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Authors: Ivan Turgenev
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bewilderment. Sometimes,
usually quite suddenly, that bewilderment became cold terror; her face assumed a deathly, wild expression; she would lock
herself in her bedroom, and her maid, putting her ear to the keyhole, could hear her muffled sobs. Several times, returning
home after a lovers’ meeting, Kirsanov felt in his heart that shattering and bitter disappointment that rises in the heart
after a decisive failure. ‘What more do I want?’ he asked himself, but his heart went on aching. Once he gave her a ring with
a sphinx engraved on its stone.
‘What is it?’ she asked. ‘A sphinx?’
‘Yes,’ he answered, ‘and that sphinx is you.’
‘Is it really me?’ she asked and slowly raised her enigmatic gaze towards him. ‘Do you know, that’s very flattering?’ she
added with a slight smile, but her eyes still had that strange look.
It was painful for Pavel Petrovich even while Princess R. loved him; but when she became indifferent to him, and that happened
quite soon, he nearly went mad. He was racked with jealousy; he gave her no peace and trailed everywhere after her; his persistent
pursuit of her got on her nerves and she went abroad. He resigned his commission, in spite of the pleas of his friends and
the exhortations of his superiors, and went off after the princess. He spent four years in foreign climes, sometimes pursuing
her, sometimes deliberately losing sight of her. He was ashamed of himself, he was angry at his cowardice… but nothing helped.
Her image, that mysterious, almost meaningless but spell-binding image, had entered too deep into his soul.
Once in Baden 2 they renewed their former relationship; it seemed she had never loved him so passionately… but in a month it was all over:
the flame flared up for the last time and was extinguished for ever. Foreseeing the inevitable parting, he wanted at least
to remain friends with her, as if friendship with such a woman was possible… She quietly left Baden and thenceforth consistently
avoided Kirsanov. He returned to Russia and tried to live the life he had before, but he couldn’t settle into his old routine.
Like a man with poison in him, he roamed from place to place; he still went out, he kept all the habits of a man of the world;
he could boast of two or three new conquests; but he no longer expected anything very much either of himself or of others,
and he undertook nothing new. He aged and went grey; evenings in his club, a sardonic ennui, dispassionate arguments in male
society became necessities for him – a bad sign, as we know. Of course he didn’t even consider marriage. He spent ten years
in this way, sterile, dull years which went by quickly, terrifyingly quickly. Nowhere does time fly as in Russia; they say,
it goes quicker in prison. One day at dinner in his club Pavel Petrovich learnt of the death of Princess R. She had died in
Paris in a state very close to insanity. He got up from the table and for a long time walked through the rooms of the club,
standing by the card players as if rooted to the ground, but he didn’t go back home any earlier than usual. In a short while
he received a parcel addressed to him; it contained the ring he had given the princess. She had drawn a cross on the sphinx
and sent him a message that the cross was the solution to the riddle.
This happened in 1848, at the very time when Nikolay Petrovich, having lost his wife, was coming to St Petersburg. Pavel Petrovich
had hardly seen his brother since he’d been living in the country: Nikolay Petrovich’s marriage coincided with the very first
days of Pavel Petrovich’s relationship with the princess. When he came back from abroad, Pavel Petrovich went to his brother’s
with the intention of staying with him a couple of months, to enjoy his happiness, but he only lasted a week with him. The
difference in the two brothers’ situation was too great. In 1848 this difference became less:
usually quite suddenly, that bewilderment became cold terror; her face assumed a deathly, wild expression; she would lock
herself in her bedroom, and her maid, putting her ear to the keyhole, could hear her muffled sobs. Several times, returning
home after a lovers’ meeting, Kirsanov felt in his heart that shattering and bitter disappointment that rises in the heart
after a decisive failure. ‘What more do I want?’ he asked himself, but his heart went on aching. Once he gave her a ring with
a sphinx engraved on its stone.
‘What is it?’ she asked. ‘A sphinx?’
‘Yes,’ he answered, ‘and that sphinx is you.’
‘Is it really me?’ she asked and slowly raised her enigmatic gaze towards him. ‘Do you know, that’s very flattering?’ she
added with a slight smile, but her eyes still had that strange look.
It was painful for Pavel Petrovich even while Princess R. loved him; but when she became indifferent to him, and that happened
quite soon, he nearly went mad. He was racked with jealousy; he gave her no peace and trailed everywhere after her; his persistent
pursuit of her got on her nerves and she went abroad. He resigned his commission, in spite of the pleas of his friends and
the exhortations of his superiors, and went off after the princess. He spent four years in foreign climes, sometimes pursuing
her, sometimes deliberately losing sight of her. He was ashamed of himself, he was angry at his cowardice… but nothing helped.
Her image, that mysterious, almost meaningless but spell-binding image, had entered too deep into his soul.
Once in Baden 2 they renewed their former relationship; it seemed she had never loved him so passionately… but in a month it was all over:
the flame flared up for the last time and was extinguished for ever. Foreseeing the inevitable parting, he wanted at least
to remain friends with her, as if friendship with such a woman was possible… She quietly left Baden and thenceforth consistently
avoided Kirsanov. He returned to Russia and tried to live the life he had before, but he couldn’t settle into his old routine.
Like a man with poison in him, he roamed from place to place; he still went out, he kept all the habits of a man of the world;
he could boast of two or three new conquests; but he no longer expected anything very much either of himself or of others,
and he undertook nothing new. He aged and went grey; evenings in his club, a sardonic ennui, dispassionate arguments in male
society became necessities for him – a bad sign, as we know. Of course he didn’t even consider marriage. He spent ten years
in this way, sterile, dull years which went by quickly, terrifyingly quickly. Nowhere does time fly as in Russia; they say,
it goes quicker in prison. One day at dinner in his club Pavel Petrovich learnt of the death of Princess R. She had died in
Paris in a state very close to insanity. He got up from the table and for a long time walked through the rooms of the club,
standing by the card players as if rooted to the ground, but he didn’t go back home any earlier than usual. In a short while
he received a parcel addressed to him; it contained the ring he had given the princess. She had drawn a cross on the sphinx
and sent him a message that the cross was the solution to the riddle.
This happened in 1848, at the very time when Nikolay Petrovich, having lost his wife, was coming to St Petersburg. Pavel Petrovich
had hardly seen his brother since he’d been living in the country: Nikolay Petrovich’s marriage coincided with the very first
days of Pavel Petrovich’s relationship with the princess. When he came back from abroad, Pavel Petrovich went to his brother’s
with the intention of staying with him a couple of months, to enjoy his happiness, but he only lasted a week with him. The
difference in the two brothers’ situation was too great. In 1848 this difference became less:
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