Page:The Novels of Ivan Turgenev (volume VIII).djvu/199

 Heaven be his! The trustees doubtless judged righteously.' 'And where did you live before?' 'At Fair Springs.' 'Is it far from here?' 'A hundred miles.' 'Well, were you better off there?' 'Yes yes, there there was open country, with rivers; it was our home: here we are cramped and parched up. Here we are strangers. There at home, at Fair Springs, you could get up on to a hill—and ah, my God, what a sight you could see! Streams and plains and forests, and there was a church, and then came plains beyond. You could see far, very far. Yes, how far you could look—you could look and look, ah, yes! Here, doubtless, the soil is better; it is clay—good fat clay, as the peasants say; for me the corn grows well enough everywhere.' 'Confess then, old man; you would like to visit your birth-place again?' 'Yes, I should like to see it. Still, all places are good. I am a man without kin, without neighbours. And, after all, do you gain much, pray, by staying at home? But, behold! as you walk, and as you walk,' he went on, raising his voice, 'the heart grows lighter, of a truth. And the sun shines upon you, and you are in the sight of God, and the singing comes more tunefully. Here, you look—what herb is growing; you look on it—you pick it. Here water runs,