1
Smoke
by Ivan Turgenev
Translated by Constance Garnett
London, Heinemann, 1897
INTRODUCTION BY
JOHN REED
INTRODUCTION [by John Reed, 1919]
WHEN Litvinov was torn loose from his "far from gay or complicated" life, caught up in a lurid passion in which he was never at home, and then abandoned, he fled upon the train. At first he was exhausted by the prodigious effort of will he had made; then a kind of composure came upon him. He "was hardened." The train, the minutes, were carrying him away from the wreck of his life.
"He took to gazing out of the window. The day was gray and damp; there was no rain, but the fog held on, and low-lying clouds veiled the sky. The wind was blowing in the contrary direction to the course of the train; whitish clouds of steam, now alone, now mingled with other, darker clouds, of smoke, swept, in an endless series, past the window beside which Litvinov sat. He began to watch the steam, the smoke. Incessantly whirling, rising and falling, twisting and catching at the grass, at the bushes, playing pranks, as it were, lengthening and melting, puff followed puff,... they were constantly changing and yet remained the same... a monotonous, hurried, tiresome game! Sometimes the wind changed, the road made a turn--the whole mass suddenly disappeared, and immediately became visible through the opposite window; then, once more, the hugh train flung itself over, and once more veiled from Litvinov the wide view of the Rhine Valley. He gazed and gazed, and a strange reflection occurred to him.... He was alone in the carriage; there was no one to interfere with him. 'Smoke, smoke'--he repeated several times in success