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.
There was only one man in Raegan's heart, and it was Mitchel. In the second year of her marriage to him, she got pregnant. Raegan's joy knew no bounds. But before she could break the news to her husband, he served her divorce papers because he wanted to marry his first love. After an accident, Raegan lay in the pool of her own blood and called out to Mitchel for help. Unfortunately, he left with his first love in his arms. Raegan escaped death by the whiskers. Afterward, she decided to get her life back on track. Her name was everywhere years later. Mitchel became very uncomfortable. For some reason, he began to miss her. His heart ached when he saw her all smiles with another man. He crashed her wedding and fell to his knees while she was at the altar. With bloodshot eyes, he queried, "I thought you said your love for me is unbreakable? How come you are getting married to someone else? Come back to me!"
Since she was ten, Noreen had been by Caiden's side, watching him rise from a young boy into a respected CEO. After two years of marriage, though, his visits home grew rare. Gossip among the wealthy said he despised her. Even his beloved mocked her hopes, and his circle treated her with scorn. People forgot about her decade of loyalty. She clung to memories and became a figure of ridicule, worn out from trying. They thought he'd won his freedom, but he dropped to his knees and begged, "Noreen, you're the only one I love." Leaving behind the divorce papers, she walked away.
Sawyer, the world's top arms dealer, stunned everyone by falling for Maren—the worthless girl no one respected. People scoffed. Why chase a useless pretty face? But when powerful elites began gathering around her, jaws dropped. "She's not even married to him yet—already cashing in on his power?" they assumed. Curious eyes dug into Maren's past... only to find she was a scientific genius, a world-renowned medical expert, and heiress to a mafia empire. Later, Sawyer posted online. "My wife treats me like the enemy. Any advice?"
Narine never expected to survive. Not after what was done to her body, mind, and soul. But fate had other plans. Rescued by Supreme Alpha Sargis, the kingdom's most feared ruler, she finds herself under the protection of a man she doesn't know... and a bond she doesn't understand. Sargis is no stranger to sacrifice. Ruthless, ambitious, and loyal to the sacred matebond, he's spent years searching for the soul fate promised him, never imagining she would come to him broken, on the brink of death, and afraid of her own shadow. He never meant to fall for her... but he does. Hard and fast. And he'll burn the world before letting anyone hurt her again. What begins in silence between two fractured souls slowly grows into something intimate and real. But healing is never linear. With the court whispering, the past clawing at their heels, and the future hanging by a thread, their bond is tested again and again. Because falling in love is one thing. Surviving it? That's a war of its own. Narine must decide, can she survive being loved by a man who burns like fire, when all she's ever known is how not to feel? Will she shrink for the sake of peace, or rise as Queen for the sake of his soul? For readers who believe even the most fractured souls can be whole again, and that true love doesn't save you. It stands beside you while you save yourself.
The sterile white of the operating room blurred, then sharpened, as Skye Sterling felt the cold clawing its way up her body. The heart monitor flatlined, a steady, high-pitched whine announcing her end. Her uterus had been removed, a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding, but the blood wouldn't clot. It just kept flowing, warm and sticky, pooling beneath her. Through heavy eyes, she saw a trembling nurse holding a phone on speaker. "Mr. Kensington," the nurse's voice cracked, "your wife... she's critical." A pause, then a sweet, poisonous giggle. Seraphina Miller. "Liam is in the shower," Seraphina's voice purred. "Stop calling, Skye. It's pathetic. Faking a medical emergency on our anniversary? Even for you, that's low." Then, Liam's bored voice: "If she dies, call the funeral home. I have a meeting in the morning." Click. The line went dead. A second later, so did Skye. The darkness that followed was absolute, suffocating, a black ocean crushing her lungs. She screamed into the void, a silent, agonizing wail of regret for loving a man who saw her as a nuisance, for dying without ever truly living. Until she died, she didn't understand. Why was her life so tragically wasted? Why did her husband, the man she loved, abandon her so cruelly? The injustice of it all burned hotter than the fever in her body. Then, the air rushed back in. Skye gasped, her body convulsing violently on the mattress. Her eyes flew open, wide and terrified, staring blindly into the darkness. Her trembling hand reached for her phone. May 12th. Five years ago. She was back.
Linsey was stood up by her groom to run off with another woman. Furious, she grabbed a random stranger and declared, "Let's get married!" She had acted on impulse, realizing too late that her new husband was the notorious rascal, Collin. The public laughed at her, and even her runaway ex offered to reconcile. But Linsey scoffed at him. "My husband and I are very much in love!" Everyone thought she was delusional. Then Collin was revealed to be the richest man in the world. In front of everyone, he got down on one knee and held up a stunning diamond ring. "I look forward to our forever, honey."
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