The Rendezvous

The Rendezvous, by Ivan
Turgenev

The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Rendezvous, by Ivan Turgenev
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
Title: The Rendezvous 1907
Author: Ivan Turgenev
Translator: Herman Bernstein
Release Date: October 17, 2007 [EBook #23056]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE
RENDEZVOUS ***

Produced by David Widger

THE RENDEZVOUS
By Ivan Turgenev

Translated by Herman Bernstein.
Copyright, 1907, by P. P. Collier & Son.
I was sitting in a birch grove in autumn, near the middle of September.
It had been drizzling ever since morning; occasionally the sun shone
warmly;--the weather was changeable. Now the sky was overcast with
watery white clouds, now it suddenly cleared up for an instant, and then
the bright, soft azure, like a beautiful eye, appeared from beyond the
dispersed clouds. I was sitting looking about me and listening. The
leaves were slightly rustling over my head; and by their very rustle one
could tell what season of the year it was. It was not the gay, laughing
palpitation of spring; not a soft whispering, nor the lingering chatter of
summer, nor the timid and cold lisping of late autumn, but a barely
audible, drowsy prattle. A faint breeze was whisking over the tree-tops.
The interior of the grove, moist from the rain, was forever changing, as
the sun shone or hid beyond the clouds; now the grove was all
illuminated as if everything in it had burst into a smile; the trunks of the
birch trees suddenly assumed the soft reflection of white silk; the small
leaves which lay scattered on the ground all at once became variegated
and flashed up like red gold; and the pretty stalks of the tall, branchy
ferns, already tinted in their autumn hue, resembling the color of
overripe grapes, appeared here and there tangling and crossing one
another. Now again everything suddenly turned blue; the bright colors
died out instantaneously, the birch trees stood all white, lustreless, like
snow which had not yet been touched by the coldly playing rays of the
winter sun--and stealthily, slyly, a drizzling rain began to sprinkle and
whisper over the forest. The leaves on the birches were almost all green
yet, though they had turned somewhat pale; only here and there stood a
solitary young little birch, all red or all golden, and one should have
seen how brightly these birches flushed in the sun when its rays
suddenly appeared gliding and flashing through the dense net of the
thin branches which had just been washed around by the sparkling rain.
Not a single bird was heard; all had found shelter, and were silent; only
rarely the mocking voice of the bluebird sang out like a little steel bell.
Before stopping in this birch forest I passed with my dog through a
poplar grove. I confess I am not very fond of the poplar tree with its

pale lilac-colored trunk and its grayish-green, metallic leaves, which it
lifts high and spreads in the air like a trembling fan--I do not like the
constant shaking of its round, untidy leaves, which are so awkwardly
attached to long stems. The poplar is pretty only on certain summer
evenings when, rising high amid the low shrubbery, it stands against
the red rays of the setting sun, shining and trembling, bathed from root
to top in uniform yellowish purple--or when, on a clear windy day, it
rocks noisily, lisping against the blue sky, and each leaf seems as if
eager to tear itself away, to fly and hurry off into the distance. But in
general I do not like this tree, and, therefore, not stopping to rest in the
poplar grove, I made my way to the birch forest, and seated myself
under a tree whose branches started near the ground, and thus could
protect me from the rain. Having admired the surrounding view, I fell
asleep--I slept that tranquil, sweet sleep which is familiar to hunters
only.
I can not say how long I slept, but when I opened my eyes the entire
interior of the forest was filled with sunshine, and everywhere the
bright blue sky was flashing through the cheerfully droning leaves; the
clouds disappeared, driven asunder by the wind which had begun to
play; the weather was clear now, and one felt in the air that peculiar,
dry freshness which, filling the heart with a certain vigorous sensation,
almost always predicts a quiet, clear night after a rainy day. I was about
to rise and try my luck at hunting again, when