurig? Was bekümmert dich so sehr? Sie ist ja schön in fremden Lande. Herz, mein Herz, was willst du mehr? After my father's death we moved to Moscow for good. I was twelve years old. My father died in the night from a stroke. I shall never forget that night. I was sleeping soundly as children generally do but I remember even in my sleep I was aware of a heavy gasping noise at regular intervals. Suddenly I felt someone taking hold of my shoulder and poking me. I opened my eyes and saw my nurse. What is it? Come along, come along. Alexey Mihailich is dying. I was out of bed and away like a mad thing into his bedroom. I looked, my father was lying with his head thrown back all red and gasping fearfully. The servants were crowding round the door with terrified faces. In the hall someone was asking in a thick voice how they sent for the doctor. In the odd outside a horse was being led from the stable. The gates were creaking. A tallow candle was burning in the room on the floor. My mother was there terribly upset but not oblivious of the proprieties nor of her own dignity. I flung myself on my father's bosom and hugged him, faltering, Papa! Papa! He lay motionless, screwing up his eyes in a strange way. I looked into his face. An unendurable horror caught my breath. I shrieked with terror like a roughly captured bird. They picked me up and carried me away. Only the day before though aware his death was at hand he had caressed me so passionately and despondently. A sleepy, unkempt doctor smelling strongly of spirits was brought. My father died under his lancet and the next day utterly stupefied by grief I stood with a candle in my hands before a table on which lay the dead man and listened senselessly to the bass-sing-song of the deacon interrupted from time to time by the weak voice of the priest. The tears kept streaming over my cheeks, my lips, my collar, my shirt front. I was dissolved in tears. I watched persistently, I watched intently my father's rigid face as though I expected something of him. While my mother slowly bowed down to the ground slowly rose again and pressed her fingers firmly to her forehead, her shoulders and her chest as she crossed herself. I had not a single idea in my head. I was utterly numb but I felt something terrible was happening to me. Death looked me in the face that day and took note of me. We moved to Moscow after my father's death for a very simple cause. All our estate was sold up by auction for debts. That is absolutely all except one little village, the one in which I am at this moment living out my magnificent existence. I must admit that in spite of my youth at the time I grieved over the sale of our home or rather in reality I grieved over our garden. Almost my only bright memories are associated with our garden. It was there that one mild spring evening I buried my best friend an old bobtailed crook-pored dog, Tricks. It was there that hidden in the long grass I used to eat stolen apples, sweet red Novgorod apples they were. There too I saw for the first time among the ripe raspberry bushes the housemaid Klavdia who in spite of her turned up nose and habit of giggling in her kerchief aroused such a tender passion in me that I could hardly breathe and stood faint and tongue-tied in her presence. And once at Easter when it came to her turn to kiss my senorial hand I almost flung myself at her feet to kiss her downtrodden goat-skin slippers. My God, can all that be twenty years ago? It seems not long ago that I used to ride on my shaggy chestnut pony along the old fence of our garden and standing up in the stirrups used to pick the two-coloured poplar leaves. While a man is living he is not conscious of his own life. It becomes audible to him like a sound after the lapse of time. Oh, my garden! Oh, the tangled paths by the tiny pond! Oh, that little sandy spot below the tumble-down dyke where I used to catch gudgeons! And you tall birch trees with long-hanging branches from beyond which came floating a peasant mournful song broken by the uneven jolting of the cart! I send you my last farewell! On parting with life to you alone I stretch out my hands. Would I might once more inhale the fresh, bitter fragrance of the wormwood, the sweet scent of the moaned buckwheat in the fields of my native place? Would I might once more hear far away the modest tinkle of the cracked bell of our parish church? Once more lie in the cool shade under the oak sapling on the slope of the familiar ravine. Once more watch the moving track of the wind hitting a dark wave over the golden grass of our meadow. Oh, what's the good of all this? But I can't go on today. Enough till tomorrow. March the 22nd. Today it's cold and overcast again. Such weather is a great deal more suitable. It's more in harmony with my task. Yesterday quite inappropriately I stirred up a multitude of useless emotions and memories within me. This shall not occur again. Sentimental outbreaks are like licorice. When first you suck it, it's not bad, but afterwards it leaves a very nasty taste in the mouth. I will set to work simply and serenely to tell the story of my life. And so we moved to Moscow. But it occurs to me is it really worthwhile to tell the story of my life? No, it certainly is not. My life has not been different in any respect from the lives of numbers of other people. The parental home, the university, the government service in the lower grades, retirement, a little circle of friends, decent poverty, modest pleasures, unambitious pursuits, moderate desires. Kindly tell me, is that new to anyone? And so I will not tell the story of my life, especially as I'm writing for my own pleasure. And if my past does not afford even me any sensation of great pleasure or great pain, it must be that there is nothing in it deserving of attention. I had better try to describe my own character to myself. What manner of man am I? It may be observed that no one asks me that question, admitted. But there I'm dying, by Jove. I'm dying, and at the point of death I really think one may be excused a desire to find out what sort of a queer fish one really was after all. Thinking over this important question and having moreover no need whatever to be too bitter in my expressions in regard to myself, as people are apt to be who have a strong conviction of their valuable qualities, I must admit one thing. I was a man, or perhaps I should say a fish, utterly superfluous in this world. And that I propose to show tomorrow as I keep coughing today like an old sheep, and my nurse Terentievna gives me no peace. Lie down, my good sir, she says, and drink a little tea. I know why she keeps on at me. She wants some tea herself. Well, she's welcome. Why not let the poor old woman extract the utmost benefit she can from her master at the last? As long as there is still the chance. March the 23rd. Winter again. The snow is falling in flakes. Superfluous. Superfluous. That's a capital word I have hit on. The more deeply I probe into myself, the more intensely I review all my past life. The more I am convinced of the strict truth of this expression. Superfluous, that's just it. To other people, that term is not applicable. People are bad or good, clever, stupid, pleasant and disagreeable. But superfluous, no. Understand me, though, the universe could get on without those people, too, no doubt. But uselessness is not their prime characteristic, their most distinctive attribute. And when you speak of them, the word superfluous is not the first to rise to your lips. Why, there's nothing else one can say about me. I'm superfluous and nothing more. A supernumerary, and that's all. Nature apparently did not reckon on my appearance, and consequently treated me as an unexpected and uninvited guest. A facetious gentleman, a great devotee of preference, said very happily about me that I was the forfeit my mother had paid at the game of life. I am speaking about myself calmly now without any bitterness. It's all over and done with. Throughout my whole life I was constantly finding my place taken, perhaps because I did not look for my place where I should have done. I was apprehensive, reserved and irritable, like all sickly people. Moreover, probably owing to excessive self-consciousness, perhaps as the result of the generally unfortunate cast of my personality, there existed between my thoughts and feelings, and the expression of those feelings and thoughts a sort of inexplicable, irrational and utterly insuperable barrier. And whenever I made up my mind to overcome this obstacle by force to break down this barrier, my gestures, the expression of my face, my whole being took on an appearance of painful constraint. I not only seemed, I positively became unnatural and affected. I was conscious of this myself and hastened to shrink back into myself. Then a terrible commotion was set up within me. I analysed myself to the last thread, compared myself with others, recalled the slightest glances, smiles, words of the people to whom I had tried to open myself out, put the worst construction on everything, laughed vindictively at my own pretensions to be like everyone else, and suddenly in the midst of my laughter collapsed utterly into gloom, sank into absurd dejection, and then began again as before. Went round and round, in fact, like a squirrel on its wheel. Whole days were spent in this harrassing, fruitless exercise. Well now tell me, if you please, to whom and for what is such a man of youth? Why did this happen to me? What was the reason of this trivial fretting at myself? Who knows, who can tell? I remember I was driving once from Moscow in the diligence. It was a good road, but the driver, though he had four horses harnessed to breast, hitched on another alongside of them. Such an unfortunate, utterly useless fifth horse, fastened somehow onto the front of the shaft by a short stout cord, which mercilessly cuts his shoulder, forces him to go with the most unnatural action, and gives his whole body the shape of a comma. Always arouses my deepest pity. I remarked to the driver that I thought we might on this occasion have got on without the fifth horse. He was silent a moment, shook his head, lashed the horse a dozen times across his thin back and under his distended belly, and with a grin responded, I, to be sure, why do we drag him along with us? What the devils he for? And here am I, too, dragged along. But thank goodness the station is not far off. Superfluous! I promised to show the justice of my opinion, and I will carry out my promise. I don't think it necessary to mention the thousand trifles every day, incidents and events, which would, however, in the eyes of any thinking man, serve as irrefutable evidence in my support. I mean in support of my contention. I had better begin straight away with one rather important incident, after which probably there will be no doubt left of the accuracy of the term superfluous. I repeat, I do not intend to indulge in minute details, but I cannot pass over in silence one rather serious and significant fact. That is the strange behaviour of my friends. I, too, used to have friends. Whenever I met them, or even called on them, they used to seem ill at ease. As they came to meet me, they would give a not quite natural smile. Look not into my eyes, nor at my feet, as some people do, but rather at my cheeks. Articulate hurriedly. Ah, how are you, Chokatourin? Such is the surname fate has burdened me with, or ah, here's Chokatourin. I get once and positively remain stock still for a little while after, as though trying to recollect something. I used to notice all this, as I am not devoid of penetration and the faculty of observation. On the whole I am not a fool. I sometimes even have ideas come into my head that are amusing, not absolutely commonplace. But as I am a superfluous man with my padlock on my inner self, it is very painful for me to express my idea, the more so as I know beforehand that I shall express it badly. It positively sometimes strikes me as extraordinary the way people manage to talk, so simply and freely. It's marvellous, really, when you think of it, though to tell the truth, I too, in spite of my padlock, sometimes have an itch to talk. But I did actually utter words only in my youth. In riper years I almost always pulled myself up. I would murmur to myself, come, we'd better hold our tongue. And I was still. We are all good hands at being silent. Our women especially are great in that line. Many an exalted Russian young lady keeps silent so strenuously that the spectacle is calculated to produce a faint shudder and cold sweat even in anyone prepared to face it. But that's not the point, and it's not for me to criticise others. I proceed to my promised narrative. A few years back, owing to a combination of circumstances very insignificant in themselves, but very important for me, it was my lot to spend six months in the district town o. This town is all built on a slope and very uncomfortably built too. There are reckoned to be about 800 inhabitants in it of exceptional poverty. The houses are hardly worthy of the name. In the chief street, by way of an apology for a pavement, there are here and there some huge white slabs of rough-hewn limestone, in consequence of which even carts drive round it instead of through it. In the very middle of an astoundingly dirty square rises a diminutive yellow edifice with black holes in it, and in these holes sit men in big caps making a pretense of buying and selling. In this place there is an extraordinarily high striped post sticking up into the air and near the post in the interests of public order by command of the authorities. There is kept a cartload of yellow hay and one government hen struts to and fro. In short, existence in the town of o. is truly delightful. During the first days of my stay in this town I almost went out of my mind with boredom. I ought to say of myself that though I am no doubt a superfluous man I am not so of my own seeking. I morbid myself, but I can't bear anything morbid. I'm not even averse to happiness. Indeed I've tried to approach it right and left and so it is no wonder that I too can be bored like any other mortal. I was staying in the town of o. on official business. Terenchevna has certainly sworn to make an end of me. Here's a specimen of our conversation. Terenchevna. Oh, oh my good sir. What are you forever writing for? It's bad for you keeping all unwriting. I, but I'm dull, Terenchevna. She, oh you take a cup of tea now and lie down. By God's mercy you'll get in a sweat and maybe doze a bit. I, but I'm not sleepy. She, ah sir, why do you talk so? Lord, I have mercy on you. Come, lie down, lie down. It's better for you. I, I shall die anyway, Terenchevna. She, Lord bless us and save us. Well, do you want a little tea? I, I shan't live through the week, Terenchevna. She, hey, hey, good sir, why do you talk so? Well, I'll go and heat the samovar. Oh decrepit yellow toothless creature. Am I really, even in your eyes, not a man? End of part one. Recording by Martin Geeson in Hazelmere Surrey. Part two of the diary of a superfluous man. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Martin Geeson. The Diary of a Superfluous Man by Ivan Turgenev. Translated by Constance Garnett. Part two. March 24th. Sharp Frost. On the very day of my arrival in the town of Oh, the official business above referred to brought me into contact with a certain Kirila Matveich Ozhogin, one of the chief functionaries of the district. But I became intimate, or as it is called, friends with him, a fortnight later. His house was in the principal street and was distinguished from all the others by its size, its painted roof and the lions on its gates. Lions of that species extraordinarily resembling unsuccessful dogs whose natural home is Moscow. From those lions alone one might safely conclude that Ozhogin was a man of property. And so it was. He was the owner of 400 peasants. He entertained in his house all the best society of the town of Oh, and had a reputation for hospitality. At his door was seen the mayor with his wide chestnut-coloured droshki and pear, an exceptionally bulky man who seemed as though cut out of material that had been laid by for a long time. The other officials, too, used to drive to his receptions. The attorney, a yellowish spiteful creature, the lance of hair, a wit of German extraction with a tartar face, the inspector of means of communication, a soft soul who sang songs but a scandal monger, a former marshal of the district, a gentleman with dyed hair, crumpled shirt front and tight trousers, and that lofty expression of face so characteristic of men who have stood on trial. They used to come also to landowners, inseparable friends, both no longer young and indeed a little the worse for wear of whom the younger was continually crushing the elder and putting him to silence with one and the same reproach. Don't you talk, Sergei Sergeiich. What have you to say? Why, you spell the word cork with two Ks in it. Yes, gentlemen, he would go on with all the fire of conviction turning to the bystanders. Sergei Sergeiich spells it not cork but cork and everyone present would laugh though probably not one of them was conspicuous for special accuracy and orthography while the luckless Sergei Sergeiich held his tongue and with a faint smile bowed his head but I'm forgetting that my hours are numbered and I'm letting myself go into two minute descriptions and so without further beating about the bush Ozhogin was married he had a daughter, Elizaveta Kirilovna and I fell in love with this daughter. Ozhogin himself was a commonplace person neither good-looking nor bad-looking his wife resembled an aged chicken but their daughter had not taken after her parents she was very pretty and of a bright and gentle disposition her clear grey eyes looked out kindly and directly from under childishly arched brows she was almost always smiling and she laughed too pretty often her fresh voice had a very pleasant ring she moved freely, rapidly and blushed gaily she did not dress very stylishly her plain dresses suited her I did not make friends quickly as a rule and if I were at ease with anyone from the first which however scarcely ever occurred it said I must own a great deal for my new acquaintance I did not know at all how to behave with women and in their presence I either scowled and put on a morose air or grinned in the most idiotic way and in my embarrassment turned my tongue round and round in my mouth with Elizaveta Kirilovna on the contrary I felt at home from the first moment it happened in this way I called one day to Ozhogin's before dinner asked, at home was told the master's at home dressing pleased to walk into the drawing room I went into the drawing room I felt standing at the window with her back to me a girl in a white gown with a cage in her hands I was, as my way was, somewhat taken aback however I showed no sign of it but merely coughed for good manners the girl turned round quickly so quickly that her curls gave her a slap in the face saw me, bowed and with a smile showed me a little box half full of seeds you don't mind? I, of course, as is the usual practice in such cases first bowed my head and at the same time rapidly crooked my knees and straightened them out again as though someone had given me a blow from behind in the legs a sure sign of good breeding and pleasant, easy manners and then smiled, raised my hand and softly and carefully brandished it twice in the air the girl at once turned away from me took a little piece of board out of the cage began vigorously scraping it with a knife and suddenly, without changing her attitude uttered the following words this is Papa's parrot are you fond of parrots? I prefer siskins, I answered, not without some effort I like siskins too, but look at him, isn't he pretty? but he's not afraid what surprised me was that I was not afraid come closer, his name's Popka I went up and bent down isn't he really sweet? she turned her face to me but we were standing so close together that she had to throw her head back to get a look at me with her clear eyes I gazed at her a rosy young face was smiling all over in such a friendly way that I smiled too and almost laughed aloud with delight the door opened, Mr. Ozogin came in I promptly went up to him and began talking to him very unconstrainedly I don't know how it was, but I stayed to dinner and spent the whole evening with them and next day the Ozogin's footman an elongated, dull-eyed person smiled upon me as a friend of the family when he helped me off with my overcoat to find a haven of refuge to build oneself even a temporary nest to feel the comfort of daily intercourse and habits was a happiness I, a superfluous man with no family associations had never before experienced if anything about me had had any resemblance to a flower and if the comparison were not so hacknid I would venture to say that my soul blossomed from that day everything within me and about me was suddenly transformed my whole life was lighted up by love the whole of it down to the paltriest details like a dark, deserted room when the light has been brought into it I went to bed and got up dressed at my breakfast and smoked my pipe differently from before I positively skipped along as I walked as though wings were suddenly sprouting from my shoulders I was not for an instant, I remember in uncertainty with regard to the feeling Elizaveta Kirilovna inspired in me I fell passionately in love with her from the first day and from the first day I knew I was in love during the course of three weeks I saw her every day those three weeks were the happiest time in my life but the recollection of them is painful to me I can't think of them alone I cannot help dwelling on what followed after them and the intense bitterness slowly takes possession of my softened heart when a man is very happy his brain as is well known is not very active a calm and delicious sensation the sensation of satisfaction pervades his whole being he is swallowed up by it the consciousness of personal life vanishes in him he is in beatitude as badly educated poets say but when at last this enchantment is over the man is sometimes vexed and sorry that in the midst of bliss he observed himself so little that he did not by reflection, by recollection redouble and prolong his feelings as though the beatific man had time and it were worth his while to reflect on his sensations the happy man is what the fly is in the sunshine and so it is that when I recall those three weeks it is almost impossible for me to retain in my mind any exact and definite impression all the more so as during that time nothing very remarkable took place between us those twenty days are present to my imagination as something warm and young and fragrant a sort of streak of light in my dingy grayish life my memory becomes all at once remorselessly clear and trustworthy only from the instant when to use the phrase of badly educated writers the blows of destiny began to fall upon me yes, those three weeks not but what they have left some images in my mind sometimes when it happens to me to brood a long while on that time some memories suddenly float up out of the darkness of the past like stars which suddenly come out against the evening sky to meet the eyes straining to catch sight of them one country walk in a wood has remained particularly distinct in my memory there were four of us old Madame Ojugyn Lisa, I, and a certain Bizmyonkov a petty official of the town of O a light-haired good-natured and harmless person I shall have more to say of him later Mr. Ojugyn had stayed at home he had a headache from sleeping too long the day was exquisite, warm and soft I must observe that pleasure gardens and picnic parties are not to the taste of the average Russian in district towns in the so-called public gardens you never meet a living soul at any time of the year at the most some old woman sits sighing and moaning on a green garden seat broiling in the sun not far from a sickly tree and that only if there is no greasy little bench in the gateway near but if there happens to be a scraggie birch wood in the neighbourhood of the town trades people and even officials gladly make excursions on Sundays and holidays with samovars, pies and melons set all this abundance on the dusty grass close by the road sit round and eat and drink tea in the sweat of their brows till evening just such a wood there was at that time a mile and a half from the town of O we repaired there after dinner duly drank our fill of tea and then all four began to wonder about the wood bismiankov walked with mademois jogging on his arm I with Lisa on mine the day was already drawing to evening I was at that time in the very fire of first love not more than a fortnight had passed since our first meeting in that condition of passionate and concentrated adoration when your whole soul innocently and unconsciously follows every movement of the beloved being when you can never have enough of her presence listen enough to her voice when you smile with the look of a child convalescent after sickness and a man of the smallest experience cannot fail at the first glance to recognise a hundred yards off what is the matter with you till that day I had never happened to have Lisa on my arm we walked side by side stepping slowly over the green grass a light breeze as it were flitted about us between the green stems of the birches every now and then flapping the ribbon off her hat into my face I incessantly followed her eyes until at last she turned gaily to me and we both smiled at each other the birds were chirping approvingly above us the blue sky peeped caressingly at us through the delicate foliage my head was going round with excessive bliss I hasten to remark Lisa was not a bit in love with me she liked me she was never shy with anyone but it was not reserved for me to trouble her childlike peace of mind she walked arm in arm with me as she would with a brother she was seventeen then and meanwhile that very evening before my eyes there began that soft inward ferment which precedes the metamorphosis of the child into the woman I was witness of that transformation of the whole being that guileless bewilderment that agitated dreaminess I was the first to detect the sudden softness of the glance the sudden ring in the voice and oh fool oh superfluous man for a whole week I had the face to imagine that I I was the cause of this transformation this was how it happened we walked rather a long while till evening and talked little I was silent like all inexperienced lovers and she probably had nothing to say to me but she seemed to be pondering over something and shook her head in a peculiar way as she pensively nibbled a leaf she had picked sometimes she started walking ahead so resolutely then all at once stopped waited for me and looked round with lifted eyebrows and a vague smile on the previous evening we had read together the prisoner of the Caucasus with what eagerness she had listened to me her face propped in both hands and her bosom pressed against the table I began to speak of our yesterday's reading she flushed asked me whether I had given the parrot any hemp seed before starting began humming some little song aloud and all at once was silent again the cops ended on one side in a rather high and abrupt precipice below caused a winding stream and beyond it over an immense expanse stretched the boundless prairies rising like waves spreading wide like a tablecloth and broken here and there by ravines Lisa and I were the first to come out at the edge of the wood Bismionkov and the elder lady were behind we came out stood still and involuntarily we both half shut our eyes directly facing us across a lurid mist the vast purple sun was setting half the sky was flushed and glowing red rays fell slanting on the meadows casting a crimson reflection even on the side of the ravines in shadow lying in gleams of fire on the stream where it was not hidden under the overhanging bushes and as it were leaning on the bosom of the precipice and the cops we stood bathed in the blazing brilliance I am not capable of describing all the impassioned solemnity of this scene they say that by a blind man the colour red is imagined as the sound of a trumpet I don't know how far this comparison is correct but really there was something of a challenge in this glowing gold of the evening air in the crimson flush on sky and earth I uttered a cry of rapture and at once turned to Lisa she was looking straight at the sun I remember the sunset glow was reflected in little points of fire in her eyes she was overwhelmed deeply moved she made no response to my exclamation for a long while she stood not stirring with drooping head I held out my hand to her she turned away from me and suddenly burst into tears I looked at her with secret almost delighted amazement the voice of Bismionkov was heard a couple of yards off Lisa quickly wiped her tears and looked with a faltering smile at me the elder lady came out of the cops leaning on the arm of her flaxen-headed escort they in their turn admired the view the old lady addressed some questions to Lisa and I could not help shuddering I remember when her daughter's broken voice like cracked glass sounded in reply meanwhile the sun had set and the afterglow began to fade we turned back again I took Lisa's arm in mine it was still light in the wood and I could clearly distinguish her features she was confused and did not raise her eyes the flush that overspread her face did not vanish it was as though she was still standing in the rays of the setting sun her hand scarcely touched my arm for a long while I could not frame a sentence my heart was beating so violently through the trees there was a glimpse of the carriage in the distance the coachman was coming at a walking pace to meet us over the soft sand of the road Lisa Vieta Kirilovna I brought out at last what did you cry for? I don't know she answered after a short silence she looked at me with her soft eyes still wet with tears her look struck me as changed and she was silent again you are very fond I see of nature I pursued that was not at all what I meant to say and the last words my tongue scarcely faltered out to the end she shook her head I could not utter another word I was waiting for something not in a vowel how was that possible? I waited for a confiding glance a question but Lisa looked at the ground and kept silent I repeated once more in her whisper why was it? and received no reply she had grown I saw that ill at ease almost ashamed a quarter of an hour later we were sitting in the carriage driving to the town the horses flew along at an even trot we were rapidly whirled along through the darkening damp air I suddenly began talking more than once addressing first Miss Mionkouf and then Madame Olshogin I did not look at Lisa but I could see that from her corner in the carriage her eyes did not once rest on me at home she roused herself but would not read with me and soon went off to bed a turning point that turning point I have spoken of had been reached by her she had ceased to be a little girl she too had begun like me to wait for something she had not long to wait but that night I went home to my lodgings in a state of perfect ecstasy the vague half-presentament half-suspicion which had been arising within me had vanished the sudden constraint in Lisa's manner towards me I ascribed to maidenly bashfulness timidity hadn't I read a thousand times over in many books that the first appearance of love or with agitates and alarms a young girl I felt supremely happy and was already making all sorts of plans in my head if someone had whispered in my ear then you're raving my dear chap that's not a bit what's in store for you what's in store for you is to die all alone in a wretched little cottage amid the insufferable grumbling of an old hag who will await your death with impatience to sell your boots for a few coppers yes, one can't help saying with the Russian philosopher how's one to know what one doesn't know enough for today end of part two recording by Martin Giesen in Hazelmere Surrey to three of the diary of a superfluous man this LibriVox recording is in the public domain the diary of a superfluous man by Ivan Turgenev translated by Constance Garnet part three March 25th a white winter day I have read over what I wrote yesterday and was all but tearing up the whole manuscript I think my story's too spun out and too sentimental however as the rest of my recollections of that time presents nothing of a pleasurable character except that peculiar sort of consolation which Lermontov had in view when he said there is pleasure and pain in irritating the sores of old wounds why not indulge oneself but one must know where to draw the line and so I will continue without any sort of sentimentality during the whole of the week after the country excursion my position was in reality in no way improved though the change in Lisa became more noticeable every day I interpreted this change as I've said before in the most favourable way for me the misfortune of solitary and timid people who were timid from self-consciousness is just that though they have eyes and indeed open them wide they see nothing or see everything in a false light as though through coloured spectacles their own ideas and speculations trip them up at every step at the commencement of our acquaintance Lisa behaved confidingly and freely with me like a child perhaps they may even have been in her attitude to me something more than mere childish liking but after this strange almost instantaneous change had taken place in her after a period of brief perplexity she felt constrained in my presence she unconsciously turned away from me and was at the same time melancholy and dreamy she was waiting for what? she did not know while I, I as I have said above was delighted at this change yes by God I was ready to expire as they say with rapture though I am prepared to allow that anyone else in my place might have been deceived who is free from vanity I need not say that all this was only clear to me in the course of time I had to lower my clipped and at no time over powerful wings the misunderstanding that had arisen between Lisa and me lasted a whole week and there is nothing surprising in that it has been my lot to be a witness of misunderstandings that have lasted for years and years who was it said by the way that truth alone is powerful falsehood is just as living as truth is not more so to be sure I recollect that even during that week I felt from time to time an uneasy knowing as stir within me but solitary people like me I say again are as incapable of understanding what is going on within them as what is taking place before their eyes and besides is love a natural feeling is it natural for man to love love is a sickness and for sickness there is no law granting that there was at times an unpleasant pang in my heart well everything inside me was turned upside down and how is one to know in such circumstances what is all right and what is all wrong and what is the cause and what are the significance of each separate symptom but be that as it may all these misconceptions, presentiments and hopes were shattered in the following manner one day it was in the morning about twelve o'clock I had hardly entered Mr. O'shoggins hall when I heard an unfamiliar mellow voice in the drawing room the door opened and a tall and slim man of five and twenty appeared in the doorway escorted by the master of the house he rapidly put on a military overcoat on the slab and took cordial leave of Kiri Lamatvej as he brushed past me he carelessly touched his foraging cap and vanished with a clink of his spurs who is that, I asked O'shoggins Prince N, the latter responded with a preoccupied face sent from Petersburg to collect recruits but where are the servants he went on in a tone of annoyance no one handed him his coat we went into the drawing room has he been here long, I inquired arrived yesterday evening I'm told I offered him a room here but he refused he seems a very nice fellow though has he been long with you about an hour he asked me to introduce him to Olimpiada Nikitichna and did you introduce him, of course and Lizavjeta Kirilovna too, did he he made her acquaintance too, of course I was silent for a space has he come here for long, do you know yes, I believe he has to be here for a fortnight and Kiri Lamatvej hurried away to dress I walked several times up and down the drawing room I don't recollect that Prince N's arrival made any special impression on me at the time yet that feeling of hostility which usually possesses us on the appearance of any new person in our domestic circle possibly there was mingled with this feeling something too of the nature of envy of a shy and obscure person from Moscow towards a brilliant officer from Petersburg the Prince, I mused, is an upstart from the capital he looked down upon us I had not seen him for more than an instant but I had had time to perceive that he was good-looking, clever and at his ease after pacing the room for some time I stopped at last before a looking-glass pulled a comb out of my pocket gave a picturesque carelessness to my hair and as sometimes happens became suddenly absorbed in the contemplation of my own face I remember my attention centred anxiously about my nose the soft and undefined outlines of that feature afforded me no great satisfaction when suddenly in the dark depths of the sloping mirror which reflected almost the whole room the door opened and the slender figure of Lisa appeared I don't know why I did not stir and kept the same expression on my face Lisa craned her head forward looked intensely at me and, raising her eyebrows, biting her lips and holding her breath as anyone does who is glad at not being noticed she cautiously drew back and stealthily drew the door too after her the door creaked slightly Lisa started and stood rooted to the spot I still kept from stirring she pulled the handle again and vanished there was no possibility of doubt the expression of Lisa's face at the sight of my figure that expression in which nothing could be detected except a desire to get away again successfully to escape a disagreeable interview the quick flash of delight I had time to catch in her eyes when she fancied she really had managed to creep away unnoticed it all spoke too clearly that girl did not love me for a long long while I could not take my eyes off that motionless, dumb door which was once more a patch of white in the looking glass I tried to smile at my own long face dropped my head, went home again and flung myself on the sofa I felt extraordinarily heavy at heart so much so that I could not cry and besides what was there to cry about is it possible? I repeated incessantly lying as though I were murdered on my back with my hands folded on my breast is it possible? don't you think that's rather good that is it possible? March 26th, Thor when next day after long hesitation and with a low sinking at my heart I went into the Ojogin's familiar drawing-room I was no longer the same man as they had known during the last three weeks all my old peculiarities which I had begun to get over under the influence of a new feeling reappeared and took possession of me like proprietors returning to their house the people of my sort are usually guided not so much by positive facts as by their own impressions I who no longer ago than the day before had been dreaming of the raptures of love returned was that day no less convinced of my unhappiness and was absolutely despairing though I was not myself able to find any rational ground for my despair I could not as yet be jealous of Prince N and whatever his qualities might be his mere arrival was not sufficient to extinguish Lisa's goodwill towards me at once but stay was there any goodwill on her part I recalled the past what of the walk in the wood I asked myself what of the expression of her face in the glass but I went on the walk in the wood I think, fly on me my god what a wretched creature I am I said at last out loud of such sort were the unphrased incomplete thoughts that went round and round a thousand times over in a monotonous whirl in my head I repeat, I went back to the ojogins the same hypersensitive, suspicious, constrained creature I had been from my childhood up I found the whole family in the drawing room Bismyonkov was sitting there too in a corner everyone seemed in high good humour ojogin in particular positively beamed and his first word was to tell me that Prince N had spent the whole of the previous evening with them Lisa gave me a tranquil greeting oh said I to myself now I understand why you're in such spirits I must own the Prince's second visit puzzled me I had not anticipated it as a rule fellows like me anticipate everything in the world except what is bound to occur in the natural order of things I sulked and put on the air of an injured but magnanimous person I tried to punish Lisa by showing my displeasure from which one must conclude that I was not yet completely desperate after all they do say that in some cases when one is really loved it is positively of use to torment the adored one but in my position it was indescribably stupid Lisa in the most innocent way paid no attention to me no one but Madame Ojogin observed my solemn taciturnity and she inquired anxiously after my health I replied of course with a bitter smile that I was thankful to say I was perfectly well Ojogin continued to expatiate on the subject of their visitor but noticing that I responded reluctantly he addressed himself principally to Bismiankov who was listening to him with great attention when a servant suddenly came in announcing the arrival of Prince N our host jumped up and ran to meet him Lisa upon whom I at once turned an eagle eye flushed with delight and made as though she would move from her seat the Prince came in all agreeable perfume, gaiety, cordiality as I am not composing a romance for a gentle reader but simply writing for my own amusement it stands to reason I need not make use of the usual dodges of our respected authors I will say straight out without further delay that Lisa fell passionately in love with the Prince from the first day she saw him and the Prince fell in love with her too partly from having nothing to do and partly from a propensity for turning women's heads and also owing to the fact that Lisa really was a very charming creature there was nothing to be wondered at in their falling in love with each other he had certainly never expected to find such a pearl in such a wretched shell I'm alluding to the godforsaken town of O and she had never in her wildest dreams seen anything in the least like this brilliant, clever, fascinating aristocrat after the first courtesy, Ojugyn introduced me to the Prince who was very affable in his behaviour to me he was as a rule very affable with everyone and in spite of the immeasurable distance between him and our obscure provincial circle he was clever enough to avoid being a source of constraint to anyone and even to make a show of being on our level and only living at Petersburg as it were by accident that first evening, oh, that first evening in our happy days of childhood our teachers used to describe and set up before us as an example the manly fortitude of the young Spartan who having stolen a fox and hidden it under his tunic without uttering one shriek let it devour all his entrails and so preferred death itself to disgrace I can find no better comparison for my indescribable sufferings during the evening on which I first saw the Prince by Lisa's side my continual forced smile and painful vigilance my idiotic silence my miserable and ineffectual desire to get away all that was doubtless something truly remarkable in its own way it was not one wild beast alone gnawing at my vitals jealousy, envy, the sense of my own insignificance and helpless hatred were torturing me I could not but admit that the Prince really was a very agreeable young man I devoured him with my eyes I really believe I forgot to blink as usual as I stared at him he talked not to Lisa alone but all he said was of course really for her he must have felt me a great bore he most likely guessed directly that it was a discarded lover he had to deal with but from sympathy for me and also a profound sense of my absolute harmlessness he treated me with extraordinary gentleness you can fancy how this wounded me in the course of the evening I tried I remember to smooth over my mistake I positively don't laugh at me whoever you may be who chance to look through these lines especially as it was my last illusion I positively in the midst of my different sufferings imagined all of a sudden that Lisa wanted to punish me for my haughty coldness at the beginning of my visit that she was angry with me and only flirting with the Prince from peak I seized my opportunity and with a meek but gracious smile I went up to her and muttered enough forgive me not that I'm afraid and suddenly without awaiting her reply I gave my features an extraordinarily cheerful and free and easy expression with a set grin past my hand above my head in the direction of the ceiling I wanted I remember to set my crevat straight and was even on the point of pirouetteing round on one foot as though to say all is over I am happy let's all be happy I did not however execute this maneuver as I was afraid of losing my balance sowing to an unnatural stiffness in my knees Lisa failed absolutely to understand me she looked in my face with amazement gave a hasty smile as though she wanted to get rid of me as quickly as possible and again approached the Prince blind and deaf as I was I could not but be inwardly aware that she was not in the least angry and was not annoyed with me at that instant she simply never gave me a thought the blow was a final one my last hopes were shattered with a crash just as a block of ice thawed by the sunshine of spring suddenly falls into tiny morsels I was utterly defeated at the first skirmish and like the Prussians at Jena lost everything at once in one day no she was not angry with me alas it was quite the contrary she too I saw that was being swept off her feet by the torrent like a young tree already half torn from the bank she bent eagerly over the stream ready to abandon to it forever the first blossom of her spring and her whole life a man whose fate it has been to be the witness of such a passion has lived through bitter moments if he has loved himself and not been loved I shall forever remember that devouring attention that tender gaiety that innocent self oblivion that glance the child's and already a woman's that happy as it were flowering smile that never left the half-parted lips and glowing cheeks all that Lisa had vaguely foreshadowed during our walk in the wood had come to pass now and she as she gave herself up utterly to love was at once stiller and brighter like new wine which ceases to ferment as its full maturity has come I had the fortitude to sit through that first evening and the subsequent evenings all to the end I could have no hope of anything Lisa and the prince became every day more devoted to each other but I had absolutely lost all sense of personal dignity and could not tear myself away from the spectacle of my own misery remember one day I tried not to go swore to myself in the morning that I would stay at home and at eight o'clock in the evening I usually set off at seven leapt up like a madman put on my hat and ran breathless into Kirila Matveitch's drawing-room my position was excessively absurd I was obstinately silent sometimes for whole days together I did not utter a sound I was, as I have said already, never distinguished for eloquence but now everything I had in my mind took flight as it were in the presence of the prince and I was left bare and bereft besides when I was alone I set my wretched brain working so hard slowly going over everything I had noticed or surmised during the preceding day that when I went back to the Oshogins I scarcely had energy left to observe again they treated me considerably as a sick person I saw that every morning I adopted some new final resolution for the most part painfully hatched in the course of a sleepless night at one time I made up my mind to have it out with Lisa to give her friendly advice but when I chance to be alone with her my tongue suddenly ceased to work froze as it were and we both in great discomfort waited for the entrance of some third person another time I meant to run away of course forever leaving my beloved a letter full of reproaches and I even one day began this letter but the sense of justice had not yet quite vanished in me I realised that I had no right to reproach anyone for anything and I flung what I had written in the fire then I suddenly offered myself up wholly as a sacrifice gavelies are my benediction praying for her happiness and smiled in meek and friendly fashion from my corner at the Prince but the cruel hearted lovers not only never thanked me for my self-sacrifice they never even noticed me and were apparently quite ready to dispense with my smiles and my blessings then in wrath I suddenly flew into quite the opposite mood I swore to myself wrapping my cloak about me like a Spaniard to rush out from some dark corner and stab my lucky rival and with brutal glee I imagined Lisa's despair but in the first place such corners were few in the town of Oh and secondly the wooden fence the street lamp the policeman in the distance no, in such corners it was somehow far more suitable to sell buns and oranges and to shed human blood I must own that among other means of deliverance as I very vaguely expressed it in my colloquies with myself I did entertain the idea of having recourse to O'Joggin himself of calling the attention of that nobleman to the perilous situation of his daughter and the mournful consequences of her indiscretion I even once began speaking to him on a certain delicate subject but my remarks were so indirect and misty that after listening and listening to me he suddenly as it were waking up rubbed his hand rapidly and vigorously all over his face not sparing his nose gave a snort and walked away from me it is needless to say that in resolving on this step I persuaded myself that I was acting from the most disinterested motives was desirous of the general welfare and was doing my duty as a friend of the house but I venture to think that even had Kirila Matveich not cut short my outpourings I should in any case not have had courage to finish my monologue at times I set to work with all the solemnity of some sage of antiquity weighing the qualities of the prince at times I comforted myself with the hope that it was all of no consequence that Lisa would recover her senses that her love was not real love oh no in short I know no idea that I did not worry myself with at that time there was only one resource which never I candidly admit entered my head I never once thought of taking my life why it did not occur to me I don't know possibly even then I had a presentiment I should not have long to live in any case it will be readily understood that in such unfavourable circumstances my manner, my behaviour with people was more than ever marked by unnaturalness and constraint even Madame Ojugyn, that creature dull-witted from her berth up began to shun me and at times did not know in what way to approach me Bizmyonkov always polite and ready to do services avoided me I fancied even at that time that I had in him a companion in misfortune that he too loved Lisa but he never responded to my hints and altogether showed a reluctance to converse with me the prince behaved in a very friendly way to him the prince one might say respected him neither Bizmyonkov nor I was any obstacle to the prince and Lisa but he did not shun them as I did nor look savage nor injured and readily joined them when they desired it it is true that on such occasions he was not conspicuous for any special mirthfulness but his good humour had always been somewhat subdued in character in this fashion about a fortnight passed by the prince was not only handsome and clever he played the piano, sang, sketched fairly well and was a good hand at telling stories his anecdotes drawn from the highest circles of Petersburg society always made a great impression on his audience all the more so from the fact that he seemed to attach no importance to them the consequence of this, if you like, simple accomplishment of the princes was that in the course of his not very protracted stay in the town of Oh he completely fascinated all the neighbourhood to fascinate us poor dwellers in the steppes at all times a very easy task for anyone coming from higher spheres the prince's frequent visits to the Oshogins he used to spend his evenings there of course aroused the jealousy of the other worthy gentry and officials of the town but the prince, like a clever person and a man of the world never neglected a single one of them he called on all of them to every married lady and every unmarried myth he addressed at least one flattering phrase allowed them to feed him on elaborately solid edibles and to make him drink wretched wines with magnificent names and conducted himself in short like a model of caution and tact Prince N. was in general a man of lively manners sociable and genial by inclination and in this case incidentally from prudential motives also he could not fail to be a complete success in everything ever since his arrival all in the house had felt that the time had flown by with unusual rapidity everything had gone off beautifully Papa Oshogin though he pretended that he'd noticed nothing was doubtless rubbing his hands in private at the idea of such a son-in-law the prince for his part managed matters with the utmost sobriety discretion when all of a sudden an unexpected incident till tomorrow today I'm tired these recollections irritate me even at the edge of the grave Terenceyevna noticed today that my nose has already begun to grow sharp and that they say is a bad sign end of part three recording by Martin Geeson in Hazelmere Surrey part four of the diary of a superfluous man this Librivox recording is in the public domain recording by Martin Geeson the diary of a superfluous man by Ivan Turgenev translated by Constance Garnet part four March 27th Thor continuing things were in the position described above the prince and Lisa were in love with each other the older Zhogins were waiting to see what would come of it Bismionkov was present at the proceedings there was nothing else to be said of him I was struggling like a fish on the ice watching with all my might I remember that at that time I set myself the task of preventing Lisa at least from falling into the snares of a seducer and consequently began paying particular attention to the maid servants and the fateful back stairs though on the other hand I often spent whole nights in dreaming with what touching magnanimity I would one day hold out a hand a trade victim and say to her the traitor has deceived thee but I am thy true friend let us forget the past and be happy when sudden and glad tidings overspread the whole town the marshal of the district proposed to give a great ball in honour of their respected guest in his private estate, Garnastayevka all the official world big and little of the town of O received invitations from the mayor down to the apothecary an excessively emaciated German with ferocious pretensions to a good Russian accent which led him into continually and quite inappropriately employing racy colloquialisms tremendous preparations were of course put in hand one purveyor of cosmetics sold sixteen dark blue jars of pomatum which bore the inscription a la jezma the young ladies provided themselves with tight dresses agonising in the waist and jutting out sharply over the stomach the mamars put formidable erections on their heads by way of caps the busy papas were half dead with the bustle the longed four day arrived at last I was among those invited from the town to Garnastayevka was reckoned between seven and eight miles Kirila Matveich offered me a seat in his coach but I refused in the same way children who have been punished wishing to pay their parents out refused their favourite dainties at table besides I felt that my presence would be felt as a constraint by Lisa Miss Mionkov took my place the prince drove in his own carriage and I in a wretched little droshki hired for an immense sum for this solemn occasion I am not going to describe that ball everything about it was just as it always is there was a band with trumpets extraordinarily out of tune in the gallery there were country gentlemen greatly flustered with their inevitable families mauve ices, viscous lemonade servants in boots trodden down at heel and knitted cotton gloves provincial lions with spasmodically contorted faces and so on and so on and all this little world was revolving round its sun, round the prince lost in the crowd, unnoticed even by the young ladies of eight and forty with red pimples on their brows and blue flowers on the top of their heads I stared incessantly, first at the prince, then at Lisa she was very charmingly dressed and very pretty that evening they only twice danced together it is true he danced the Mazorka with her but it seemed to me at least that there was a sort of secret continuous communication between them even while not looking at her, while not speaking to her he was still as it were addressing her and her alone he was handsome and brilliant and charming with other people for her sake only she was apparently conscious that she was the queen of the ball and that she was loved her face at once beamed with childlike delight and innocent pride and was suddenly illuminated by another deeper feeling happiness radiated from her I observed all this it was not the first time I had watched them at first this wounded me intensely afterwards it as it were touched me but finally it infuriated me I suddenly felt extraordinarily wrathful and I remember was extraordinarily delighted at this new sensation and even conceived a certain respect for myself we'll show them we're not crushed yet I said to myself when the first inviting notes of the Mazorka sounded I looked about me with composure and with a cool and easy air approached a long-faced young lady with a red and shiny nose a mouth that stood awkwardly open as though it had come unbuttoned and a scraggie neck that recalled the handle of a base vial I went up to her and with a perfunctory scrape of my heels invited her to the dance she was wearing a dress of faded rosebud pink not full-blown rose colour on her head quivered a striped and dejected beetle of some sort on a thick bronze pin and altogether this lady was, if one may so express it soaked through and through with a sort of sour ennui and inveterate lack of success from the very commencement of the evening she had not once stirred from her seat no one had thought of asking her to dance one flaxen-headed youth of sixteen had, through lack of a partner been on the point of addressing this lady and had taken a step in her direction but had thought better of it stared at her and hurriedly dived into the crowd you can fancy with what joyful amazement she agreed to my proposal I led her in triumph right across the ballroom picked out two chairs and sat down with her in the ring of the Mazurka among ten couples almost opposite the Prince who had of course been offered the first place the Prince as I've said already was dancing with Lisa neither I nor my partner was disturbed by invitations consequently we had plenty of time for conversation to tell the truth my partner was not conspicuous for her capacity for the utterance of words in consecutive speech she used her mouth principally for the achievement of a strange downward smile such as I had never till then beheld while she raised her eyes upward as though some unseen force were pulling her face in two but I did not feel her lack of eloquence happily I felt full of wrath and my partner did not make me shy I felt a finding fault with everything and everyone in the world with this special emphasis on town-bred youngsters and Petersburg dandies and went to such lengths at last that my partner gradually ceased smiling and instead of turning her eyes upward began suddenly from astonishment I suppose to squint and that so strangely as though she had for the first time observed the fact that she had a nose on her face and one of the lions referred to above who was sitting next to me did not once take his eyes off me he positively turned to me with the expression of an actor on the stage who was waked up in an unfamiliar place as though he would say is it really you? while I poured forth this tirade I still however kept watch on the prince and Lisa they were continually invited but I suffered less when they were both dancing and even when they were sitting side by side and smiling as they talked to each other that sweet smile which hardly leaves the faces of happy lovers even then I was not in such torture but when Lisa flitted across the room with some desperate dandy of an hussar while the prince with her blue gauze scarf on his knees followed her dreamily with his eyes as though delighting in his conquest then, oh, then I went through intolerable agonies and in my anger gave vent to such spiteful observations that the pupils of my partner's eyes simply fastened on her nose meanwhile the Mazurka was drawing to a close they were beginning the figure called La Confidante in this figure the lady sits in the middle of a circle chooses another lady as her confidante and whispers in her ear the name of the gentleman with whom she wishes to dance her partner conducts one after another of the dancers to her but the lady who is in the secret refuses them till at last the happy man fixed on beforehand arrives Lisa sat in the middle of the circle and chose the daughter of the host one of those young ladies of whom one says God help them the prince proceeded to discover her choice after presenting about a dozen young men to her in vain the daughter of the house refused them all with the most amiable of smiles he at last turned to me something extraordinary took place within me at that instant I as it were twitched all over and would have refused but got up and went along the prince conducted me to Lisa she did not even look at me the daughter of the house shook her head in refusal the prince turned to me and probably incited by the goose-like expression of my face made a deep bow this sarcastic bow this refusal transmitted to me through my triumphant rival his careless smile Lisa's indifferent in attention all this lashed me to frenzy I moved up to the prince and whispered furiously you think fit to laugh at me it seems the prince looked at me with contemptuous surprise took my arm again and making a show of reconducting me to my seat answered coldly I yes you I went on in a whisper obeying however that is to say following him to my place you but I do not intend to permit any empty headed Petersburg upstart the prince smiled tranquilly almost condescendingly pressed my arm whispered I understand you but this is not the place you will have a word later turned away from me went up to Bismyonkov and led him up to Lisa the pale little official turned out to be the chosen partner Lisa got up to meet him sitting beside my partner with the dejected beetle on her head I felt almost a hero my heart beat violently my breast heaved gallantly under my starched shirt front I drew deep and hurried breaths and suddenly gave the local lion near me such a magnificent glare that there was an involuntary quiver of his foot in my direction having disposed of this person I scanned the whole circle of dancers I fancied two or three gentlemen who were staring at me with some perplexity but in general my conversation with the prince had passed unnoticed my rival was already back in his chair perfectly composed and with the same smile on his face Bismyonkov led Lisa back to her place she gave him a friendly bow and once turned to the prince as I fancied with some alarm but he laughed in response with a graceful wave of his hand and must have said something very agreeable to her for she flushed with delight dropped her eyes and then bent them with affection at reproach upon him the heroic frame of mind which had suddenly developed in me had not disappeared by the end of the Mazorka but I did not indulge in any more epigrams or quizzing I contented myself with glancing occasionally with gloomy severity at my partner who was obviously beginning to be afraid of me and was utterly tongue-tied and continuously blinking by the time I placed her under the protection of her mother a very fat woman with a red cap on her head having consigned the scared maiden lady to her natural belongings I turned away to a window folded my arms and began to await what would happen I had rather long to wait the prince was the whole time surrounded by his host surrounded simply as England is surrounded by the sea to say nothing of the other members of the Marshal's family and the rest of the guests and besides he could hardly go up to such an insignificant person as me and begin to talk without arousing a general feeling of surprise this insignificance I remember was positively a joy to me at the time all right I thought as I watched him courteously addressing first one and then another highly respected personage honoured by his notice if only for an instance flash as the poets say all right my dear you'll come to me soon I have insulted you anyway at last the prince adroitly escaping from the throng of his adoras passed close by me looked somewhere between the window and my hair was turning away and suddenly stood still as though he had recollected something ah yes he said turning to me with a smile by the way I have a little matter to talk to you about you country gentlemen of the most persistent who were obstinately pursuing the prince probably imagined the little matter to relate to official business and respectfully fell back the prince took my arm and led me apart my heart was thumping at my ribs you I believe he began emphasising the word you and looking at my chin with a contemptuous expression which strange to say was supremely becoming to his fresh and handsome face you said something abusive to me I said what I thought I replied raising my voice ah shh quietly he observed decent people don't ball you would like perhaps to fight me that's your affair I answered drawing myself up I shall be obliged to challenge you he remarked carelessly if you don't withdraw your expressions I do not intend to withdraw from anything I rejoined with pride really he observed with an ironical smile in that case he continued after a brief pause I shall have the honour of sending my second to you tomorrow very good I said in a voice if possible even more indifferent the prince gave a slight bow I cannot prevent you from considering me empty-headed he added with a haughty droop of his eyelids but the prince's N cannot be upstart goodbye till we meet Mr. Mr. Shtukaturin he quickly turned his back on me and again approached his host who was already beginning to get excited Mr. Shtukaturin my name is Chulkaturin I could think of nothing to say to him in reply to this last insult and could only gaze after him with fury till tomorrow I muttered clenching my teeth and I at once looked for an officer of my acquaintance a cavalry captain in the Oolans called Kalbertyaev a desperate rake and a very good fellow to him I related in few words my quarrel with the prince and asked him to be my second he of course promptly consented and I went home I could not sleep all night from excitement not from cowardice I am not a coward I positively thought very little of the possibility confronting me of losing my life that as the Germans assure us highest good on earth I could think only of Lisa my ruined hopes of what I ought to do ought I to try to kill the prince I asked myself and of course I wanted to kill him not from revenge but from a desire for Lisa's good but she will not survive such a blow I went on no better let him kill me I must own it was an agreeable reflection too that I an obscure provincial person had forced a man of such consequence to fight a duel with me the morning light found me still absorbed in these reflections and not long after it appeared Kalbertyaev well he asked me where's the prince's second upon my word I answered with annoyance it's seven o'clock at the most the prince is still asleep I should imagine in that case replied the cavalry officer in no wise daunted order some tea for me my head aches from yesterday evening I've not taken my clothes off all night though indeed he added with a yawn I don't as a rule often take my clothes off some tea was given him drank off six glasses of tea and rum smoked four pipes told me he had on the previous day bought for next to nothing a horse the coachman refused to drive and he was meaning to drive her out with one of her four legs tied up and fell asleep without undressing on the sofa with a pipe in his mouth I got up and put my papers to rights one note of invitation from Lisa the one note I had received from her I was on the point of putting in my bosom but on second thoughts I flung it in a drawer Kalbertyaev was snoring feebly with his head hanging from the leather pillow for a long while I remember I scrutinized his unkempt, daring, careless and good-natured face at ten o'clock the man announced the arrival of Bismyonkouf had chosen him as second we both together roused the soundly sleeping cavalry officer he sat up stared at us with dim eyes in a horse voice demanded vodka he recovered himself and exchanging greetings with Bismyonkouf he went with him into the next room to arrange matters the consultation of the worthy seconds did not last long a quarter of an hour later they both came into my bedroom Kalbertyaev announced to me that we're going to fight today at three o'clock with pistols in silence I bent my head in token of my agreement Bismyonkouf had once took leave of us and departed he was rather pale and inwardly agitated like a man unused to such jobs but he was nevertheless very polite and chilly I felt as it were conscience-stricken in his presence and did not dare look him in the face Kalbertyaev began telling me about his horse this conversation was very welcome to me I was afraid he would mention Lisa but the good-natured cavalry officer was not a gossip and moreover he despised all women calling them God knows why green stuff at two o'clock we had lunch and at three we were at the place to fixed upon the very birch-cops in which I had once walked with Lisa a couple of yards from the precipice we arrived first but the prince and Bismyonkouf did not keep us long waiting the prince was without exaggeration as fresh as a rose his brown eyes looked out with excessive cordiality from under the peak of his cap he was smoking a cigar and on seeing Kalbertyaev shook his hand in a friendly way even to me he bowed very genially I was conscious on the contrary of being pale and my hands to my terrible vexation were slightly trembling my throat was parched I had never fought a duel before oh God I thought if only that ironical gentleman doesn't take my agitation for timidity I was inwardly cursing my nerves but glancing at last straight in the prince's face and catching on his lips an almost imperceptible smile I suddenly felt furious again and was at once at my ease meanwhile our seconds were fixing the barrier measuring out the paces loading the pistols Kalbertyaev did most Miss Mionkov rather watched him it was a magnificent day as fine as the day of that ever memorable walk the thick blue of the sky peeped as then to the golden green of the leaves their lisping seemed to mock me the prince went on smoking his cigar leaning his shoulder against the trunk of a young lime tree kindly take your places gentlemen ready Kalbertyaev pronounced at last handing us pistols the prince walked a few steps away stood still and turning his head asked me over his shoulder you still refused to take back your words then I tried to answer him but my voice failed me and I had to content myself with a contemptuous wave of the hand the prince smiled again and took up his position in his place we began to approach one another I raised my pistol was about to aim at the enemy's chest but suddenly tilted it up as though someone had given my elbow a shove and fired the prince tottered and put his left hand to his left temple a thread of blood was flowing down his cheek from under the white leather glove Bismionkov rushed up to him it's all right he said taking off his cap which the bullet had pierced since it's in the head and I've not fallen it must be a mere scratch he calmly pulled a cambrick handkerchief out of his pocket and put it to his bloodstained curls I stared at him as though I would turn to stone and did not stir go up to the barrier if you please Kolobergyaev observed severely I obeyed it's the duel to go on he added addressing Bismionkov Bismionkov made him no answer but the prince without taking the handkerchief from the wound without even giving himself the satisfaction of tormenting me at the barrier replied with a smile the duel is at an end and fired into the air I was almost crying with rage and vexation this man by his magnanimity had utterly trampled me in the mud he had completely crushed me I was on the point of making objections on the point of demanding that he should fire at me but he came up to me and held out his hand it's all forgotten between us isn't it he said in a friendly voice I looked at his blanched face at the bloodstained handkerchief and utterly confounded put to shame and annihilated I pressed his hand gentlemen he added turning to the seconds everything I hope will be kept secret of course cried Kolobergyaev but prince allowed me and he himself bound up his head the prince as he went away bowed to me once more but Pismionkov did not even glance at me shattered morally shattered I went homewards with Kolobergyaev why what's the matter with you the cavalry captain asked me set your mind at rest the wound's not serious you'll be able to dance by tomorrow if you like or are you sorry you didn't kill him you're wrong if you are he's a first-rate fellow what business had he to spare me I muttered at last oh so that's it the cavalry captain rejoined tranquilly oh you writing fellows are too much for me I don't know what put it into his head to consider me an author I absolutely declined to describe my torments during the evening following upon that luckless duel my vanity suffered indescribably it was not my conscience that tortured me the consciousness of my imbecility crushed me I have given myself the last decisive blow by my own act I kept repeating as I strode up and down my room the prince wounded by me and forgiving me yes, Lisa is now his now nothing can save her nothing can hold her back on the edge of the abyss I knew very well that our duel could not be kept secrets in spite of the prince's words in any case it could not remain a secret for Lisa the prince is not such a fool I murmured in a frenzy of rage as not to profit by it but meanwhile I was mistaken the whole town knew of the duel and of its real cause next day of course but the prince had not blabbed of it on the contrary when with his head bandaged and explanation ready he made his appearance before Lisa she had already heard everything whether Bizmyonkov had betrayed me or the news had reached her by other channels I cannot say though indeed can anything ever be concealed in a little town you can fancy how Lisa received him how all the family of the Urzogins received him as for me I suddenly became an object of universal indignation and loathing a monster a jealous, bloodthirsty madman my few acquaintances shunned me as if I were a leper the authorities of the town promptly addressed the prince with a proposal to punish me in a severe and befitting manner nothing but the persistent and urgent entreaties of the prince himself averted the calamity that menaced me that man was fated to annihilate me in every way by his generosity he had shucked as it were a coffin lid down upon me it's needless to say that the Urzogins' doors were at once closed against me Heerila Matvej even sent me back a bit of a pencil I had left in his house in reality he of all people had no reason to be angry with me my insane, that was the expression current in the town, jealousy had pointed out, defined, so to speak, the relations of the prince to Lisa both the Elder Joggins themselves and their fellow citizens began to look on him almost as betrothed to her this could not as a fact have been quite to his liking but he was greatly attracted by Lisa and meanwhile he had not at that time attained his aims with all the adroitness of a clever man of the world he took advantage of his new position promptly entered, as they say, into the spirit of his new part but I, for myself, for my future, I renounced all hopes at that time when suffering reaches the point of making a whole being creak and groan like an overloaded cart it ought to cease to be ridiculous but no, laughter not only accompanies tears to the end to exhaustion to the impossibility of shedding more it even rings and echoes where the tongue is dumb and complaint itself is dead and so as in the first place I don't intend to expose myself as ridiculous even to myself and secondly as I'm fearfully tired I will put off the continuation and please guard the conclusion of my story till tomorrow End of part four Recording by Martin Giesen in Hazelmere Surrey