The First Love of Zinaida

Turgenev's "First Love" is presumably about the first love of the main character, Vladimir. However, we can also view it as the description of the first experience of love for Zinaida, the bachelorette, as well. Zinaida, who seems incapable of having any true affection for her suitors, falls in love with someone outside of their immediate social circle, a person who seems to show no compassion to her, and someone who literally abuses her- Vladimir's father.

Her infatuation with Vladimir's father is perhaps resulting from the dissatisfaction she experiences from the constant swooning and appeasement her suitors show to her, but it could also be the result of a repressed desire to win the love of someone she can ultimately not have, the very situation her suitors are caught in. Zinaida is drawn to the hostility that Vladimir's father shows, and she seems to be predisposed towards being caught in romantic liaisons that are inherently unworkable and bored with living a common monogamous relationship of the day.

Romantic Elements of "First Love"

"First Love" is a work firmly set in the Romantic era, not only in terms of the narrative, but also in the mood and language of the piece. "First Love" encompasses the thoughts, passions, and bare emotion of the young Vladimir Petrovich, who experiences his first encounter with the notion of love.

"First Love" by Ivan Turgenev is set in the idyllic Russian countryside, where people are free spirits and love is in the air. People who flock to Princess Zayeskin's house speak poetry, express their deepest fantasies, and enjoy the spiritual company of one another. Often, Vladimir will account for how truly Zinaida psychologically affects him, using descriptive language to recount the heartache, fear, and sheer passion which is felt by this young man in love.

Object of Desire

I

"Thank you," I quietly answered as I received the token of affection. "I hope you like it. It may take a while to read, but it''ll be worth it," she replied. My girlfriend had just written me a letter, and it seemed as though this specific letter would take quite some time to read. "It's a not a lot of detail, and I don't use all of the big words that you sometimes write in yours, but it's okay all the same." I really wouldn't have cared if she'd wrote it in cuneiform. The very notion that she would write to me, express her feelings manually, was a prospect that I could not but feel entirely gracious and loved for.

**

When I got home that evening, I read it. I was tense and anxious, but unacc I don't know if I can actually describe fully the emotion that warmed my whole being as I felt the paper, the etchings of her pen, the touch she left on it. In it, she told me everything I wanted to know, and more. "I feel like you're the reason I get up in the morning. It's like, my life has been leading up to this one moment, or I guess person. You truly are the greatest person I've ever known, and I love you so dearly."

II

I got up the next morning feeling invigorated and full of happiness. I poured my morning cup of coffee and couldn't stop thinking about her. She is the one. She is ... everything. I wanted to savor this letter, to feel it again, to caress it, and absorb its contents again. I went to my bedside table where I had laid it, and to my horror, it was gone. She had spent at least week writing this letter to me, professing her love, and pouring out her soul, and I had lost it. I'm such a damned idiot. Why? I've always been forgetful. I looked everywhere, and it wasn't to be found. I don't think things just vanish without a trace.

III

I met her at a cafe. What was I gonna say to her? That'd I lost her precious gift to me? The item that signified that we were truly, madly, deeply in love with one another? She seemed in a state of uncomfortable and nervous anxiety. "I...I've got something to say," she told me. "Me too," I sighed. "I snuck into your house last night and took the letter." What?? Does this mean we're through? She no longer has any form of affection or care towards me? "I.. I did it because I thought it would be.. too much. I meant everything I said, I just didn't know how you'd feel afterwards." I assured her it was the greatest thing I'd ever laid eyes upon, and thereafter, I gave her my letter.

The Nose Awakes

Hmmm..... it smells in here. Well, everything kinda smells to me. It's awfully dark too. Oh, God. One minute, I'm up and smelling around on Kovalev's face, and the next I'm stuck in this....this... thing. Oh my! O no! There's a knife cutting into this room! What to do, what to do! Oh, God, why did I have to be detached from my master, my security, Kovalev! No! AGH!

Wait! I can see! Who's that guy? He's got an awfully long beard... OH! That's that drunk barber guy.. Oh gosh. He's not looking in tip-top shape. He's yelling! What's the matter with you? Shut up! Yakovlevich isn't the brightest crayon in the box, I see. Don't touch me! Jeez... Now the wife's yelling. What is it with you peasants? Calm down. What's he doing with that napkin? Trying to get rid of me, eh? Two can play that game.

This pocket is quite smelly. Yakovlevich is running around in hysterics, and I'm bouncing up and down in this uncomfortable container. What the hell? He's grasping me now.. You'd think that a barber would have soft hands, but this guy should put on some lotion. What's your problem? You don't have to crush me with your grip. You've proved you're quite strong to me. Brisk morning air, freezing. Yikes. This napkin isn't the best coat, you know? Oh, oh no. He's gonna drop me in the river? You can't really be serious, now? What have I done to you? Let's be friends, I mean, come on now. I can smell whenever you need it! You could perhaps get into some trouble by being caught with me, but that policeman isn't looking. You look more suspicious just standing by this bridge than just going about your merry way, leaving me in your pocket. I won't be a bother, I promise!

Oh, oh no! I'm being let off! Au revoir, monde mal! This nose will never smell another day!