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Updated: May 13, 2025
"What a very Tourgueneffish effect the samovar gives!" he said, taking a biscuit from the basket Effie Bowen brought him, shrinking with redoubled shyness from the eyebrows which he arched at her. "I wonder you can keep from calling me Fedor Colvillitch. Where is your mother, Effie Bowenovna?" he asked of the child, with a temptation to say Imogene Grahamovna.
What a charming little creature! How pretty she is! and how good! and how well she speaks French! And she knows Russian too. She called me aunt in Russian. And then as to shyness, you know, almost all children of her age are shy; but she is not at all so. It's wonderful how like you she is, Fedor Ivanich eyes, eyebrows, in fact you all over absolutely you.
"I should have thought he had little enough to make him look robust." "Yes, indeed," observed Gedeonovsky; "any other man in Fedor Ivanitch's position would have hesitated to appear in society." "Why so, pray?" interposed Marfa Timofyevna. "What nonsense are you talking! The man's come back to his home where would you have him go? And has he been to blame, I should like to know!"
The anxiety of the unhappy father may be supposed when, from that time, he had no further news of his daughter. Wassili Fedor entered the presence of the Grand Duke, bowed, and waited to be questioned. "Wassili Fedor," said the Grand Duke, "your companions in exile have asked to be allowed to form a select corps.
Yet Turgenev is not typical of that Russian school of novelists of which Tolstoy and Gorki are distinguished examples; rather he belongs to the school of Thackeray, George Eliot, and Dickens. I. A Student's Marriage Fedor Ivanitch Lavretsky came of an ancient noble family. His father, a strangely whimsical man, determined that his son should grow up a Spartan.
"This would be a nice place for Puss-in-the-Corner," cried Lenotchka suddenly, as they came upon a small green lawn, surrounded by lime-trees, "and we are just five, too." "Have you forgotten Fedor Ivanitch?" replied her brother,... "or didn't you count yourself?" Lenotchka blushed slightly. "But would Fedor Ivanitch, at his age " she began.
Her shoulders began to heave slightly. "What is it?" he urged, and he heard a subdued sob. His heart stood still... he knew the meaning of those tears. "Can it be that you love me?" he whispered, and caressed her knees. "Get up!" he heard her voice. "Get up, Fedor Ivanitch. What are we doing?" He got up and sat beside her on the seat. "It frightens me; what we are doing?" she repeated.
He was often as poor as a rat; he suffered from a horrible disease; he was sick and in prison, and no one visited him; he knew the bitterness of death. Such a man's testimony as to the value of life is worth attention; he was a faithful witness, and we know that his testimony is true. Fedor Mikhailovich Dostoevski was born on the 30 October 1821, at Moscow.
The old man went off to pay a visit to some friends of his in the next village, just as I go off sometimes to see old Fedor, God be with him. And as soon as the old man was out of sight the wicked stepmother called the little girl. "You are to go to-day to your dear little aunt in the forest," says she, "and ask her for a needle and thread to mend a shirt."
Old Peter hurried into the church, followed by Fedor with Vanya and Maroosia. They all crossed themselves and said a prayer as they went in. The ceremony was just beginning.
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