Short Fiction by Vsevolod Garshin (always you kirsty moseley TXT) 📕
Description
Vsevolod Garshin’s literary career followed a stint as a infantry soldier and later an officer, and he received both public and critical acclaim in the 1880s. Before his sadly early death at the age of thirty-three after a lifelong battle with mental illness he wrote and published nineteen short stories. He drew on his military career and life in St. Petersburg as initial source material, and his varied cast of characters includes soldiers, painters, architects, madmen, bears, frogs and even flowers and trees. All are written with a depth of feeling and sympathy that marks Garshin out from his contemporaries.
Collected here are the seventeen translations into English by Rowland Smith of Garshin’s short stories and novellas, in chronological order of the original Russian publication.
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- Author: Vsevolod Garshin
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“How she loves pictures, Andrei!” suddenly said he to me in raptures. “Last year I took her to the Exhibition, and we saw your studies. Do you remember?”
“Remember?” she answered.
“Nadejda Nicolaievna!” said Bezsonow once again.
“Leave me alone. … Go where you like. I am going to stay here with Senia and this Mr. … Lopatin. I want to have a rest … from you …” she suddenly exclaimed, seeing that Bezsonow was going to say something more.
“I am sick of you. Leave me alone. Clear out! …”
He turned abruptly, and went off without saying a word to any of us.
“That’s better. … Now he has gone …” said Nadejda Nicolaievna, giving a deep sigh.
“Why do you sigh, Nadejda Nicolaievna?” asked Senichka.
“Why? Because what is allowable for all these cripples”—with a movement of her head she indicated the crowd which surged around us—“is not allowable for him. … Well, never mind; it is sickening and boring. No, not boring; it’s worse. There is no word for it. Senichka, treat me with something to drink.”
Simon looked at me plaintively.
“You see, Nadejda Nicolaievna, I should be glad to, but I cannot; he …”
“What about him? He can drink with us.”
“He will not stay.”
“Well, then, you.”
“He will not let me.”
“That’s bad. … Who can stop you?”
“I have given my word that I will obey him.”
Nadejda Nicolaievna looked at me closely.
“That’s it, is it?” she said. “Well, do as you like. If you don’t want to, you needn’t. I will drink by myself. …”
“Nadejda Nicolaievna,” I began, “forgive me that at our first meeting …”
I felt the crimson rush to my cheeks. She smiled and looked at me.
“Well, what?”
“That at our first meeting I ask you … not to do this, not to behave like this. … I wanted to ask you yet another favour.”
Her face took a mournful expression.
“Not to behave like this?” said she. “I am afraid that I cannot behave in any other way. I have lost the habit. Well, all right; so as to please you I will try. And the favour?”
With a lot of stuttering and mixing up of my words I confusedly explained to her the matter. She listened attentively, fixing her grey eyes straight on me. Either the strained attention with which she listened to my words or something else gave her glance a stern and almost cruel expression.
“All right,” she said at length. “I understand what you want. I will make my face like that.”
“That will not be necessary, Nadejda Nicolaievna; only your face. …”
“All right, all right. When shall I come?”
“Tomorrow at eleven o’clock, if possible.”
“So early? Well, that means I must get to bed now. Senichka, will you see me home?”
“Nadejda Nicolaievna,” said I, “we have not arranged about one thing: it cannot be done for nothing.”
“What! you will pay me?” she said; and I felt that there was a ring of wounded pride in her voice.
“Yes, pay; otherwise it is off,” said I decisively.
She threw a scornful, even insolent, glance at me; but almost immediately her face took on a thoughtful expression. We both kept silent. I felt awkward, whilst a faint flush showed on her cheeks, and her eyes glinted.
“All right,” she said; “pay. Give me what other models get. How much shall I get altogether for Charlotte, Senichka?”
“Sixty roubles, I should think,” he replied.
“And how long will it take to paint her?”
“A month.”
“Good, very good!” she exclaimed vivaciously. “I will try to earn your money. Thank you!”
She put out her thin hand and firmly pressed mine.
“He is spending the night with you?” she asked turning to me.
“Yes, yes, with me.”
“I will let him go directly he has seen me home.”
In half an hour’s time I was home, and five minutes later Helfreich returned. We undressed, laid down, and put out the candles. I had already begun to doze.
“Are you asleep, Lopatin?” suddenly sounded Senichka’s voice through the darkness.
“No; why?”
“Because I would straight away give my left hand if only this woman was a good and pure one,” said he in an agitated voice.
“Why not the right hand?” I asked sleepily.
“Duffer! How would I be able to paint then?” he asked me seriously.
VIWhen I awoke the next day the grey morning was already looking in through the window.
Having glanced at the dimly lighted, pale, kind-looking face of Helfreich asleep on the couch, and having recalled the evening before, and that I had a model for my picture, I turned over on my side and again lapsed into a light early morning slumber.
“Lopatin!” resounded a voice. I heard it in my sleep. It accorded with my dream, and I did not awake, but somebody touched me on the shoulder.
“Lopatin! wake up!” said the voice.
I jumped to my feet and saw Bezsonow.
“Is that you. Serge Vassilivich?”
“Yes; you did not expect me so early?” said he quietly. “Speak softer; I do not want to wake up the hunchback.”
“What do you want?”
“Dress, wash, and I will tell you. We will go into the other room. Let him sleep.”
I collected my clothes under my arm, and, picking up my boots, went to dress in the studio. Bezsonow was very pale.
“You apparently did not sleep last night?” I asked.
“No, I slept; but I got up very early and worked. Tell them to give us tea, and we will talk. By the way, show me your picture.”
“Not worth while now. Serge Vassilivich. But wait a bit; I shall soon finish it in its corrected and proper form. Perhaps it is displeasing that I have gone contrary to your wishes, but you would not believe how glad I am that I shall finish it, and that this has happened. Anyone better than Nadejda Nicolaievna I could not wish for.”
“I shall not allow you to paint her,” said he dully.
“Serge Vassilivich, you have apparently come here to quarrel with me.”
“I will not allow her to be with you every day, to spend whole hours with you. … I will not allow her.”
“Have you such power?
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