Kuningas Lear arolla by Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev
Kuningas Lear arolla by Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev
Lapsuuteni ajan ja ensimm?iset nuorukais-ajat hamaan viidenteentoista ik?vuoteeni saakka elelin maalla, ?itini, rikkaan tilan-omistajan, luona X:n l??niss?. Luulin kuin luulinkin, ett? jo n?ilt? ammoisilta ajoilta j?i muistooni l?himm?isen naapurimme er??n Martin Petrovitsh Harlow'in kuva. Ja tuskinpa moinen kuva muistosta ottaisi haihtuakseenkaan; mointa miest? en ole sittemmin el?m?n p?ivin?ni n?hnyt.
Kuvailkaa mieless?nne mies, suuri kuin j?ttil?inen! Kookkaasen ruumiisen oli liittynyt suunnaton p??, aivan v?litt?m?sti, - ei kaulan j?lke?k??n; keltaisenharmaa tukka kohota p?yrysi kuin hyv?kin ruko, alkaen melkein p?rr?isten kulmakarvain juurilta. Sinerv?in, melkein kuni kuorittujen kasvojen laajalla tanterella istua j?rr?tti paksu pahkanen?; siin? ylpe?sti siiraili pari pikkuruisia sinisi? silmi?; siin? my?s aukeili suu, pikkuruinen sekin, mutta vino, halkinainen, samaa v?ri? kuin koko kasvotkin. ??ni tuli t?st? suusta tosin k?he?n?, mutta erinomaisen kovana ja kumisevana. H?nen ??nens? piti samaa el?m?? kuin kimpullinen kankirautoja, jotka pannaan rattaille niin ett? toinen p?? letkuu ulkona ja joita sitten l?hdet??n vet?m??n huonosti kivitetty? katua my?ten. Harlow puhui aina niinkuin olisi huutanut jollekin kovassa vastatuulessa leve?n kuopan yli. Vaikea olisi ollut sanoa, mit? Harlow'in kasvot milloinkin ilmaisivat: niin laajat ne olivat. Yhdell? silm?yksell? noita kasvoja v?list? ei enn?tt?nyt n?hd?kk??n. Mutta vastenmieliset ne eiv?t olleet - oikein niiss? asui jonkunlainen mahtavuus; hyvin olivat oudot ja kummalliset. Ja millaiset olivat h?nell? k?det - patjoja nekin! Ent? sormet, ent? jalat! Muistan min? viel?, kuinka kunnioittavaa kauhua min? tunsin, katsellessani Martin Petrovitsh'in kaksi-kyyn?r?ist? selk?? ja hartioita leveit? kuin myllyn kivet. H?nen korvansa ne minun enimm?n h?mm?styttiv?t! Rinkil? mik? rinkil?: siin? laskokset ja palmikot ja kaikki: ja posket ne noin vaan kannattelivatkin niit? puolelta ja toiselta.
Kes?t talvet k?vi Martin Petrovitsh viheri?st? verasta tehdyss? kasakinissa,[1] jota kiinnitti vy?t?isille tsherkessil?inen vy?; jalassa oli rasvanahkaiset saappaat. Kaulusta en n?hnyt h?nell? milloinkaan, ja mihinp? sen olisi sitonutkaan? H?n hengitti pitk??n ja raskaasti kuin h?rk?, mutta astui hiljaa. N?ytti silt? kuin h?n huoneesen jouduttuaan olisi alin-omaa pelj?nnyt s?rkev?ns? ja kaatavansa kumoon kaikki, jonka vuoksi h?n siirtyelikin paikasta toiseen varovasti, enimm?kseen vaan kuve edell?, ik??nkuin varkain. Voimaa h?nell? oli todellakin kuin Herkuleella, ja siksi h?n olikin suuressa arvossa pidetty mies paikkakunnalla: sankareita kunnioittaa meid?n kansa viel? t?n?kin p?iv?n?. Kulki h?nen voimastaan tarujakin kaikenlaisia. Kerrottiin ett? h?n oli mets?ss? kerran kohdannut karhun, ja v?h?n puuttui ett'ei paiskannut karhua maahan. Kerrotaan kuinka h?n mehil?ispesill??n kerran oli tavannut vieraan talonpojan, varkaan, ja heitt?nyt miehen hevosineen rattaineen p?ivineen yli aidan, ynn? muuta semmoista. Itse h?n ei koskaan voimillansa kerskaillut.
- "Jos minun k?sivarressani asuu siunaus", n?in h?n puheli, "niin
Jumalanhan se on tahdosta."
Ylpe? h?n oli, ei kumminkaan voimistansa vaan arvostaan, syntyper?st??n, ?lyst??n.
- "Meid?n suku on ruostalaista alkuper??" (h?n ei osannut sanoa "ruotsalaista"). "Kanta-is? oli Ruostalainen, Harlus", niin h?n vakuutteli. "H?n tuli Ven?j?lle silloin kuin maata hallitsi ruhtinas Ivan Wasiljevitsh Synkk?, - katsopas, silloin jo! Eik? halainnutkaan t?m? ruostalainen Harlus olla suomalaisena kreivin?, mutta tahtoi tulla ven?l?iseksi aatelisherraksi ja piirtikin nimens? kultaiseen kirjaan. Niin, sielt? asti se on Harlovien alku!... Ja siit? samasta syyst? me Harlow'in suvun j?senet olemmekin kaikki valkoverisi?, vaaleasilm?isi? ja puhtaita kasvoilta kuin pulmuset."
- "Mutta kuulkaas Martin Petrovitsh!" yritin min? kerran panna
vastaan. "Ivan Wasiljevitsh Synkk?? ei ole koskaan ollutkaan, vaan Ivan
Wasiljevitsh Julma on ollut. Synk?ksi sanottiin suurta Wasili
Wasiljevitsh'i?."
- "?l? valehtele!" vastasi Harlow hyvin tyyneesti. "Kun min? sen kerran niin sanoin, niin tottahan se niin on!"
?iti vainaja koetti kerran kiitt?? h?nt? h?nen todellakin erin-omaisesta rehellisyydest??n.
- "Olkaa tuossa Natalia Niholajewna!" virkkoi toinen melkein harmissaan. "Kyll?p?s nyt l?ydettiin kiittelemisen syy! Eih?n meid?n, herrasv?en, sovi muuta ollakaan, jottei raaka rahvas, ty?mies, rahan-alainen mies uskaltaisi meist? pahaa ajatellakaan! Min?, Harlow - min? luen sukuni aina sielt? astikka (h?n viittasi sormellaan jonnekin hyvin korkealle lakeen p?in), ja ett?k? min? olisin kunniaton ihminen! Mitenk? se olisi mahdollista?"
Toisen kerran sattui ?itini luona olemaan vieraana muuan korkea virkamies. T?m?n teki mieli hieman pilkata Martin Petrovitsh'ia. Viimeksi mainittu rupesi j?lleen kertomaan ruostalaisesta Harlus herrasta, joka oli tullut Ven?j?lle...
- "Abrahamin ja Isakin aikoina, niink??" keskeytti korkea herra.
-- "Ei Abrahamin aikoina eik? Iisakinkaan, mutta suuren ruhtinaan Ivan
Wasiljevitsh Julman aikana."
- "Min?p? luulen", jatkoi korkea herra, "ett? teid?n sukunne on paljoa vanhempi: sen alkup?? menee aina niihin aikoihin, jolloin maailmassa viel? oli mastodontteja ja megaloterioita..."
N?it? tieteellisi? nimityksi? ei Ivan Petrovitsh ymm?rt?nyt laisinkaan, mutta sen verran h?n k?sitti, ett? korkea herra tahtoi tehd? h?nest? pilkkaa.
- "Saattaa niinkin olla" - tokaisi h?n vastaan, - "kyll?h?n se meid?n suku on hyvin vanha. Ja niinh?n ne kertovat ett? siihen aikaan, jolloin meid?n kanta-is? muutti Moskovaan, siell? asu muuan p?ssin-p??, melkein samanlainen kuin teid?n ylh?isyytenne, ja semmoisia p?ssinp??t? ei synny ei kuin yksi tuhanteen vuoteen."
Ylh?inen herra vimmastui, mutta Harlow se vaan p??t?ns? keikautti taakse p?in, ty?nsi leukansa eteen, ryk?si ja meni pois.
Kahden p?iv?n per?st? h?n tuli uudestaan. ?itini nuhtelemaan h?nt?.
- "Se oli vaan neuvoksi ja ojennukseksi h?nelle, hyv? rouva", keskeytti Harlow. "?l? lenn? umpisilmin, kysy ensin kenen kanssa sull' on tekemist?. Kovin on nuori viel? ja tarvitsee opetusta."
Virkamies oli melkein yhden ik?inen Harlow'in kanssa, mutta t?m? j?ttil?inen se piti kaikkia ihmisi? keskenkasvuisina. Kovin h?n todellakin luotti omaan itseens? eik? pelj?nnyt ei niin ket??n!
- "Kukas minulle mit? saa? L?ytyyk?s maailmassa ket??n semmoista ihmist??" kyseli h?n, ja ala sitten ?kki? nauramaan lyhytt?, mutta kajahtelevaa hohotusta.
The novel's protagonist is Fyodor Ivanych Lavretsky, a nobleman who shares many traits with Turgenev. The child of a distant, Anglophile father and a serf mother who dies when he is very young, Lavretsky is brought up at his family's country estate home by a severe maiden aunt, often thought to be based on Turgenev's own mother, who was known for her cruelty.
Sergeevich Turgenev was a major 19th century Russian novelist. His novel Fathers and Sons is his best-known work. The author has written a number of critical essays, plays, poems, and several novelettes. Virgin Soil is a classic of Russian literature published in 1877. Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev portrays educated young people who, under the influence of the Populist movement, renounce the life of their class to take on the dress and life of workers and peasants and conspire with them.
When her half-sister stole her fiancé, scarred her face, and threw her from a skyscraper, Amelia thought it was the end-until fate gave her a second chance. Reborn with bitter clarity, she vowed not to repeat the same mistakes. In her past life, she had been kind to a fault; now, she would wear a mask of innocence to outmaneuver every snake in the grass. One by one, she tore down their schemes-leaving her treacherous sister begging, her stepmother pleading, her worthless father groveling, and her ex-fiancé crawling back. Her response was a cold smirk and two words: "Get lost." But the one thing she never anticipated was crossing paths with Damien Taylor-the most powerful and untouchable man in the capital-on the very first day of her new life. They said he was ruthless, ice-cold, immune to any woman's charm. Amelia believed it. until she learned the truth: the man was dangerously cunning. "Miss Johnson, I saved you. How about dinner?" "Miss Johnson, I helped you. Don't you owe me a favor?" Backed against the wall, Amelia felt his low voice vibrate through her: "You owe me too much, Amelia. It's time to pay up-starting with you." Only much later would she realize. she'd been owing him all along.
He backed her against the wall, his voice a low growl. "Don't call me uncle." A teasing smirk touched her lips. "I gave you everything," she whispered. "But you said I was your partner's daughter. That it could never work. The choice was always yours." Prince Mathew's hand cradled her throat, his dominance a palpable force. "The age gap is nothing! only a few years. I am not your uncle." The fear of losing her shattered his control. His mouth crashed down on hers in a searing, desperate kiss. His mind screamed that she was forbidden, but his body craved her, and his wolf demanded to claim its mate. With a final surrender, he pressed his teeth to her neck, marking her forever. "You are mine," he vowed possessively. "Only mine." As a billionaire hiding his identity as the next Alpha King, control was his currency. He never expected to fall for his best friend's rebellious daughter. One night was a mistake. A second was a betrayal. But claiming her as his mate? That was a risk he was finally willing to take.
Once the unwanted foster daughter of the Sawyer family, Briella endured chains, cruelty, and a betrayal that nearly cost her life. Everyone thinks she's long gone. But five years later, she returns as Skye-an elite designer, a mother of twins, and the silent force behind a storm that's about to break. She's not here to forgive. She's here to expose lies, ruin reputations, and make every last one of them pay.
Dayna had worshiped her husband, only to watch him strip her late mother's estate and lavish devotion on another woman. After three miserable years, he discarded her, and she lay broken-until Kristopher, the man she once betrayed, dragged her from the wreckage. He now sat in a wheelchair, eyes like tempered steel. She offered a pact: she would mend his legs if he helped crush her ex. He scoffed, yet signed on. As their ruthless alliance caught fire, he uncovered her other lives-healer, hacker, pianist-and her numb heart stirred. But her groveling ex crawled back. "Dayna, you were my wife! How could you marry someone else? Come back!"
"My sister threatens to take my mate. And I let her keep him." Born without a wolf, Seraphina is the disgrace of her pack-until a drunken night leaves her pregnant and married to Kieran, the ruthless Alpha who never wanted her. But their decade-long marriage was no fairytale. For ten years, she endured the humiliation: No Luna title. No mating mark. Just cold sheets and colder stares. When her perfect sister returned, Kieran filed for divorce the same night. And her family was happy to see her marriage broken. Seraphina didn't fight but left silently. However, when danger struck, shocking truths emerged: ☽ That night wasn't an accident ☽ Her "defect" is actually a rare gift ☽ And now every Alpha-including her ex-husband-will fight to claim her Too bad she's done being owned. *** Kieran's growl vibrated through my bones as he pinned me against the wall. The heat of him seared through layers of fabric. "You think leaving is that easy, Seraphina?" His teeth grazed the unmarked skin of my throat. "You. Are. Mine." A hot palm slid up my thigh. "No one else will ever touch you." "You had ten years to claim me, Alpha." I bared my teeth in a smile. "Funny how you only remember I'm yours... when I'm walking away."
Sunlit hours found their affection glimmering, while moonlit nights ignited reckless desire. But when Brandon learned his beloved might last only half a year, he coolly handed Millie divorce papers, murmuring, "This is all for appearances; we'll get married again once she's calmed down." Millie, spine straight and cheeks dry, felt her pulse go hollow. The sham split grew permanent; she quietly ended their unborn child and stepped into a new beginning. Brandon unraveled, his car tearing down the street, unwilling to let go of the woman he'd discarded, pleading for her to look back just once.
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