I had always thought of Turgenev as an essentially lyrical writer. So, on reading “My Neighbour Radilov” from Sketches From a Hunter’s Album, I was bit surprised by the following passage, in which the narrator describes how difficult it is to engage his neighbour Radilov in conversation:
I was struck by the fact that I couldn’t find in him any passion for food or wine or hunting or Kursk nightingales or epileptic pigeons or Russian literature or trotting horses or Hungarian jackets or cards or billiards or going dancing in the evening or paying visits to the local town or the capital or paper and sugar-beet factories or brightly decorated gazebos or tea parties or trace-horses driven into bad ways or even fat coachmen with belts right up to their armpits , those magnificent coachmen whose every movement of their necks, God knows why, makes their eyes literally pop out of their heads…
– Translated by Richard Freeborn, Penguin Classics
I had to make sure I hadn’t picked up something by Gogol by mistake. It’s not just that the narrator is depicting lunacy: the narrator himself is lunatic.
Nothing in this list is glossed by an editorial note. Does anyone know if “epileptic pigeons” have some sort of significance in 19th century Russian culture that I don’t know about?