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Updated: June 1, 2025
We were joined on these occasions by two plump, short young ladies, sisters, and distant relations of the Zlotnitskys, terribly given to giggling, and a few lads from the military school, very good-natured, quiet fellows. Pasinkov always used to sit beside Tatiana Vassilievna, and with her, judge what was to be done to the one who had to pay a forfeit.
She would sit opposite Pasinkov, her chin in her hands, staring at him not into his eyes, but into his whole face and would not utter a syllable, but only heave a noisy, sudden sigh. Sometimes in the evenings we used to play forfeits, especially on Sundays and holidays.
I was an exceedingly selfish and spoilt boy; I had grown up in a rather wealthy house, and so, on entering the school, I lost no time in making friends with a little prince, an object of special solicitude to Winterkeller, and with two or three other juvenile aristocrats; while I gave myself great airs with all the rest. Pasinkov I did not deign to notice at all.
I felt myself so utterly annihilated and disgraced that I could not even feel indignant with myself. Lying on the sofa with my face turned to the wall, I was revelling in the first rush of despairing misery, when I suddenly heard footsteps in the room. I lifted my head and saw one of my most intimate friends, Yakov Pasinkov.
'Such a long time has passed since the day we parted, I thought, 'she has, most likely, forgotten everything there was between us in those days. I sent Elisei, whom I had taken into my service after the death of Pasinkov, with my visiting-card to her door, and told him to inquire whether she was at home, and whether I might see her.
Without strain, without effort, he stepped into the realm of the ideal; his pure soul was at any moment ready to stand before the 'holy shrine of beauty'; it awaited only the welcoming call, the contact of another soul.... Pasinkov was an idealist, one of the last idealists whom it has been my lot to come across.
I took up Lermontov and began hurriedly turning over the pages; but, as fate would have it, I kept coming across poems likely to agitate Pasinkov again. At last I read him 'The Gifts of Terek. 'Jingling rhetoric! said my poor friend, with the tone of a preceptor; 'but there are fine passages.
'Yes, Pasinkov began again; 'that explanation with her ... I shall never forget it. It was then I found out, then I realised the meaning of the word I had chosen for myself long before: resignation. But still she has remained my constant dream, my ideal.... And he's to be pitied who lives without an ideal!
'Tell me, please, Sophia Nikolaevna began again; 'do you remember, you had a friend ... what was his name? he had such a good-natured face ... he was always reading poetry; such an enthusiastic 'Not Pasinkov? 'Yes, yes, Pasinkov ... where is he now? 'He is dead. 'Dead? repeated Sophia Nikolaevna; 'what a pity!... 'Have I seen him? the little girl asked in a hurried whisper.
This took place in my presence. I remember with what admiration and sympathy I gazed at Yakov. I thought him a hero!.... And afterwards, what mournful conversations passed between us. 'Seek consolation in art, I said to him. 'Yes, he answered me; 'and in poetry. 'And in friendship, I added. 'And in friendship, he repeated. Oh, happy days!... It was a grief to me to part from Pasinkov.
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