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'Do you remember, began Rudin, directly the carriage had driven from the courtyard into the broad road bordered with fir-trees, 'do you remember what Don Quixote says to his squire when he is leaving the court of the duchess?
Why could you not live harmoniously at the gymnasium, why have you strange man! with whatever ideas you have entered upon an undertaking, infallibly every time ended by sacrificing your personal interests, ever refusing to take root in any but good ground, however profitable it might be? 'I was born a rolling stone, Rudin said, with a weary smile. 'I cannot stop myself.
She dried them; but they flowed afresh, like water from a long-pent-up source. On this same day Alexandra Pavlovna had a conversation with Lezhnyov about Rudin. At first he bore all her attacks in silence; but at last she succeeded in rousing him into talk. 'I see, she said to him, 'you dislike Dmitri Nikolaitch, as you did before.
'Why, that's not on my road at all. I am going to Penza, and V lies, I think, in the direction of Tamboff. 'What of that? you can get there from Tamboff, and from V you won't be at all out of your road. Rudin thought a moment. 'Well, all right, he said at last, 'tell them to put the horses to. It is the same to me; I will go to Tamboff. The horses were soon ready.
Thanks.... I shall come to a bad end. 'God only knows.... You are resolved to go? 'Yes, I am going. Good-bye. Do not remember evil against me. 'Well, do not remember evil against me either, and don't forget what I said to you. Good-bye.... The friends embraced one another. Rudin went quickly away.
But with the head alone, however strong it may be, it is hard for a man to know even what is passing in himself.... Rudin, the clever, penetrating Rudin, was not capable of saying certainly whether he loved Natalya, whether he was suffering, and whether he would suffer at parting from her.
The heroine of "Rudin," of "Smoke," of "On the Eve," the sinister Maria of "Torrents of Spring," the immortal Lisa of "A House of Gentlefolk," the girl in Dostoevski's "Poor Folk;" Dunia and Sonia, in "Crime and Punishment" many others might be called to mind.
Everything comes to pass in the world; so who knows, perhaps Pigasov was right? At half-past nine Rudin was already in the arbour. The stars had come out in the pale, distant depths of the heaven; there was still a red glow where the sun had set, and there the horizon seemed brighter and clearer; a semi-circular moon shone golden through the black network of the weeping birch-tree.
Thus his novels are a sort of artistic epitome of the intellectual history of modern Russia, and also a powerful instrument of her intellectual progress. Rudin is the first of Turgenev's social novels, and is a sort of artistic introduction to those that follow, because it refers to the epoch anterior to that when the present social and political movements began.
Then there was Monsieur Rudin, the French Royalist refugee who lived over on the Pangdean road, and who, when the news of a victory came in, was convulsed with joy because we had beaten Buonaparte, and shaken with rage because we had beaten the French, so that after the Nile he wept for a whole day out of delight and then for another one out of fury, alternately clapping his hands and stamping his feet.
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