{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_47935/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_47935","id":"gutenberg_47935","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/47935","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Novels","Category: Russian Literature","Domestic fiction","Fathers and sons -- Fiction","Historical fiction","Nihilism (Philosophy) -- Fiction","Russia -- Social conditions -- 1801-1917 -- Fiction","Russia -- Social life and customs -- 1533-1917 -- Fiction"],"text":"FATHERS AND SONS\n\nBY\n\nIVAN S. TURGENEV\n\nTranslated from the Russian by C.J. Hogarth\n\n\nLONDON & TORONTO\n\nPUBLISHED BY J.M. DENT & SONS LTD & IN NEW YORK\n\nBY E.P. DUTTON & CO\n\n1921\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\n\nIn this masterly unromantic novel, Turgenev drew a character, Bazarov,\nwho served to express what he taught us to call Nihilism, and made\na movement into a man. In Russia itself the effect of the story was\nastonishing. The portrait of Bazarov was immediately and angrily\nresented as a cold travesty. The portraits of the \"backwoodsmen,\" or\nretired aristocrats, fared no better. Turgenev had indeed roused the\nire of both sides, only too surely.\n\nThe Petrovitchs, typical figures as he designed them of the Russian\nnobility, were intended he confessed to breathe \"feebleness,\nnonchalance, narrowness of mind.\" His sense of fitness made him paint\nwith extreme care these choice representatives of their class. They\nwere the pick, and if they were humanly ineffective, what of their\nweaker kind? \"Si la cr\u00eame est mauvaise, que sera le lait?\" as he\nput it. The bitterest criticism came, however, from the side of the\nrevolutionaries and incompatibles. They felt in Turgenev the sharper\nartistry and the intimate irony as if he had only used these qualities\nin dealing with the specific case of Bazarov; whereas they were\ntemperamental effects of his narrative art. He was ready to assert\nhimself one of the party of youth. He was at one with Bazarov, he\ndeclared, in nearly all his ideas, a chief exception being Bazarov's\nideas on art, which in truth are apt to be more crudely delivered than\nthe rest of that iconoclast's destructive opinions. Bazarov, he said\nonce and again, was his favourite child.\n\nIt is nearly forty years now (in 1921) since the novel appeared in\n_The Russian Messenger_, a weekly which was the recognised exponent\nof the new movement. That proverbial period has lent a softer cast\nto the lineaments of the people in the group, as time touches the\ncanvas of the pictures in an old country-house gallery. But the\ninteresting thing is to find that history in the large has terribly and\nirresistibly confirmed the history in little that Turgenev drew, with a\nsure instinct, for the potential anticipations of his saga.\n\nBut we should be wrong if we mistook its clear pervading realities\nfor those of a tract-novel, or a document of any one particular\ngeneration. It is as its title declares in a sense another fable of\nthe inevitable coil and recoil of the two generations. The sympathetic\npower of Turgenev is shown in his instinctive understanding of them\nboth. An aristocrat by training, he was saved as Tolstoi was from\nsterilising his imaginative and dramatic powers by any sense of caste\nand privilege. He loved the play of human nature, knew how to reckon\nwith its foibles, its pride, habitual prejudices, and all tragic and\ncomic susceptibilities. So he drew Bazarov, as a protagonist of the\nrevolt against the old order and the protective habit of age. When\nBazarov enters the house of Arkady's father, he is like Don Quixote\nentering the inn of his direst probation. If the parallel seems a\ntrifle fantastic, it was yet one that Turgenev would let pass, since he\naffirmed that Don Quixote himself was, in his inimitable extravagance,\na type of the eternal spirit of revolution. And one would like, if\nthere were room for it, to print as preamble to _Fathers and Sons_, the\nessay in which its writer has compared the deeper essentials of Hamlet\nand Quixote.\n\nWe must be satisfied instead to recall the direct event of the novel,\nas it falls in his own record. The present writer, some years ago,\nspent a spring at Ventnor in the Isle of Wight, and found the house\non the sea-brink in which he stayed had been occupied by Turgenev at\none time. Then and there it was, in 1860 and at Ventnor, that he had\nthe first idea of this novel; and it is scarcely being too fanciful\nto think that he imagined the home environment and the spacious vista\nof the Russian provinces more fondly and more freely, because of his\nbeing at a long remove from them in that small and confined seaside\nnook of Ventnor. Already, we must remember, the liberation of the serf\nhad taken place; and the ferment of liberal ideas was working in the\nnew generation. As we look back, we see in our wisdom after the event,\nhaving realised Turgenev for the novelist he was--an artist who was\nfor ever adjusting the moment to the permanent in art--that it was\ninevitable he should write this book, this tragi-comedy of age and\nyouth, of the old order and the new, the conservating fathers and the\nrevolutionary sons.\n\nE. R.\n\nThe following is the list of Turgenev's chief works:\n\n/#\n      ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS OF WORKS: Russian Life in the Interior:\n      or, the Experiences of a Sportsman, from French version, by\n      J. D. Meiklejohn, 1855; Annals of a Sportsman, from French\n      version, by F. P. Abbott, 1855; Tales from the Notebook of a\n      Sportsman, from the Russian, by E. Richter, 1895; Fathers and\n      Sons, from the Russian, by E. Schuyler, 1867, 1883; Smoke:\n      or, Life at Baden, from French version, 1868, by W. F. West,\n      1872, 1883; Liza: or, a Nest of Nobles, from the Russian, by\n      W. R. S. Ralston, 1869, 1873, 1884; On the Eve, a tale, from\n      the Russian, by C. E. Turner, 1871; Dimitri Roudine, from\n      French and German versions, 1873, 1883; Spring Floods, from the\n      Russian, by S. M. Batts, 1874; from the Russian, by E. Richter,\n      1895; A Lear of the Steppe, from the French, by W. H. Browne,\n      1874; Virgin Soil, from the French, by T. S. Perry, 1877, 1883,\n      by A. W. Dilke, 1878; Poems in Prose, from the Russian, 1883;\n      Senilia, Poems in Prose, with a Biographical Sketch of the\n      Author, by S. J. Macmillan, 1890; First Love, and Punin and\n      Baburin, from the Russian, with a Biographical Introduction,\n      by S. Jerrold, 1884; Mumu, and the Diary of a Superfluous Man,\n      from the Russian, by H. Gersoni, 1884; Annouchka, a tale,\n      from the French version, by F. P. Abbott, 1884; from the\n      Russian (with An Unfortunate Woman), by H. Gersoni, 1886; The\n      Unfortunate One, from the Russian, by A. R. Thompson, 1888 (see\n      above for Gersoni's translation); The Watch, from the Russian,\n      by J. E. Williams, 1893.\n\n      WORKS: Novels, translated by Constance Garnett, 15 vols.,\n      1894-99, 1906, 1921. Novels and Stories, translated by Isabel\n      F. Hapgood, with an Introduction by Henry James, 1903, etc.\n\n      LIFE: See above, Biographical Introductions to Poems in Prose\n      and First Love; E. M. Arnold, Tourgu\u00e9neff and his French\n      Circle, translated from the work of E. Halperine-Kaminsky,\n      1898; J. A. T. Lloyd, Two Russian Reformers: Ivan Turgenev, Leo\n      Tolstoy, 1910.\n#/\n\n\n\nI\n\n\n\"Well, Peter? Cannot you see them yet?\" asked a _barin_[1] of about\nforty who, hatless, and clad in a dusty jacket over a pair of tweed\nbreeches, stepped on to the verandah of a posting-house on the 20th\nday of May, 1859. The person addressed was the _barin's_ servant--a\nround-cheeked young fellow with small, dull eyes and a chin adorned\nwith a tuft of pale-coloured down.\n\nGlancing along the high road in a supercilious manner, the servant\n(in whom everything, from the turquoise ear-ring to the dyed, pomaded\nhair and the mincing gait, revealed the modern, the rising generation)\nreplied: \"No, _barin_, I cannot.\"\n\n\"Is that so?\" queried the _barin_.\n\n\"Yes,\" the servant affirmed.\n\nThe _barin_ sighed, and seated himself upon a bench. While he is\nsitting there with his knees drawn under him and his eyes moodily\nglancing to right and left, the reader may care to become better\nacquainted with his personality.\n\nHis name was Nikolai Petrovitch Kirsanov, and he owned (some fifteen\nversts from the posting-house) a respectable little property of about\ntwo hundred souls (or, as, after that he had apportioned his peasantry\nallotments, and set up a \"farm,\" he himself expressed it, a property\n\"of two thousand _desiatini_\"[2]). His father, one of the generals\nof 1812, had spent his life exclusively in military service as the\ncommander, first of a brigade, and then of a division; and always he\nhad been quartered in the provinces, where his rank had enabled him to\ncut a not inconspicuous figure. As for Nikolai Petrovitch himself, he\nwas born in Southern Russia (as also was his elder brother, Paul--of\nwhom presently), and, until his fourteenth year, received his education\namid a circle of hard-up governors, free-and-easy aides-de-camp, and\nsundry staff and regimental officers. His mother came of the family of\nthe Koliazins, and, known in maidenhood as Agathe, and subsequently as\nAgathoklea Kuzminishna Kirsanov, belonged to the type of \"officer's\nlady.\" That is to say, she wore pompous mobcaps and rustling silk\ndresses, was always the first to approach the cross in church, talked\nvolubly and in a loud tone, of set practice admitted her sons to kiss\nher hand in the morning, and never failed to bless them before retiring\nto rest at night. In short, she lived the life which suited her. As\nthe son of a general, Nikolai Petrovitch was bound--though he evinced\nno particular bravery, and might even have seemed a coward--to follow\nhis brother Paul's example by entering the army; but unfortunately,\nowing to the fact that, on the very day when there arrived the news of\nhis commission, he happened to break his leg, it befell that, after\ntwo months in bed, he rose to his feet a permanently lamed man. When\nhis father had finished wringing his hands over the mischance, he sent\nhis son to acquire a civilian education; whence it came about that\nNikolai, at eighteen, found himself a student at the University of\nSt. Petersburg. At the same period his brother obtained a commission\nin one of the regiments of Guards; and, that being so, their father\napportioned the two young men a joint establishment, and placed it\nunder the more or less detached supervision of Ilya Koliazin, their\nmaternal uncle and a leading _tchinovnik_.[3] That done, the father\nreturned to his division and his wife, and only at rare intervals\nsent his sons sheets of grey foolscap (scrawled and re-scrawled in\nflamboyant calligraphy) to which there was appended, amid a bower of\nlaborious flourishes, the signature \"Piotr Kirsanov, Major-General.\"\nIn the year 1835 Nikolai Petrovitch obtained his university degree;\nand in the same year General Kirsanov was retired for incompetence\nat a review, and decided to transfer his quarters to St. Petersburg.\nUnfortunately, just as he was on the point both of renting a house\nnear the Tavritchesky Gardens and of being enrolled as a member of\nthe English Club, a stroke put an end to his career, and Agathoklea\nKuzminishna followed him soon afterwards, since never had she succeeded\nin taking to the dull life of the capital, but always had hankered\nafter the old provincial existence. Already during his parents'\nlifetime, and to their no small vexation, Nikolai Petrovitch had\ncontrived to fall in love with the daughter of a certain _tchinovnik_\nnamed Prepolovensky, the landlord of his flat; and since the maiden was\nnot only comely, but one of the type known as \"advanced\" (that is to\nsay, she perused an occasional \"Science\" article in one newspaper or\nanother), he married her out of hand as soon as the term of mourning\nwas ended, and, abandoning the Ministry of Provincial Affairs to which,\nthrough his father's influence, he had been posted, embarked upon\nconnubial felicity in a villa adjoining the Institute of Forestry.\nThence, after a while, the couple removed to a diminutive, but in\nevery way respectable, flat which could boast of a spotless vestibule\nand an icy-cold drawing-room; and thence, again, they migrated to the\ncountry, where they settled for good, and where, in due time, they\nhad born to them a son Arkady. The existence of husband and wife\nwas one of perfect comfort and tranquillity. Almost never were they\nparted from one another, they read together, they played the piano\ntogether, and they sang duets. Also, she would garden or superintend\nthe poultry-yard, and he would set forth a-hunting, or see to the\nmanagement of the estate. Meanwhile Arkady led an existence of equal\ncalm and comfort, and grew, and waxed fat; until, in 1847, when ten\nyears had been passed in this idyllic fashion, Kirsanov's wife breathed\nher last. The blow proved almost more than the husband could bear--so\nmuch so that his head turned grey in a few weeks. Yet, though he sought\ndistraction for his thoughts by going abroad, he felt constrained, in\nthe following year, to return home, where, after a prolonged period of\ninaction, he took up the subject of Industrial Reform. Next, in 1855,\nhe sent his son to the University of St. Petersburg, and, for the same\nreason, spent the following three winters in the capital, where he\nseldom went out, but spent the greater part of his time in endeavouring\nto fraternise with his son's youthful acquaintances. The fourth winter,\nhowever, he was prevented by various circumstances from spending in St.\nPetersburg; and thus in the May of 1859 we see him--grey-headed, dusty,\na trifle bent, and wholly middle-aged--awaiting his son's home-coming\nafter the elevation of the latter (in Nikolai's own footsteps) to the\ndignity of a graduate.\n\nPresently either a sense of decency or (more probably) a certain\ndisinclination to remain immediately under his master's eye led the\nservant to withdraw to the entrance gates, and there to light a pipe.\nNikolai Petrovitch, however, continued sitting with head bent, and his\neyes contemplating the ancient steps of the verandah, up which a stout\nspeckled hen was tap-tapping its way on a pair of splayed yellow legs,\nand thereby causing an untidy, but fastidious-looking, cat to regard\nit from the balustrade with marked disapproval. Meanwhile the sun\nbeat fiercely down, and from the darkened interior of a neighbouring\ngranary came a smell as of hot rye straw. Nikolai Petrovitch sank\ninto a reverie. \"My son Arkady a graduate!\"--the words kept passing\nand repassing through his mind. Again and again he tried to think of\nsomething else, but always the same thought returned to him. Until\neventually he reverted to the memory of his dead wife. \"Would that she\nwere still with me!\" was his yearning reflection. Presently a fat blue\npigeon alighted upon the roadway, and fell to taking a hasty drink from\na pool beside the well. And almost at the instant that the spectacle of\nthe bird caught Nikolai Petrovitch's eye, his ear caught the sound of\napproaching wheels.\n\n\"They are coming, I think,\" hazarded the servant as he stepped forward\nthrough the gates.\n\nNikolai Petrovitch sprang to his feet, and strained his eyes along the\nroad. Yes, coming into view there was a _tarantass_,[4] drawn by three\nstagehorses; and in the _tarantass_ there could be seen the band of a\nstudent's cap and the outlines of a familiar, well-beloved face.\n\n\"Arkasha, Arkasha!\" was Kirsanov's cry as, running forward, he\nwaved his arms. A few moments later he was pressing his lips to the\nsun-tanned, dusty, hairless cheek of the newly-fledged graduate.\n\n\n[1] Gentleman or squire.\n\n[2] The _desiatin_ = 2.86 acres.\n\n[3] Civil servant.\n\n[4] A species of four-wheeled carriage.\n\n\n\n\nII\n\n\n\"Yes, but first give me a rub down, dearest Papa,\" said Arkady in a\nvoice which, though a little hoarsened with travelling, was yet clear\nand youthful. \"See! I am covering you with dust!\" he added as joyously\nhe returned his father's caresses.\n\n\"Oh, but that will not matter,\" said Nikolai Petrovitch with a loving,\nreassuring smile as he gave the collar of his son's blue cloak a\ncouple of pats, and then did the same by his own jacket. Thereafter,\ngently withdrawing from his son's embrace, and beginning to lead the\nway towards the inn yard, he added: \"Come this way, come this way. The\nhorses will soon be ready.\"\n\nHis excitement seemed even to outdo his son's, so much did he stammer\nand stutter, and, at times, find himself at a loss for a word. Arkady\nstopped him.\n\n\"Papa,\" he said, \"first let me introduce my good friend Bazarov, who is\nthe comrade whom I have so often mentioned in letters to you, and who\nhas been kind enough to come to us for a visit.\"\n\nAt once Nikolai Petrovitch wheeled round, and, approaching a tall man\nwho, clad in a long coat with a tasselled belt, had just alighted from\nthe _tarantass_, pressed the bare red hand which, after a pause, the\nstranger offered him.\n\n\"I am indeed glad to see you!\" was Nikolai Petrovitch's greeting, \"I am\nindeed grateful to you for your kindness in paying us this visit! Alas,\nI hope that, that----But first might I inquire your name?\"\n\n\"Evgenii Vasiliev,\" replied the other in slow, but virile, accents\nas, turning down the collar of his coat, he revealed his face more\nclearly. Long and thin, with a high forehead which looked flattened\nat the top and became sharpened towards the nose, the face had large,\ngreenish eyes and long, sandy whiskers. The instant that the features\nbrightened into a smile, however, they betokened self-assurance and\nintellect.\n\n\"My dearest Evgenii Vasiliev\", Nikolai Petrovitch continued, \"I trust\nthat whilst you are with us you will not find time hang heavy upon your\nhands.\"\n\nBazarov gave his lips a slight twitch, but vouchsafed no reply\nbeyond raising his cap--a movement which revealed the fact that the\nprominent convolutions of the skull were by no means concealed by the\nsuperincumbent mass of indeterminate-coloured hair.\n\n\"Now, Arkady,\" went on Nikolai Petrovitch as he turned to his son,\n\"shall we have the horses harnessed at once, or should you prefer to\nrest a little?\"\n\n\"Let us rest at home, Papa. So pray have the horses put to.\"\n\n\"I will,\" his father agreed. \"Peter! Bestir yourself, my good fellow!\"\n\nBeing what is known as a \"perfectly trained servant,\" Peter had neither\napproached nor shaken hands with the young _barin_, but contented\nhimself with a distant bow. He now vanished through the yard gates.\n\n\"Though I have come in the _koliaska_,\" said Nikolai Petrovitch, \"I\nhave brought three fresh horses for the _tarantass_.\"\n\nArkady then drank some water from a yellow bowl proffered by the\nlandlord, while Bazarov lighted a pipe, and approached the ostler, who\nwas engaged in unharnessing the stagehorses.\n\n\"Only two can ride in the _koliaska_,\" continued Nikolai Petrovitch;\n\"wherefore I am rather in a difficulty to know how your friend will----\"\n\n\"Oh, he can travel in the _tarantass_,\" interrupted Arkady. \"Moreover,\ndo not stand on any ceremony with him, for, wonderful though he is, he\nis also quite simple, as you will find for yourself.\"\n\nNikolai Petrovitch's coachman brought out the horses, and Bazarov\nremarked to the ostler:\n\n\"Come, bestir yourself, fat-beard!\"\n\n\"Did you hear that, Mitiusha?\" added another ostler who was standing\nwith his hands thrust into the back slits of his blouse. \"The _barin_\nhas just called you a fat-beard. And a fat-beard you are.\"\n\nFor answer Mitiusha merely cocked his cap to one side and drew the\nreins from the back of the sweating shafts-horse.\n\n\"Quick now, my good fellows!\" cried Nikolai Petrovitch. \"Bear a hand,\nall of you, and for each there will be a glassful of _vodka_.\"\n\nNaturally, it was not long before the horses were harnessed, and then\nfather and son seated themselves in the _koliaska_, Peter mounted the\nbox of that vehicle, and Bazarov stepped into the _tarantass_, and\nlolled his head against the leather cushion at the back. Finally the\ncort\u00e8ge moved away.\n\n\n\n\nIII\n\n\n\"To think that you are now a graduate and home again!\" said Nikolai\nPetrovitch as he tapped Arkady on the knee, and then on the shoulder.\n\"There now, there now!\"\n\n\"And how is Uncle? Is he quite well?\" asked Arkady--the reason for the\nquestion being that though he felt filled with a genuine, an almost\nchildish delight at his return, he also felt conscious of an instinct\nthat the conversation were best diverted from the emotional to the\nprosaic.\n\n\"Yes, your uncle is quite well. As a matter of fact, he also had\narranged to come and meet you, but at the last moment changed his mind.\"\n\n\"Did you have very long to wait?\" continued Arkady.\n\n\"About five hours.\"\n\n\"Dearest Papa!\" cried Arkady as, leaning over towards his father, he\nimprinted upon his cheek a fervent kiss. Nikolai Petrovitch smiled\nquietly.\n\n\"I have got a splendid horse for you,\" he next remarked. \"Presently you\nshall see him. Also, your room has been entirely repapered.\"\n\n\"And have you a room for Bazarov as well?\"\n\n\"One shall be found for him.\"\n\n\"Oh--and pray humour him in every way you can. I could not express to\nyou how much I value his friendship.\"\n\n\"But you have not known him very long, have you?\"\n\n\"No--not very long.\"\n\n\"I thought not, for I do not remember to have seen him in St.\nPetersburg last winter. In what does he most interest himself?\"\n\n\"Principally in natural science. But, to tell the truth, he knows\npractically _everything_, and is to become a doctor next year.\"\n\n\"Oh! So he is in the Medical Faculty?\" Nikolai Petrovitch remarked;\nafter which there was silence for a moment.\n\n\"Peter,\" went on Nikolai, pointing with his hand, \"are not those\npeasants there some of our own?\"\n\nPeter glanced in the direction indicated, and saw a few waggons\nproceeding along a narrow by-road. The teams were bridleless, and in\neach waggon were seated some two or three _muzhiks_ with their blouses\nunbuttoned.\n\n\"Yes, they are some of our own,\" Peter responded.\n\n\"Then whither can they be going? To the town?\"\n\n\"Yes--or to the tavern.\" This last was added contemptuously, and with\na wink to the coachman that was designed to enlist that functionary's\nsympathy: but as the functionary in question was one of the old school\nwhich takes no share in the modern movement, he stirred not a muscle of\nhis face.\n\n\"This year my peasants have been giving me a good deal of trouble,\"\nNikolai Petrovitch continued to his son. \"Persistently do they refuse\nto pay their tithes. What ought to be done with them?\"\n\n\"And do you find your hired workmen satisfactory?\"\n\n\"Not altogether,\" muttered Nikolai Petrovitch. \"You see, they have\nbecome spoilt, more's the pity! Any real energy seems quite to have\nleft them, and they not only ruin my implements, but also leave the\nland untilled. Does estate-management interest you?\"\n\n\"The thing we most lack here is shade,\" remarked Arkady in evasion of\nthe question.\n\n\"Ah, but I have had an awning added to the north balcony, so that we\ncan take our meals in the open air.\"\n\n\"But that will give the place rather the look of a villa, will it not?\nThings of that sort never prove effectual. But oh, the air here! How\ngood it smells! Yes, in my opinion, things never smell elsewhere as\nthey do here. And oh, the sky!\"\n\nSuddenly Arkady stopped, threw a glance of apprehension in the\ndirection of the _tarantass_, and relapsed into silence.\n\n\"I quite agree with you,\" replied Nikolai Petrovitch. \"You see, the\nreason is that you were born here, and that therefore the place is\nbound to have for you a special significance.\"\n\n\"But no significance can attach to the place of a man's birth, Papa.\"\n\n\"Indeed?\"\n\n\"Oh no. None whatsoever.\"\n\nNikolai Petrovitch glanced at the speaker, and for fully half a verst\nlet the vehicle proceed without the conversation between them being\nrenewed. At length Nikolai Petrovitch observed:\n\n\"I cannot remember whether I wrote to tell you that your old nurse,\nEgorovna, is dead.\"\n\n\"Dead? Oh, the poor old woman! But Prokofitch--is _he_ still alive?\"\n\n\"He is so, and in no way changed--that is to say, he grumbles as much\nas ever. In fact, you will find that no _really_ important alterations\nhave taken place at Marino.\"\n\n\"And have you the same steward as before?\"\n\n\"No; I have appointed a fresh one, for I came to the conclusion that\nI could not have any freed serfs about the place. That is to say,\nI did not feel as though I could trust such fellows with posts of\nresponsibility.\" Arkady indicated Peter with his eyes, and Nikolai\nPetrovitch therefore subdued his voice a little. \"He? Oh, _il est\nlibre, en effet_. You see, he is my valet. But as regards a steward,\nI have appointed a _miestchanin_,[1] at a salary of 250 roubles a\nyear, and he seems at least capable. But\"--and here Nikolai Petrovitch\nrubbed his forehead, which gesture with him always implied inward\nagitation--\"I ought to say that, though I have told you that you will\nfind no alterations of importance at Marino, the statement is not\nstrictly true, seeing that it is my duty to warn you that, that----\"\nNikolai Petrovitch hesitated again--then added in French: \"Perhaps by a\nstern moralist my frankness might be considered misplaced; yet I will\nnot conceal from you, nor can you fail to be aware, that always I have\nhad ideas of my own on the subject of the relations which ought to\nsubsist between a father and his son. At the same time, this is not to\nsay that you have not the right to _judge_ me. Rather, it is that at my\nage----Well, to put matters bluntly, the girl whom you will have heard\nme speak of----\"\n\n\"You mean Thenichka?\" said Arkady.\n\nNikolai Petrovitch's face went red.\n\n\"Do not speak of her so loudly,\" he advised. \"Yes, _she_ is living with\nus. I took her in because two of our smaller rooms were available. But\nof course the arrangement must be changed.\"\n\n\"Why must it, Papa?\"\n\n\"Because this friend of yours is coming, and also because--well, it\nmight make things awkward.\"\n\n\"Do not disturb yourself on Bazarov's account. He is altogether\nsuperior to such things.\"\n\n\"Yes, so you say; but the mischief lies in the fact that the wing is so\nsmall.\"\n\n\"Papa, Papa!\" protested Arkady. \"Almost one would think that you\nconsidered yourself to blame for something; whereas you have _nothing_\nto reproach yourself with.\"\n\n\"Ah, but I have,\" responded Nikolai Petrovitch. His face had turned\nredder than ever.\n\n\"No, you have _not_, Papa,\" repeated Arkady with a loving smile, while\nadding to himself with a feeling of indulgent tenderness for his good,\nkind father, as well as with a certain sense of \"superiority\": \"Why is\nhe making these excuses?\"\n\n\"I beg of you to say no more,\" he continued with an involuntary feeling\nof exultation in being \"grown up\" and \"emancipated.\" As he did so\nNikolai Petrovitch glanced at him from under the fingers of the hand\nwhich was still rubbing his brows. At the same moment something seemed\nto give his heart a stab. Mentally, as before, he blamed himself.\n\n\"Here our fields begin,\" he observed after a pause.\n\n\"I see,\" rejoined Arkady. \"And that is our forest in front, I suppose?\"\n\n\"It is so. Only, only--I have sold it, and this year it is to be\nremoved.\"\n\n\"Why have you sold it?\"\n\n\"Because I needed the money. Moreover, the land which it occupies must\ngo to the peasants.\"\n\n\"What? To the peasants who pay you no tithes?\"\n\n\"Possibly. But some day they will pay me.\"\n\n\"I regret the forest's loss,\" said Arkady, and then resumed his\ncontemplation of the landscape.\n\nThe scenery which the party were traversing could not have been called\npicturesque, for, with slight undulations, only fields, fields, and\nagain fields, stretched to the very horizon. True, a few patches of\ncopse were visible, but the ditches, with their borderings of low,\nsparse brushwood, recalled the antique land-measurement of Katherine's\nday. Also, streams ran pent between abruptly sloping banks, hamlets\nwith dwarfed huts (of which the blackened roofs were, for the most\npart, cracked in half) stood cheek by jowl with crazy grinding-byres\nof plaited willow, empty threshing-floors had their gates sagging,\nand from churches of wood or of brick which stood amid dilapidated\ngraveyards the stucco was peeling, and the crosses were threatening at\nany moment to fall. As he gazed at the scene Arkady's heart contracted.\nMoreover, the peasants encountered on the road looked ragged, and were\nriding sorry nags, while the laburnum trees which stood ranged like\nmiserable beggars by the roadside had their bark hanging in strips,\nand their boughs shattered. Lastly, the lean, mud-encrusted cows which\ncould be seen hungrily cropping the herbage in the ditches were so\n\"staring\" of coat that the animals might just have been rescued from\nthe talons of some terrible, death-dealing monster; and as one gazed at\nthose weak, pitiful beasts, almost one could fancy that one saw uprisen\nfrom amid the beauty of spring, the pale phantoms of Winter--its storms\nand its frost and its snow.\n\n\"Evidently this is not a rich district,\" reflected Arkady. \"Rather,\nit is a district which gives one the impression neither of abundance\nnor of hard work. Yet can it be left as it is? No! Education is what\nwe need. But how is that education to be administered, or, for that\nmatter, to be introduced?\"\n\nThus Arkady. Yet, even as the thought passed through his mind, Spring\nseemed once more to regain possession of her kingdom, and everything\naround him grew golden-green, and trees, shrubs, and herbage started\nto wave and glimmer under the soft, warm breath of the vernal zephyrs,\nand larks took to pouring out their souls in endless, ringing strains,\nand siskins, circling high over sunken ponds, uttered their cry, then\nskimmed the hillocks in silence, and handsome black rooks stalked\namong the tender green of the short corn-shoots, or settled among the\npale-white, smokelike ripples of the young rye, whence at intervals\nthey protruded their heads.\n\nArkady gazed and gazed; and gradually, as he did so, his late thoughts\ngrew dimmer and disappeared, and, throwing off his travelling-cloak,\nhe peered so joyously, with such a boyish air, into his father's face\nthat Nikolai Petrovitch bestowed upon him yet another embrace.\n\n\"We have but little further to go now,\" he remarked. \"In fact, when\nonce we have topped that rise the house will come into view. And what\na time we are going to have together, Arkasha! For you will be able\nto help me with the estate (if you care to, that is to say?), and you\nand I will draw nearer to one another, and make one another's better\nacquaintance.\"\n\n\"We will!\" cried Arkady. \"And what splendid weather for us both!\"\n\n\"Yes; specially for your home-coming is spring in all its glory. Yet I\nam not sure that I do not agree with Pushkin where he says, in _Eug\u00e8ne\nOnegin_:\n\n/$\n    \"How sad to me is your coming,\n     O spring, spring, season of love!\"\n$/\n\n\"Arkady,\" shouted Bazarov from the _tarantass_, \"please send me a match\nor two, for I have nothing to light my pipe with.\"\n\nInstantly Nikolai Petrovitch ceased quoting poetry, and Arkady (who\nhad listened with considerable surprise, though also with a certain\nmeasure of sympathy, to his father) hastened to produce from his pocket\na silver matchbox, and to dispatch the same by the hand of Peter.\n\n\"In return, would you care to have a cigar?\" called Bazarov.\n\n\"I should,\" replied Arkady.\n\nThe result was that when Peter returned to the _koliaska_ he handed\nArkady not only the matchbox, but also a fat black cigar. This Arkady\nlit at leisure, and then proceeded to diffuse around him so strong and\nacrid an odour of tobacco that Nikolai Petrovitch (a non-smoker from\nbirth) found himself forced to avert his nose (though he did this\ncovertly, for fear of offending his son).\n\nA quarter of an hour later the vehicles drew up at the steps of a new\nwooden mansion, painted grey, and roofed with red sheet-iron. The\nmansion was Marino, or Novaia Sloboda, or, to quote the peasants' name,\n\"Bobili Chutor.\"\n\n\n[1] A member of the trading or shopkeeping class.\n\n\n\n\nIV\n\n\nThere issued on to the verandah to greet the arrivals no throng of\nhousehold serfs--only a solitary girl of twelve. Presently, however,\nshe was joined by a young fellow much resembling Peter, but dressed\nin a grey livery coat to which embossed, silver-gilt buttons were\nattached. This was Paul Kirsanov's valet. In silence he opened the door\nof the _koliaska_, and unhooked the apron of the _tarantass_; whereupon\nthe three gentlemen alighted, passed through a dark, bare hall (the\nface of a young woman peered at them for a moment from behind a door),\nand entered a drawing-room upholstered in the latest fashion.\n\n\"So here we are at home again!\" exclaimed Nikolai Petrovitch, taking\noff his cap, and shaking back his hair. \"Let us have supper, and then\nfor bed, bed!\"\n\n\"Yes, something to eat would undoubtedly be welcome,\" remarked Bazarov\nas, yawning, he seated himself upon a sofa.\n\n\"Quite so; I will have supper served at once.\" Nikolai Petrovitch,\nfor no apparent reason, tripped over his own feet. \"And here comes\nProkofitch,\" he added.\n\nAs he spoke entered a man of about sixty who, white-haired, and of\nthin, swarthy features, was wearing a cinnamon-coloured tail-coat\nwith brass buttons and a crimson collar. He smiled with delight as he\napproached and shook hands with Arkady. Then, with a bow to the guest,\nhe retired to the doorway, and folded his hands behind his back.\n\n\"So here is the young master, Prokofitch!\" said Nikolai Petrovitch.\n\"He is home at last. And how, think you, is he looking?\"\n\n\"Very well, very well,\" the old man said with another smile. The next\nmoment, however, he knit his shaggy brows, and suggested: \"Shall I lay\nthe table?\"\n\n\"If you please, if you please.\" Nikolai Petrovitch turned to Bazarov.\n\n\"Before supper,\" he said, \"would you care to go to your room?\"\n\n\"I thank you, no. But please have my trunk conveyed thither, and also\nthis wrap.\" And Bazarov divested himself of his cloak.\n\n\"Certainly. Prokofitch, take the gentleman's cloak.\"\n\nThe old butler received the garment gingerly, held it well away from\nhim with both hands, and left the room on tiptoe.\n\n\"And you, Arkady?\" continued Nikolai Petrovitch. \"Do you not wish to go\nto your room?\"\n\n\"Yes; for a wash I should be thankful,\" was Arkady's reply as he moved\ntowards the door. At that moment it opened to admit a man of medium\nheight who was dressed in a dark English suit, a fashionably low\ncollar, and a pair of patent leather boots. This was Paul Petrovitch\nKirsanov. Although forty-five, he had close-cropped grey hair of the\nsheen of new silver, and his sallow, unwrinkled face was as clear-cut\nand regular of outline as though carved with a light, fine chisel.\nStill retaining traces of remarkable comeliness, his bright, black,\noblong eyes had a peculiar attraction, and his every well-bred, refined\nfeature showed that symmetry of youth, that air of superiority to the\nrest of the world which usually disappears when once the twenties have\nbeen passed.\n\nDrawing from his trouser pocket a slender hand the long, pink nails\nof which looked all the slenderer for the snowy whiteness of the\nsuperimposed cuff and large opal sleeve-link, he offered it to his\nnephew; after which, this prefatory European \"handshake\" over, he\nthrice kissed Arkady in the Russian fashion--that is to say, touched\nhis nephew's cheek with his perfumed moustache, and murmured: \"I\ncongratulate you.\"\n\nNext Nikolai Petrovitch presented to him Bazarov. Inclining his supple\nfigure with a faint smile, Paul Petrovitch this time did not offer his\nhand. On the contrary, he replaced it in his pocket.\n\n\"I was beginning to think that you never meant to arrive,\" he said with\nan amiable hoist of his shoulders and a display of some beautiful white\nteeth. \"What happened to you?\"\n\n\"Nothing,\" replied Arkady, \"except that we lingered a little. For the\nsame reason are we as hungry as wolves; so pray tell Prokofitch to be\nquick, Papa, and I shall be back in a moment.\"\n\n\"Wait; I will go with you,\" added Bazarov as he rose from the sofa; and\nthe two young men left the room together.\n\n\"Who is your guest?\" asked Paul Petrovitch.\n\n\"A friend of Arkady's, and, according to Arkady's showing, a man of\nintellect.\"\n\n\"He is going to stay here?\"\n\n\"He is.\"\n\n\"A long-haired fellow like that?\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\nIn that particular direction Paul Petrovitch said no more, but, tapping\nthe table with his finger-nails, added:\n\n\"_Je pense que notre Arkady s'est d\u00e9gourdi._[1] And in any case I am\npleased to see him back again.\"\n\nAt supper little was said. In particular did Bazarov scarcely speak,\nthough he ate heartily; and only Nikolai Petrovitch proved garrulous as\nhe related various incidents in what he termed his \"agricultural life,\"\nand gossiped of forthcoming administrative measures, committees,\ndeputations, the need of introducing machinery, and other such topics.\n\nFor his part, Paul Petrovitch paced the room (he never took supper),\nand sipped a glassful of red wine, and occasionally interjected some\nsuch remark--rather, exclamation--as \"Ah!\" or \"Oh, ho!\" or \"H'm!\"\nArkady's contribution consisted of a little St. Petersburg gossip, even\nthough, throughout, he was conscious of a touch of that awkwardness\nwhich overtakes a young man when, just ceased to be a boy, he returns\nto the spot where hitherto he has ranked as a mere child. In other\nwords, he drawled his phrases unnecessarily, carefully avoided the use\nof the term \"Papasha,\"[2] and, once, even went so far as to substitute\nfor it the term \"Otety\"[3]--though, true, he pronounced it with some\ndifficulty. Lastly, in his excessive desire to seem at his ease, he\nhelped himself to more wine than was good for him, and tasted some of\nevery brand. Meanwhile Prokofitch chewed his lips, and never removed\nhis eyes from his young master.\n\nSupper over, the company dispersed.\n\n\"A queer fellow is that uncle of yours,\" Bazarov said to Arkady as,\nclad in a dressing-gown, he seated himself by his friend's bed, and\nsucked at a short pipe. \"To think of encountering such elegance in the\ncountry! He would take a prize with his finger-nails.\"\n\n\"You do not know him yet,\" said Arkady. \"In his day he was a leading\nlion, and some time or another I will tell you his history. Yes, many\nand many a woman has lost her head over his good looks.\"\n\n\"Then I should think that he has nothing to live on save memories,\"\nobserved Bazarov. \"At all events, there is no one _here_ for him to\nenslave. I looked him over to-night, and never in my life have beheld\na collar of such marvellous gloss, or a chin so perfectly shaven. Yet\nsuch things can come to look ridiculous, do not you think?\"\n\n\"Yes--perhaps they can. But he is such an excellent fellow in himself!\"\n\n\"Oh, certainly--a truly archangelic personage! Your father, too, is\nexcellent; for though he may read foolish poetry, and though his ideas\non the subject of industry may be few, his heart is in the right place.\"\n\n\"He is a man with a heart of gold.\"\n\n\"Nevertheless, did you notice his nervousness to-night?\"\n\nArkady nodded as though to himself such a weakness was a perfect\nstranger.\n\n\"Curious indeed!\" commented Bazarov. \"Ah, you elderly Romanticists!\nYou over-develop the nervous system until the balance is upset. Now,\ngood-night. In my room there is an English washstand, yet the door\nwill not shut! But such things (English washstands I mean) need to be\nencouraged: they represent 'progress.'\"\n\nAnd Bazarov departed, while Arkady surrendered himself to a sensation\nof comfort. How pleasant was it to be sinking to sleep in one's\ncomfortable home, and in one's own familiar bed, and under a well-known\ncoverlet worked by loving hands--perhaps those of his good, kind,\ntireless old nurse! And at the thought of Egorovna he sighed, and\ncommended her soul to the Heavenly Powers. But for himself he did not\npray.\n\nSoon both he and Bazarov were asleep; but certain other members of the\nhousehold there were who remained wakeful. In particular had Nikolai\nPetrovitch been greatly excited by his son's return; and though he went\nto bed, he left the candle burning, and, resting with his head on his\nhands, lay thinking deeply.\n\nAlso, his brother sat up in his study until nearly midnight. Seated\nin an ample armchair before a corner where a marble stove was\nsmouldering, he had effected no alteration in his costume beyond\nhaving exchanged his patent leather boots for a pair of heelless, red\nfelt slippers. Lastly, he was holding, though not reading, the latest\nnumber of _Galignani_, and his eyes were fixed upon the stove, where\na quivering blue spurt of flame kept alternately disappearing and\nbursting forth again. Whither his thoughts were wandering God only\nknows; but that they were not meandering through the past alone was\nproved by the fact that in his expression there was a concentrated\ngloom which is never in evidence when a man's mind is occupied with\nmemories and no more.\n\nFinally, seated on a chest in a small room at the back of the house,\nand wearing a blue dressing-jacket and, thrown over her dark hair,\na white scarf, was the girl Thenichka. As she sat there she kept\nlistening, and starting, and gazing towards an open door which at once\nafforded a glimpse of an infant's cot and admitted the sound of a\nsleeping child's respiration.\n\n\n[1] \"I think that our friend Arkady has acquired some polish.\"\n\n[2] Dear Papa.\n\n[3] Father.\n\n\n\n\nV\n\n\nNext morning Bazarov was the first to awake and go out of doors.\n\n\"Ah,\" thought he to himself as he gazed about him, \"this is _not_ much\nof a place to look at.\"\n\nWhen apportioning allotments to his peasantry, Nikolai Petrovitch had\nfound himself forced to exclude from the new \"farm\" four _desiatins_\nof level, naked land, and upon this space had built himself a house,\nquarters for his servants, and a homestead. Also, he had laid out\na garden, dug a pond, and sunk two wells. But the young trees had\nfared badly, very little water had risen in the pond, and the wells\nhad developed a brackish taste. The only vegetation to attain robust\ngrowth was a clump of lilacs and acacias, under the shade of which the\nhousehold was accustomed to take tea or to dine. Within a few minutes\nBazarov had traversed all the paths in the garden, visited the stables\nand the cattlesheds, and made friends with two young household serfs\nwhom he happened to encounter, and with whom he set forth to catch\nfrogs in a marsh about a verst from the manor.\n\n\"For what do you want frogs, _barin_?\" asked one of the lads.\n\n\"To make them useful,\" replied Bazarov (who possessed a peculiar gift\nfor winning the confidence of his inferiors, even though he never\ncozened them, but, on the contrary, always treated them with asperity).\n\"You see, I like to open them, and then to observe what their insides\nare doing. You and I are frogs too, except that we walk upon our hind\nlegs. Thus the operation helps me to understand what is taking place in\nourselves.\"\n\n\"And what good will that do you?\"\n\n\"This. That if you should fall sick, and I should have to treat you, I\nmight avoid some mistakes.\"\n\n\"Then you are a doctor?\"\n\n\"I am.\"\n\n\"Listen to that, Vasika! The _barin_ says that you and I too are frogs.\nMy word!\"\n\n\"I don't like frogs,\" remarked Vasika, a barefooted boy of seven with\na head as white as tow, and a costume made up of a grey blouse and a\nstiff collar.\n\n\"_Why_ don't you like them?\" asked Bazarov. \"Do you think they will\nbite you? Nay! Into the water, my young philosophers!\"\n\nNikolai Petrovitch too had left his bed, and, on going to visit Arkady,\nfound him fully dressed; wherefore father and son proceeded to repair\nto the terrace, and there seated themselves under the shade of the\nawning. Amid nosegays of lilac, a tea-urn was simmering on a table\nby the balustrade, and presently there appeared upon the scene also\nthe damsel who, on the previous night, had met the arrivals on the\nverandah. She announced in shrill tones:\n\n\"Theodosia Nikolaevna is not very well this morning, and cannot come to\nbreakfast. So she has told me to ask you whether you will pour out tea\nfor yourselves, or whether she is to send Duniasha?\"\n\n\"I will pour it out myself,\" Nikolai Petrovitch replied with some\nhaste. \"Will you have cream or lemon in your tea, Arkady?\"\n\n\"Cream,\" he replied. After a pause he continued:\n\n\"Papasha----\"\n\nNikolai Petrovitch glanced confusedly in his direction.\n\n\"Yes?\" said he.\n\nArkady lowered his eyes.\n\n\"Pardon me if my question should seem to you indiscreet,\" he began,\n\"but, owing to your frankness of last night, I am emboldened to return\nit. You will not take offence, will you?\"\n\n\"Oh no! Pray go on.\"\n\n\"Then I feel encouraged to ask you whether it--whether it is because\nI am here that she--that is to say, Thenichka--has not joined us at\nbreakfast?\"\n\nNikolai Petrovitch slightly averted his face.\n\n\"It may be so,\" he said at length. \"At all events, I presume that--that\nshe prefers, she prefers--in fact, that she is shy.\"\n\nArkady glanced at his father.\n\n\"But why should she be shy?\" he inquired. \"In the first place, you know\nmy views\" (he uttered the words with no little complacency), \"and, in\nthe second place, surely you cannot suppose that I would by a hair's\nbreadth intrude upon your life and your habits? No; sure am I that\nnever could you make a bad choice; and if you have asked this girl\nto reside under your roof, that is tantamount to saying that she has\nwell deserved it. In any case, moreover, it is not for a son to summon\nhis father to judgment--least of all for me, who possess a father\nlike yourself, a father who has never restricted his son's freedom of\naction.\"\n\nAt first Arkady's voice had trembled a little, since not only did he\nfeel that he was doing the \"magnanimous,\" but also he knew that he\nwas delivering something like a \"lecture\" to his father; but such an\neffect does the sound of his own voice exercise upon a human being that\ntowards the end Arkady pronounced his words firmly, and even with a\ncertain degree of _empressement_.\n\n\"I thank you, Arkady,\" Nikolai Petrovitch said faintly as his fingers\nbegan their customary perambulation of his forehead. \"Nor is your\nconjecture mistaken, for if this girl had not deserved the invitation,\nI should not, of course, have--in other words, as you imply, this is no\nfrivolous whim on my part. Nor need I have spoken of the matter, were\nit not that I desired you to understand that she might possibly have\nfelt embarrassed at meeting you on the very day after your arrival.\"\n\n\"Then let _me_ go and meet _her_,\" exclaimed Arkady with another access\nof \"magnanimity\" as he sprang from his chair. \"Yes, let _me_ go and\nexplain to her why she need not shun me.\"\n\nNikolai Petrovitch also rose.\n\n\"Arkady,\" he began, \"pray do me a favour. Hitherto I had not warned you\nthat----\"\n\nBut, without listening to him, Arkady darted from the terrace. For\na moment or two Nikolai Petrovitch gazed after him--then, overcome\nwith confusion, relapsed into a chair. His heart was beating rapidly.\nWhether or not he was picturing to himself a strangeness of future\nrelations with his son; whether he was imagining that, had his son\nrefrained from interfering, the latter might have paid him more respect\nin future; whether he was reproaching himself for his own weakness--it\nis difficult to say what his thoughts were. Probably in them there was\na combination of the feelings just indicated, if only in the form of\napprehensions. Yet those apprehensions cannot have been deeply rooted,\nas was proved by the fact that, for all the beating of his heart, the\ncolour had not left his face.\n\nSoon hasty footsteps were heard approaching, and Arkady reappeared on\nthe terrace.\n\n\"I have made her acquaintance!\" he shouted with a kindly,\ngood-humoured, triumphant expression. \"That Theodosia Nikolaievna is\nnot well to-day is a fact; but also it is a fact that she is going to\nappear later. And why did you not tell me that I had a little brother?\nOtherwise I should have gone and kissed him last night, even as I have\ndone this moment.\"\n\nNikolai Petrovitch tried to say something--to rise and to make an\nexplanation of some sort; but Arkady cut him short by falling upon his\nneck.\n\n\"What is this? Again embracing?\" said Paul Petrovitch behind them.\n\nAs a matter of fact, neither father nor son was ill-pleased to see\nhim appear, for, however touching such situations may be, one may be\nequally glad to escape from them.\n\n\"At what are you surprised?\" asked Nikolai Petrovitch gaily. \"Remember\nthat I have not seen Arkesha for several centuries--at all events, not\nsince last night!\"\n\n\"Oh, I am not surprised,\" said Paul Petrovitch. \"On the contrary, I\nshould not mind embracing him myself.\"\n\nAnd Arkady, on approaching his uncle, felt once more upon his cheek the\nimpression of a perfumed moustache. Paul Petrovitch then sat down to\ntable. Clad in an elegant morning suit of English cut, he was flaunting\non his head a diminutive fez which helped the carelessly folded tie to\nsymbolise the freedom of a country life. At the same time, the stiff\ncollar of the shirt (which was striped, not white, as best befitted\na matutinal toilet) supported with its usual rigour an immaculately\nshaven chin.\n\n\"Well, Arkady?\" said he. \"Where is your new friend?\"\n\n\"Out somewhere. He seldom misses going for an early morning walk.\nBut the great thing is to take no notice of him, for he detests all\nceremony.\"\n\n\"So I have perceived.\" And with his usual deliberateness Paul\nPetrovitch began to butter a piece of bread. \"Will he be staying here\nvery long?\"\n\n\"Well, as long as he may care to stay. As a matter of fact, he is going\non to his father's place.\"\n\n\"And where does his father live?\"\n\n\"Some eighty versts from here, in the same province as ourselves. I\nbelieve he has a small property, and used to be an army doctor.\"\n\n\"H'm! Ever since last night I have been asking myself where I can have\nheard the name before. Nikolai, do you remember whether there was a\ndoctor of that name in our father's division?\"\n\n\"Yes, there used to be.\"\n\n\"Then that doctor will be this fellow's father. H'm!\" And Paul\nPetrovitch twitched his moustache. \"What exactly is your Bazarov?\" he\nenquired of Arkady.\n\n\"What _is_ he?\" Arkady repeated smiling. \"Do you really want me to tell\nyou what he is, Uncle?\"\n\n\"If you please, my nephew.\"\n\n\"He is a Nihilist.\"\n\n\"A what?\" exclaimed Nikolai Petrovitch, while even Paul Petrovitch\npaused in the act of raising a knife to the edge of which there was a\nmorsel of butter adhering.\n\n\"A Nihilist,\" repeated Arkady.\n\n\"A Nihilist?\" queried Nikolai Petrovitch. \"I imagine that that must\nbe a term derived from the Latin _nihil_ or 'nothing.' It denotes,\nI presume, a man who--a man who--well, a man who declines to accept\n_anything_.\"\n\n\"Or a man who declines to _respect_ anything,\" hazarded Paul Petrovitch\nas he re-applied himself to the butter.\n\n\"No, a man who treats things solely from the critical point of view,\"\ncorrected Arkady.\n\n\"But the two things are one and the same, are they not?\" queried Paul\nPetrovitch.\n\n\"Oh no. A Nihilist is a man who declines to bow to authority, or to\naccept any principle on trust, however sanctified it may be.\"\n\n\"And to what can that lead?\" asked Paul Petrovitch.\n\n\"It depends upon the individual. In one man's case, it may lead to\ngood; in that of another, to evil.\"\n\n\"I see. But we elders view things differently. We folk of the\nolder generation believe that without principles\" (Paul Petrovitch\npronounced the word softly, and with a French accent, whereas Arkady\nhad pronounced it with an emphasis on the leading syllable)--\"without\nprinciples it is impossible to take a single step in life, or to draw a\nsingle breath. _Mais vous avez chang\u00e9 tout cela._ God send you health\nand a general's rank, Messieurs Nihil--how do you pronounce it?\"\n\n\"Ni-hi-lists,\" said Arkady distinctly.\n\n\"Quite so (formerly we had Hegelists, and now they have become\nNihilists)--God send you health and a general's rank, but also let us\nsee how you will contrive to exist in an absolute void, an airless\nvacuum. Pray ring the bell, brother Nikolai, for it is time for me to\ntake my cocoa.\"\n\nNikolai Petrovitch did as requested, and also shouted for Duniasha;\nbut, instead of the latter, there issued on to the terrace Thenichka\nin person. A young woman of twenty-three, she was pale, and\ngentle-looking, with dark eyes and hair, a pair of childishly red,\npouting lips, and delicate hands. Also, she was clad in a clean\ncotton gown, a new blue kerchief was thrown lightly over her rounded\nshoulders, and she was carrying in front of her a large cup of cocoa.\nShyly she placed the latter before Paul Petrovitch, while a warm, rosy\ncurrent of blood suffused the exquisite skin of her comely face, and\nthen she remained standing by the table, with lowered eyes and the\ntips of her fingers touching its surface. Yet, though she looked as\nthough she were regretting having come, she looked as though she felt\nthat she had a right to be there.\n\nPaul Petrovitch frowned, and Nikolai Petrovitch looked confused.\n\n\"Good morning, Thenichka,\" the latter muttered.\n\n\"Good morning,\" she replied in a low, clear voice. Then she glanced\naskance at Arkady, and he smiled at her in friendly fashion. Finally\nshe departed with a quiet step and slightly careless gait--the latter a\npeculiarity of hers.\n\nSilence reigned on the terrace. For a while Paul Petrovitch drank his\ncocoa. Then he suddenly raised his head, and muttered:\n\n\"Monsieur Nihilist is about to give us the pleasure of his company.\"\n\nTrue enough, Bazarov could be seen stepping across the flowerbeds. On\nhis linen jacket and trousers was a thick coating of mud, to the crown\nof his ancient circular hat clung a piece of sticky marshweed, and in\nhis hand he was holding a small bag. Also, something in the bag kept\nstirring as though it were alive. Approaching the terrace with rapid\nstrides, he nodded to the company and said:\n\n\"Good morning, gentlemen! Pardon me for being so late. I shall be back\npresently, but first my captures must be stowed away.\"\n\n\"What are those captures?\" Paul Petrovitch inquired. \"Leeches?\"\n\n\"No, frogs.\"\n\n\"Do you eat them? Or do you breed them?\"\n\n\"I catch them for purposes of experiment,\" was Bazarov's only reply as\ncarelessly he entered the house.\n\n\"In other words, he vivisects them,\" was Paul Petrovitch's comment. \"In\nother words, he believes in frogs more than in principles.\"\n\nArkady threw his uncle a reproachful look, and even Nikolai Petrovitch\nshrugged his shoulders, so that Paul Petrovitch himself felt his _bon\nmot_ to have been out of place, and hastened to divert the subject to\nthe estate and the new steward.\n\n\n\n\nVI\n\n\nBazarov, returning, seated himself at the table, and fell to drinking\ntea. The brothers contemplated him in silence. Arkady glanced covertly\nfrom his father to his uncle, and back again.\n\n\"Have you walked far this morning?\" at length Nikolai Petrovitch\ninquired.\n\n\"To a marsh beside an aspen coppice. By the way, Arkady, I flushed five\nhead of woodcock. Perhaps you would like to go and shoot them?\"\n\n\"Then you yourself are no sportsman?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"That is to say, you prefer physics to anything else?\" This from Paul\nPetrovitch.\n\n\"Yes, I prefer physics--in fact, the natural sciences in general--to\nanything else.\"\n\n\"Well, I am told that the _Germanics_ have made great strides in that\ndepartment?\" (Paul Petrovitch used the term \"Germanics\" instead of\n\"Germans\" ironically, but no one noticed it.)\n\n\"True,\" was Bazarov's careless reply. \"In fact, the Germans are, in the\nsame respect, our masters.\"\n\n\"You think highly of the Germans?\" Paul Petrovitch's tone was now\nstudiously polite, for he was beginning to feel irritated with the\nman--his aristocratic nature could not altogether stomach Bazarov's\nabsolute lack of ceremony, the fact that this doctor's son not only\nknew no diffidence, but actually returned snappish and reluctant\nanswers, and infused a _brusquerie_ akin to rudeness into his tone.\n\n\"At least the savants of that part of the world have some energy in\nthem,\" retorted Bazarov.\n\n\"Quite so. And your opinion of our Russian savants is--well, perhaps\nless flattering?\"\n\n\"It is, with your leave.\"\n\n\"That constitutes a piece of laudable modesty on your part,\" Paul\nPetrovitch observed with a slight hitch of his figure and a toss of his\nhead. \"But how comes it about that Arkady has just told us that you\nrecognise no authorities whatsoever? Do you not trust authorities?\"\n\n\"Why should I? Is anything in the world trustworthy? Certainly, should\nI be told a fact, I agree with it, but that is all.\"\n\n\"Oh! Then the Germans confine themselves solely to facts?\" Paul\nPetrovitch's face had now assumed an expression of detachment, as\nthough he had suddenly become withdrawn to the ultimate heights of the\nempyrean.\n\n\"No, not all Germans,\" replied Bazarov with a passing yawn. Clearly\nhe had no mind to continue the controversy. Meanwhile Paul Petrovitch\nglanced at Arkady as much as to say: \"Admit that your friend has\nbeautiful manners!\"\n\n\"For my own part,\" he continued, ostentatiously, and with an effort,\n\"I, a fallible mortal, do _not_ favour the Germans. Of course, I am not\nincluding in that category the _Russo_-Germans, who, as we know, are\nbirds of passage. Rather, it is the Germans of Germany proper whom I\ncannot abide. Once upon a time they used to produce men like Schiller\nand like--what's his name?--Goethe: for both of which authors my\nbrother has a marked predilection. But now the German nation has become\na nation solely of chemists and materialists.\"\n\n\"A good chemist is worth a score of your poets,\" remarked Bazarov.\n\n\"Quite so.\" Paul Petrovitch hitched his eyebrows a little, as though he\nhad come near to falling asleep. \"Er--I take it then that you decline\nto recognise art, but believe only in science?\"\n\n\"I have told you that I believe in nothing at all. What after all, is\nscience--that is to say, science in the mass? A science may exist, even\nas a trade or a profession may exist; but with regard to science in the\nmass, there is no such thing.\"\n\n\"Very good. And, with regard to such other postulates as usually are\ngranted in human affairs, the attitude which you adopt is negative in\nthe same degree?\"\n\n\"What is this?\" suddenly countered Bazarov. \"Is it an examination in\ntenets?\"\n\nPaul Petrovitch turned pale, and Nikolai Petrovitch thought it time to\nintervene in the dispute.\n\n\"Nay, we will debate the subject later,\" he said. \"And then, while\nrecognising your views, good Evgenii Vasilitch, we will state our own.\nIndividually speaking, I am delighted that you should be interested in\nthe natural sciences. For instance, I am told that recently Liebig[1]\nhas made some surprising discoveries in the matter of the improvement\nof soils. Consequently you might be able to help me in my agricultural\nlabours, and to give me much useful advice.\"\n\n\"Always I shall be at your service, Nikolai Petrovitch,\" replied\nBazarov. \"But what has Liebig to do with us? First the alphabet should\nbe learnt before we try to read books. We have not even reached the\nletter A.\"\n\n\"You are a Nihilist--that is plain enough,\" reflected Nikolai\nPetrovitch; while aloud he added: \"Yet allow me to seek your occasional\nassistance. Brother Paul, I believe it is time that we interviewed our\nsteward.\"\n\nPaul Petrovitch rose from his chair.\n\n\"Yes,\" he said, without looking at any one in particular, \"it is indeed\na terrible thing to have lived five years in the country, and to have\nstood remote from superior intellects! If one is _ab origine_ a fool,\none becomes so more than ever, seeing that, however much one may try\nnot to forget what one has learnt, there will dawn upon one, sooner\nor later, the revelation that one's knowledge is all rubbish, that\nsensible men have ceased to engage in such futilities, and that one has\nlagged far behind the times. But, in such a case, what is one to do?\nEvidently the younger generation know more than we do.\"\n\nAnd, slowly turning on his heel, he moved away as slowly, with Nikolai\nPetrovitch following in his wake.\n\n\"Does Paul Petrovitch always reside here?\" asked Bazarov when the door\nhad closed upon the pair.\n\n\"Yes, he does. But look here, Evgenii. You adopted too sharp a tone\nwith my uncle. You have offended him.\"\n\n\"What? Am I to fawn upon these rustic aristocrats, even though their\nattitude is one purely of conceit and subservience to custom? If such\nbe Paul Petrovitch's bent, he had better have continued his career in\nSt. Petersburg. Never mind him, however. Do you know, I have found a\nsplendid specimen of the water beetle _dytiscus marginatus_. Are you\nacquainted with it? I will show it you.\"\n\n\"Did I not promise to tell you his history?\" observed Arkady musingly.\n\n\"Whose history? The water beetle's?\"\n\n\"No; my uncle's. At least you will see from it that he is not the man\nyou take him for, but a man who deserves pity rather than ridicule.\"\n\n\"I am not prepared to dispute it. But how come you to be so devoted to\nhim?\"\n\n\"Always one ought to be fair.\"\n\n\"The connection I do not see.\"\n\n\"Then listen.\"\n\nAnd Arkady related the story to be found in the following chapter.\n\n\n[1] Justus Freiherr von Liebig (1803-1873), the great German\nchemist--in particular, the founder of agricultural chemistry.\n\n\n\n\nVII\n\n\n\"Like his brother, Paul Petrovitch Kirsanov received his early\neducation at home, and entered the Imperial Corps of Pages.\nDistinguished from boyhood for his good looks, he had, in addition,\na nature of the self-confident, quizzical, amusingly sarcastic type\nwhich never fails to please. As soon, therefore, as he had received\nhis officer's commission, he began to go everywhere in society, to\nset the pace, to amuse himself, to play the rake, and to squander his\nmoney. Yet these things somehow consorted well with his personality,\nand women went nearly mad over him, while men called him 'Fate,' and\nsecretly detested him. Meanwhile he rented a flat with his brother, for\nwhom, in spite of their dissimilarity, he had a genuine affection. The\ndissimilarity in question lay, among other things, in the fact that,\nwhile Nikolai Petrovitch halted, had small, kindly, rather melancholy\nfeatures and narrow black eyes, and was of a disposition prone to\nreading omnivorously, to bestirring himself but little, and to feeling\nnervous when attending social functions, Paul Petrovitch never spent a\nsingle evening at home, but was renowned for his physical dexterity and\ndaring (he it was who made gymnastics the rage among the gilded youth\nof his day), and read, at most, five or six French novels. Indeed, by\nthe time that he reached his twenty-eighth year Paul had risen to be\na captain, and before him there seemed to lie a brilliant career; but\neverything suddenly underwent a change, as shall be related forthwith.\n\n\"Among the society of St. Petersburg of that period there was\naccustomed to appear, and to disappear, at irregular intervals a\ncertain Princess R. whose memory survives to this day. Though wedded to\na highly placed and very presentable (albeit slightly stupid) husband,\nshe had no children, and spent her time between making unexpected\nvisits abroad and unexpected returns to Russia. In short, she led a\nvery curious life, and the world in general accounted her a coquette,\nin that she devoted herself to every sort of pleasure, and danced at\nballs until she could dance no more, and laughed and jested with young\nmen whom she received before dinner in the half-light of a darkened\ndrawing-room. Yet, strangely enough, as the night advanced she would\nfall to weeping and praying and wringing her hands, and, unable to\nrest, would pace her room until break of day, or sit huddled, pale and\ncold, over the Psalter. But no sooner would daylight have appeared than\nshe would once more become a woman of the world, and drive, and laugh,\nand chatter, and fling herself upon anything which seemed to offer\nany sort of distraction. Also, her power to charm was extraordinary;\nfor though no one could have called her a beauty (seeing that the one\ngood feature of her face lay in her eyes--and even then it was not the\nsmall, grey eyes themselves which attracted, but the glance which they\nemitted), she had hair of the colour and weight of gold which reached\nto her knees. That glance!--it was a glance which could be careless to\nthe point of daring or meditative to the point of melancholy; a glance\nso enigmatical that, even when her tongue was lisping fatuous nonsense,\nthere gleamed in her aspect something intangible and out of the common.\nFinally, she dressed with exquisite taste.\n\n\"This woman Paul Petrovitch met at a ball; and at it he danced a\nmazurka with her. Yet, though, during the dance, she uttered not a\nsingle word of sense, he straightway fell in love with her, and, being\na man accustomed to conquests, attained his end in this case also.\nYet, strangely enough, the facility of his triumph in no way chilled\nhim, but led him on to become more and more resolutely, more and more\npainfully, attached, and that though she was a woman in whom, even\nafter she had made the great surrender, there still remained something\nas immutably veiled, as radically intangible, as before--something\nwhich no one had yet succeeded in penetrating. What was in that soul\nGod alone knows. Almost would it seem as though she were subservient\nto a mysterious force of which the existence was absolutely unknown\nto her, but which sported with her as it willed, and whose whims\nher mentality was powerless to control. At all events, her conduct\nconstituted a series of inconsistencies, and even the few letters which\nshe wrote to Paul Petrovitch--missives which would undoubtedly have\naroused her husband's suspicions had he seen them--were written to a\nman who was practically a stranger to her. And in time her love began\nto be succeeded by fits of despondency; she ceased to smile and jest\nwith the lover whom she had selected, and looked at him, and listened\nto his voice, with reluctance. In fact, there were moments--for the\nmost part, unexpected moments--when this reluctance bordered upon chill\nhorror, and her face assumed a wild, corpse-like expression, and she\nwould shut herself up in her bedroom, whence her maid, with ear glued\nto the keyhole, would hear issue sounds as of dull, hopeless sobbing.\nPaul Petrovitch himself frequently found that, when returning home\nafter one of these tender interviews, there was naught within his\nbreast save the bitter, galling sensation which comes of final and\nirrevocable failure. 'What more could I want?' he would say to himself\nin his bewilderment; yet always he spoke with an aching heart.\n\n\"It happened that on one occasion he gave her a ring having a stone\ncarved in the figure of the Sphinx.\n\n\"'What?' she exclaimed. 'Do you offer me the Sphinx?'\n\n\"'I do,' he replied. 'The Sphinx is yourself.'\n\n\"'I?' she queried with a slow lift of her enigmatical eyes. 'You are\nindeed flattering!'\n\n\"With the words went the ghost of a smile, while her eyes looked\nstranger than ever.\n\n\"Even during the time that the Princess loved him things were difficult\nfor Paul Petrovitch; but when she cooled in her affection for him (as\nsoon happened) he came near to going out of his mind. Distracted with\njealousy, he allowed her no rest, but followed her to such an extent\nthat at length, worn out with his persistent overtures, she betook\nherself on a tour abroad. Yet even then Paul Petrovitch listened to\nneither the prayers of his friends nor the advice of his superior\nofficers, but, resigning his commission, set out on the Princess's\ntrack. Thus four years were spent in hunting her down, and losing sight\nof her again: and though, throughout, he felt ashamed of his conduct,\nand disgusted with his lack of spirit, all was of no avail--her image,\nthe baffling, bewitching, alluring image which ever flitted before\nhis eyes, had implanted itself too deeply in his breast. At last--it\nwas at Baden--the pair once more came together; and though it seemed\nthat never had she loved him as she did now, before a month was over\nanother rupture had occurred, and, this time, a final one, as, with a\nlast flicker, the flame died down and went out. True, that the parting\nwould come he had foreseen; yet still he sought to be friends with her\n(as though friendship with such a woman could have been possible!), and\nonly the fact that she quietly withdrew from Baden, and thenceforth\nstudiously avoided him, baffled his purpose. Returning to Russia, he\nendeavoured to resume his former mode of life: but neither by hook nor\ncrook could he regain the old rut. As a man with a poisoned system\nwanders hither and thither, so did he drive out, and retain all the\ncustoms of a society _habitu\u00e9_. Nay, he could even have boasted of\ntwo or three new conquests. But no. What he wanted was obtainable\nneither through himself nor others, since his whole power of initiative\nwas gone, and his head gradually growing grey. To sit at his club,\nto consume his soul in jaundice and _ennui_, to engage in bachelor\ndisputes which failed to interest him--such was now become his sole\noccupation. And, as we know, it is an occupation which constitutes the\nworst of signs. Nor, for that matter, seems he to marriage to have\ngiven a thought.\n\n\"Thus ten years elapsed in colourless, fruitless pursuits. Yet Paul\nfound time pass swiftly, indeed, with amazing swiftness, for nowhere\nin the world does it fly as it does in Russia (in prison only is its\npassage said to be still swifter); wherefore there came at length a\nnight when, while dining at his club, he heard that the Princess was\ndead--that she had died in Paris in a state bordering upon insanity.\nRising from the table, he fell to pacing the rooms of the club with a\nface like that of a corpse, and only at intervals halting to watch the\ntables of the card-players; until, his usual time for returning home\nhaving arrived, he departed. Soon after he had reached his flat there\nwas delivered for him a package containing the ring which he had given\nto the Princess. The Sphinx on it was marked with a mark like the sign\nof the cross, and enclosed also was a message to say that through the\ncross had the enigma become solved.\n\n\"These things took place just at the time (early in '48) when Nikolai\nPetrovitch had lost his wife, and removed to St. Petersburg; and\nsince, also, the period of Nikolai's marriage had coincided with the\nearlier days of Paul's acquaintance with the Princess, Paul had not\nseen his brother since the day when the latter had settled in the\ncountry. True, on returning from abroad, Paul had paid Nikolai a visit\nwith the intention of staying with him for a couple of months, as a\ncongratulatory compliment on his happiness; but the visit had lasted\na week only, since the difference in the position of the two brothers\nhad been too great, and even now, though that difference had diminished\nsomewhat, owing to the fact that Nikolai Petrovitch had lost his wife,\nand Paul Petrovitch his memories (after the Princess's death he made\nit his rule to try and forget her)--even now, I say, there existed the\ndifference that, whereas Nikolai Petrovitch could look back upon a\nlife well spent, and had a son rising to manhood, Paul Petrovitch was\nstill a lonely bachelor, and, moreover, entering upon that dim, murky\nperiod when regrets come to resemble hopes, and hopes are beginning to\nresemble regrets, and youth is fled, and old age is fast approaching.\nTo Paul Petrovitch that period was particularly painful, in that, in\nlosing his past, he had lost his all.\n\n\"'I shall not invite you to come to Marino,' were Nikolai Petrovitch's\nwords to his brother. 'Even when my wife was alive, you found the place\ntedious; and now it would kill you.'\n\n\"'Ah, but in those days I was young and foolish and full of vanity,'\nreplied Paul Petrovitch. 'Even though I may not have grown wiser, at\nleast am I quieter. So, if you should be willing, I will gladly come\nand make your place my permanent home.'\n\n\"For answer Nikolai Petrovitch embraced him; and though a year and a\nhalf elapsed before Paul Petrovitch decided to carry out his intention,\nonce settled on the estate, he has never left it--no, not even during\nthe three winters spent by Nikolai Petrovitch with his son in St.\nPetersburg. Meanwhile he has taken to reading books--more especially\nEnglish books, and, in general, to ordering his life on the English\npattern. Rarely, also, does he call upon his neighbours, but confines\nhis excursions, for the most part, to attending election meetings,\nwhere, as a rule, he holds his tongue, but occasionally amuses himself\nby angering and alarming the older generation of landowners with\nLiberal sallies. From the representatives of the younger generation he\nholds entirely aloof. Yet both parties, though they reckon him haughty,\naccord him respect. They do so because of his refined, aristocratic\nmanners, and of what they have heard concerning his former conquests,\nand of the fact that he dresses with exquisite taste, that he always\noccupies the best suites in the best hotels, that he dines sumptuously\nevery day, that once he took dinner with the Duke of Wellington at the\nCourt of Louis Philippe, that invariably he takes about with him a\nsilver _n\u00e9cessaire_ and a travelling bath, that he diffuses rare and\nagreeable perfumes, that he is a first-rate and universally successful\nwhist-player, and that his honour is irreproachable. The ladies too\nlook upon him as a man of charming melancholy: but with their sex he\nhas long ceased to have anything to do.\n\n\"You see, then, Evgenii,\" wound up Arkady, \"that you have judged my\nuncle very unfairly. Moreover, I have omitted to say that several times\nhe has saved my father from ruin by making over to him the whole of\nhis money (for they do not share the estate), and that he is always\nready to help any one, and, in particular, that he stands up stoutly\nfor the peasants, even though, when speaking to them, he pulls a wry\nface, and, before beginning the interview, scents himself well with\neau-de-Cologne.\"\n\n\"We all know what nerves like his mean,\" remarked Bazarov.\n\n\"Perhaps so. Yet his heart is in the right place; nor is he in any\nway a fool. To myself especially has he given much useful advice,\nespecially on the subject of women.\"\n\n\"Ah, ha! 'Scalded with milk, one blows to cool another's water.' That\nis a truism.\"\n\n\"Finally, and to put matters shortly,\" resumed Arkady, \"he is a man\ndesperately unhappy, not one who ought to be despised.\"\n\n\"_Who_ is despising him?\" exclaimed Bazarov. \"All that I say is that a\nman who has staked his whole upon a woman's love, and, on losing the\nthrow, has turned crusty, and let himself drift to such an extent as\nto become good for nothing--I say that such a man is not a man, a male\ncreature at all. He is unhappy, you say; and certainly you know him\nbetter than I do; but it is clear also that he has not yet cleansed\nhimself of the fool. In other words, certain am I that, just because he\noccasionally reads _Galignani_, and because, once a month, he saves a\npeasant from distress for debt, he believes himself really to be a man\nof action.\"\n\n\"But think of his upbringing!\" expostulated Arkady. \"Think of the\nperiod in which he has lived his life!\"\n\n\"His upbringing?\" retorted Bazarov. \"Why, a man ought to _bring\nhimself_ up, even as I had to do. And with regard to his period,\nwhy should I, or any other man, be dependent upon periods? Rather,\nwe ought to make periods dependent upon _us_. No, no, friend!\nSensuality and frivolity it is that are at fault. For of what do the\nso-called mysterious relations between a man and a woman consist? As\nphysiologists, we know precisely of what they consist. And take the\nanatomy of the eye. What in it justifies the guesswork whereof you\nspeak? Such talk is so much Romanticism and nonsense and unsoundness\nand artificiality. Let us go and inspect that beetle.\"\n\nAnd the two friends departed to Bazarov's room, where he had already\nsucceeded in creating a medical-surgical atmosphere which consorted\nwell with the smell of cheap tobacco.\n\n\n\n\nVIII\n\n\nAt his brother's interview with the steward (the latter was a tall,\nthin man of shifty eyes who to every remark of Nikolai's replied in\nan unctuous, mellifluous voice: \"Very well, if so it please you\")\nPaul Petrovitch did not long remain present. Recently the system of\nestate-management had been reorganised on a new footing, and was\ncreaking as loudly as an ungreased cartwheel or furniture which has\nbeen fashioned of unseasoned wood. For the same reason, though never\nactually giving way to melancholy, Nikolai Petrovitch often indulged\nin moodiness and sighing, for the reason that it was clear that his\naffairs would never prosper without money, and that the bulk of the\nlatter had disappeared. As for Arkady's statement that frequently Paul\nPetrovitch had come to his brother's assistance, it had been perfectly\ntrue, for on more than one occasion had Paul been moved by the sight of\nhis brother's perplexity to walk slowly to the window, to plunge a hand\ninto his pocket, to mutter, \"_Mais je puis vous donner de l'argent_,\"\nand, lastly, to suit the action to the word. But on the day of which\nwe are speaking Paul had no spare cash himself; wherefore he preferred\nto remove himself elsewhere, and the more so in that the _minuti\u00e6_ of\nestate-management wearied him, and that he felt certain that, though\npowerless to suggest a better way of doing business than the present\none, he knew at least that Nikolai's was at fault.\n\n\"He is not sufficiently practical,\" would be his reflection. \"He lets\nthese fellows cheat him right and left.\"\n\nOn the other hand, Nikolai had a high opinion of Paul's practicality,\nand always sought his advice.\n\n\"I am a weak, easy-going fellow,\" he would say, \"and have spent the\nwhole of my life in retirement; whereas you cannot have lived in the\nworld for nothing--you know it well, and have the eye of an eagle.\"\n\nTo this Paul Petrovitch would make no reply: he would merely turn away\nwithout attempting to undeceive his brother.\n\nAfter leaving Nikolai Petrovitch's study, Paul traversed the corridor\nwhich separated the front portion of the house from the rear, and, on\nreaching a low doorway, halted in seeming indecision, tugged at his\nmoustache for a moment, then tapped with his knuckles upon the panels.\n\n\"Who is there?\" replied Thenichka from within. \"Pray enter.\"\n\n\"It is I,\" said Paul Petrovitch as he opened the door.\n\nSpringing from the chair on which she had been seated with her baby,\nshe handed the latter to the nurse-girl (who at once bore it from the\nroom), and hastened to rearrange her bodice.\n\n\"Pardon me for having disturbed you,\" said Paul Petrovitch without\nlooking at her, \"but my object in coming here is to ask you (for I\nunderstand that you are sending in to the town to-day) if you would\nprocure me a little green tea for my own personal use.\"\n\n\"I will,\" replied Thenichka. \"How much ought I to have ordered?\"\n\n\"I think that half a pound will suffice. But what a change!\" he went on\nglancing around the room with an eye which included also in its purview\nThenichka's features. \"It is those curtains that I am referring to,\"\nhe explained on seeing that she had failed to grasp his meaning.\n\n\"Yes--those curtains. They were given me by Nikolai Petrovitch himself,\nand have been hung a long while.\"\n\n\"But it is a long time, remember, since last I paid you a visit. The\nroom looks indeed comfortable, does it not?\"\n\n\"Yes, thanks to Nikolai Petrovitch's kindness,\" whispered Thenichka.\n\n\"And you find things better here than in the wing?\" continued Paul\nPetrovitch politely--also, without the least shadow of a smile.\n\n\"I do.\"\n\n\"And who is lodged in the wing in your place?\"\n\n\"The laundry women.\"\n\n\"Ah!\"\n\nPaul Petrovitch relapsed into silence, while Thenichka thought to\nherself: \"I suppose he will go presently.\" So far from doing so,\nhowever, he remained where he was, and she had to continue standing\nin front of him with her fingers nervelessly locking and unlocking\nthemselves.\n\n\"Why have you had the little one taken away?\" at length he inquired. \"I\nlove children. Pray show him to me.\"\n\nThenichka reddened with confusion and pleasure; and that though Paul\nPetrovitch was accustomed to make her nervous, so seldom did he address\nher.\n\n\"Duniasha!\" she cried (Duniasha she addressed, as she did every one\nin the house, in the second person plural[1]). \"Bring Mitia here, and\nbe quick about it! But first put on his clothes.\" With that she moved\ntowards the door.\n\n\"Never mind, never mind,\" said Paul Petrovitch.\n\n\"But I shall soon be back.\" And she disappeared.\n\nLeft alone, Paul looked about him with keen attention. The small,\nlow room in which he was waiting was clean and comfortable, and\nredolent of balm, camomile, and furniture polish. Against the walls\nstood straight-backed, lyre-shaped chairs which the late General had\npurchased during the period of the Polish campaign; in one corner\nstood a bedstead under a muslin coverlet, with, flanking it, a large,\niron-clamped, convex-lidded chest; in the opposite corner burnt a\nlamp before a massive, smoke-blackened _ikon_ of Saint Nikolai the\nMiracle Worker--the Saint's halo suspended by a red riband, and a tiny\nchina egg resting on his breast; on the window-sills were ranged some\ncarefully sealed jars of last year's jam, which filtered the light to\ngreen, and of which the parchment covers were inscribed, in Thenichka's\nlarge handwriting, \"Gooseberry\"--a jam of which Nikolai Petrovitch\nwas particularly fond; from the ceiling hung, by a long cord, a cage\ncontaining a short-tailed siskin which kept up such a perpetual\ntwittering and hopping that its cage rocked to and fro as it sang, and\nstray hemp seeds came pattering lightly to the floor; on the wall space\nabove a small chest of drawers hung a few poorly executed photographs\nof Nikolai Petrovitch in various attitudes (the work of a travelling\nphotographer); alongside these photographs hung a very unsuccessful one\nof Thenichka herself, since it revealed nothing but an eyeless face\npeering painfully from a dark frame; and, lastly, above the portrait\nof Thenichka hung a picture of Ermolov in a big cloak and a portentous\nfrown--the latter directed principally towards a distant mountain range\nof the Caucasus, while over the forehead of the portrait dangled a\nsilken pincushion in the shape of a shoe.\n\nFor five minutes or so there came from the adjoining room a sound as of\nrustling and whispering. From the chest of drawers Paul Petrovitch took\nup a greasy, dog's-eared volume of Masalsky's _The Strielitsi_, and\nturned over a few of its pages. Suddenly the door opened, and Thenichka\nentered with Mitia, whom she had now vested in a red robe and beaded\ncollar, while his little head had been brushed, and also his face\nwashed. Though he was breathing stertorously, and wriggling his whole\nbody about, and twitching his tiny arms after the manner of all healthy\nchildren, the dainty robe had had its effect, and his face was puckered\nwith delight. Also, Thenichka had tidied her own hair, and rearranged\nher bodice--well enough though she would have done as she was. For,\nin all the world, is there a more entrancing spectacle than that of a\nyoung, handsome mother with, in her arms, a healthy child?\n\n\"What a little beauty!\" Paul Petrovitch exclaimed indulgently as he\ntickled Mitia's double chin with the tip of his forefinger. The baby\nfixed its eyes upon the siskin, and smiled.\n\n\"This is Uncle,\" said Thenichka as she bent over the boy and gave him\na gentle shake. For fumigating purposes Duniasha deposited upon the\nwindow-sill a lighted candle, and, beneath it, a two-kopeck piece.\n\n\"How old is he?\" asked Paul Petrovitch.\n\n\"Six months. On the eleventh of this month he will be seven.\"\n\n\"No, eight, will he not, Theodosia Nikolaievna?\" timidly corrected\nDuniasha.\n\n\"No, seven.\"\n\nHere the infant crowed, fixed his eyes upon the chest in the corner,\nand suddenly closed his five tiny fingers upon his mother's mouth and\nnose.\n\n\"The little rascal!\" she said, without, however, freeing her features\nfrom his grasp.\n\n\"He is very like my brother,\" commented Paul Petrovitch.\n\n\"Whom else should he be like?\" she thought.\n\n\"Yes,\" he continued, half to himself. \"Undoubtedly I see the likeness.\"\nHe gazed pensively, almost mournfully, at the young mother.\n\n\"This is Uncle,\" again she said to the child: but this time she said it\nunder her breath.\n\n\"Oh, here you are, Paul!\" cried Nikolai Petrovitch from behind them.\n\nPaul Petrovitch faced about and knit his brows. But so joyously, and\nwith such a grateful expression, was his brother regarding the trio\nthat Paul could only respond with a smile.\n\n\"He is a fine little fellow, this baby of yours,\" the elder brother\nobserved. Then, glancing at his watch, he added: \"I came here merely to\narrange about the purchase of some tea.\" With which he assumed an air\nof indifference, and left the room.\n\n\"He came here of his own accord, did he?\" was Nikolai Petrovitch's\nfirst inquiry.\n\n\"Yes, of his own accord,\" the girl replied. \"He just knocked at the\ndoor and entered.\"\n\n\"And what of Arkasha? Has he too been to see you?\"\n\n\"No, Nikolai Petrovitch. By the way, might I return to the rooms in the\nwing of the house?\"\n\n\"Why do you want to?\"\n\n\"Because they suit me better than these.\"\n\n\"I think not,\" said Nikolai Petrovitch, rubbing his forehead with an\nair of indecision. \"Before there was a reason for your being there, but\nthat reason no longer exists.\"\n\n\"Good morning, little rascal!\" was his next remark as, with a sudden\naccess of animation, he approached and kissed the baby's cheek. Then,\nbending a little, he pressed his lips to Thenichka's hand--a hand,\nagainst the red of Mitia's robe, as white as milk.\n\n\"Why have you done that, Nikolai Petrovitch?\" she murmured with\ndowncast eyes. Yet when she raised them, their expression, as she\nglanced from under her brows and smiled her caressing, but slightly\nvacant, smile, was charming indeed!\n\nOf the circumstances of Nikolai Petrovitch's first meeting with\nThenichka the following may be related. Three years ago it had fallen\nto his lot to spend a night at an inn in a remote country town; and,\nwhile doing so, he had been struck with the cleanliness of the room\nassigned him, and also with the freshness of the bed-linen. \"Clearly,\"\nhe had thought to himself, \"the landlady must be a German.\" But, as it\nhad turned out, she was not a German, but a Russian of about fifty,\nwell-dressed, and possessed both of a comely, intelligent countenance\nand of a refined manner of speaking. When breakfast was over, he had\nhad a long conversation with her, and conceived for her a great liking.\nNow, as fate would have it, he had just removed to his new house, and,\nowing to a reluctance to continue keeping bonded serfs, was on the\nlook-out for hired domestics; while she, for her part, was in despair\nover the question of the hard times, which caused only a limited\nnumber of visitors to resort to the town. In the end, therefore,\nNikolai Petrovitch proposed to her to come to his house as housekeeper;\nand to this proposal, (since her husband was dead, and her family\nconsisted only of a young daughter named Thenichka) she eventually\nagreed. Accordingly, within two weeks Arina Savishna (such was the\nnew housekeeper's name) arrived at Marino with her child, and took up\nher abode in the wing of the new manor-house; nor was it long before\nshe had put the place to rights. To Thenichka, however, then a girl\nof sixteen, she never referred; and few people even caught a glimpse\nof the maiden, since she lived a life so modest and retired that only\non Sundays could Nikolai Petrovitch contemplate the delicate profile\nof her face in an aisle of the parish church. More than a year thus\nelapsed.\n\nBut one morning Arina entered his study, bowed to him as usual, and\nrequested him to be so good as to come and help her with her daughter,\none of whose eyes had been injured with a spark from the stove. It so\nhappened that, like most men of sedentary habit, Nikolai Petrovitch had\npicked up a smattering of medicine--nay, he had even compiled a list\nof homoeopathic remedies for one and another emergency; wherefore he\nhastened to order Arina to produce the sufferer. As soon as she heard\nthat the _barin_ had sent for her, Thenichka turned very nervous, but\nfollowed her mother as in duty bound; whereupon Nikolai Petrovitch\nled her to the window, took her head in his hands, and, after an\ninspection of the red, inflamed eye, wrote out a prescription for a\nlotion, compounded the stuff himself, and, lastly, tore off a portion\nof his handkerchief, and showed her how best the eye could be bathed.\nMeanwhile Thenichka listened attentively, and then tried to leave the\nroom. \"But the idea of going away without kissing the _barin's_ hand,\nfoolish one!\" cried Arina; whereupon, in lieu of offering the girl\nhis hand, Nikolai Petrovitch felt so embarrassed that in the end he\nhimself kissed her bent head at the spot where the hair lay parted.\nSoon Thenichka's eye healed, but the impression produced upon Nikolai\nPetrovitch did not pass away so quickly. Continually there flitted\nbefore him a pure, tender, timidly upturned face; continually he could\nfeel between the palms of his hands soft coils of hair; continually\nappearing to his vision there would be a pair of innocent, half-parted\nlips between which a set of pearl-like teeth flashed back the sunlight.\nConsequently he began to observe the girl more in church, and to try\nto engage her in conversation. But shyness always overcame her, and,\non one occasion when she happened to meet him on a narrow path through\na rye field, she turned aside, and plunged into the mass of tall\ngrain and undergrowth of cornflowers and wormwood. Yet, despite her\nendeavours to escape, his eye discerned her head amid the golden mesh\nof cornblades, and he called to her, as she gazed at him with wild eyes:\n\n\"Good morning, Thenichka! I shall not hurt you.\"\n\n\"Good morning, _barin_!\" she whispered in reply, but did not leave her\nretreat.\n\nAs time went on, however, she grew more accustomed to his presence; and\nby the time that she was beginning really to get over her bashfulness,\nher mother died of cholera. Here was a dilemma indeed! For what was\nto be done with the young Thenichka, who had inherited her mother's\nlove of orderliness, and also her mother's good sense and natural\nrefinement? In the end, she was so young and lonely, and Nikolai\nPetrovitch was so good-hearted and modest, that the inevitable came\nabout. The rest need not be related.\n\n\"So my brother has been to you?\" he inquired again. \"You say that he\njust knocked at the door and entered?\"\n\n\"Yes, he just knocked at the door and entered.\"\n\n\"Good! Now, hand me Mitia.\"\n\nAnd Nikolai Petrovitch fell to tossing the baby up and down towards the\nceiling--a proceeding which greatly delighted the little one, but as\ngreatly disquieted the mother, who, at each upward flight, stretched\nher hands in the direction of the infant's naked toes.\n\nMeanwhile Paul Petrovitch returned to his study, of which the walls\nwere lined with a paper of red wild roses, and hung with weapons; the\nfloor was covered with a striped Persian carpet; and the furniture,\nconsisting of a Renaissance bookcase in old black oak, a handsome\nwriting-table, a few bronze statuettes, and a stove, was constructed,\nfor the most part, of hazelwood, and upholstered in dark-green velvet.\nStretching himself upon a sofa, he clasped his hands behind his head,\nand remained staring at the ceiling. Did presently the thoughts which\nwere passing through his mind need to be concealed even from the walls,\nseeing that he rose, unhooked the heavy curtains from before the\nwindows, and replaced himself upon the sofa?\n\n\n[1] Used, as in French, in formal speech or that of a person addressing\na social superior.\n\n\n\n\nIX\n\n\nThe same day also saw Bazarov make Thenichka's acquaintance. This was\nwhen he was walking in the garden with Arkady, and discussing the\nquestion of why certain trees in the garden, especially oaks, had not\nprospered as they might have done. Said he:\n\n\"You ought to plant the place with as many silver poplars as you can,\nand also with Norwegian firs--limes too, if loam should first be added.\nFor instance, the reason why this clump has done so well is that it is\nmade up of lilacs and acacias, of which neither require much room. But\nhullo! There is some one sitting there!\"\n\nThe persons seated in the arbour were Thenichka, Duniasha, and little\nMitia. Bazarov halted, and Arkady nodded to Thenichka as to an old\nacquaintance. Then the pair passed on again, and Bazarov inquired of\nhis companion:\n\n\"Who was she?\"\n\n\"To whom are you referring?\"\n\n\"You know to whom. My word, she _is_ good-looking!\"\n\nArkady explained, with a touch of embarrassment, the identity of\nThenichka.\n\n\"Ah!\" Bazarov remarked. \"Then your father has not at all bad taste.\nIndeed, I commend it. But what a young dog he is! I too must be\nintroduced.\"\n\nAnd he turned back in the direction of the arbour.\n\n\"Evgenii!\" exclaimed Arkady nervously as he followed his friend. \"For\nGod's sake be careful what you do!\"\n\n\"You need not be alarmed. I know what is what. I am no rustic.\"\n\nAnd, approaching Thenichka, he doffed his cap.\n\n\"Allow me to introduce myself,\" he said with a polite bow. \"I am a\nfriend of Arkady's, and a perfectly harmless individual.\"\n\nRising from her seat, Thenichka gazed at him in silence.\n\n\"Oh, and what a fine baby!\" he continued. \"Pray do not disturb\nyourself. Never yet have I cast upon a child an evil spell. But why are\nhis cheeks so red? Is he cutting teeth?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" replied Thenichka. \"He has now cut four of them, and the gums\nare a little swelled.\"\n\n\"Then let me see them. Do not be afraid. I am a doctor.\"\n\nWith that he took the baby into his arms, and both Thenichka and\nDuniasha were astonished at the fact that it made no resistance, showed\nno fear.\n\n\"I see,\" he continued. \"Well, everything is going right with him, and\nhe will have plenty of teeth. Nevertheless, should he in any way ail,\nplease let me know. Are you yourself well?\"\n\n\"Yes, thank God!\"\n\n\"'Thank God,' say I too, for health on the part of the mother is\nthe chief point of all. And you?\" he added, turning to Duniasha.\nThe latter, ultra-prim of demeanour in the drawing-room, and\nultra-frivolous of behaviour in the kitchen, answered with a giggle.\n\n\"Well, you _look_ all right. Here! Take your hero back again.\"\n\nHe replaced the baby in Thenichka's arms.\n\n\"How quiet he has been with you!\" she exclaimed under her breath.\n\n\"Always children are quiet with me,\" he remarked. \"You see, I know how\nto handle them.\"\n\n\"And _they_ know when people are fond of them,\" put in Duniasha.\n\n\"True,\" assented Thenichka. \"Though it is seldom that Mitia will go to\nany one's arms but mine.\"\n\n\"Would he come to me?\" ventured Arkady, who, until now standing in\nthe background, at this moment came forward towards the arbour. But\non his attempting to wheedle Mitia to his arms, the infant threw back\nits head, and started to cry--a circumstance which greatly perturbed\nThenichka.\n\n\"Another time--when he has come to be more used to me,\" said Arkady\nindulgently. And the two friends departed.\n\n\"What is her name?\" asked Bazarov.\n\n\"Thenichka--Theodosia,\" replied Arkady.\n\n\"And her patronymic?\"\n\n\"Nikolaievna.\"\n\n\"_Bene_! What I like about her is her total absence of shyness. True,\nthat is a _trait_ which some might have condemned in her, but I say,\n'What rubbish!' For why need she be bashful? She is a mother, and\ntherefore justified.\"\n\n\"I agree,\" said Arkady. \"And my father----\"\n\n\"Also is justified,\" concluded Bazarov.\n\n\"No, I do not agree in that respect.\"\n\n\"You do not altogether welcome a superfluous heir?\"\n\n\"For shame, Evgenii!\" cried Arkady heatedly. \"How can you impute such\nmotives? What I mean is that my father is not justified from _one_\npoint of view. That is to say, he ought to marry her.\"\n\n\"Oh, ho!\" said Bazarov quietly. \"How high and mighty we are getting! So\nyou still attribute importance to the marriage rite? This I should not\nhave expected of you.\"\n\nFor some paces the friends walked on in silence. Then Bazarov\ncontinued:\n\n\"I have been inspecting your father's establishment. The cattle look\npoor, the horses seem broken-down, the buildings have a tipsy air, the\nworkmen manifest a tendency to loaf, and I cannot yet determine whether\nthe new steward is a fool or a rogue.\"\n\n\"You are censorious to-day?\"\n\n\"I am; and the reason is that these good peasants are cheating your\nfather--exemplifying the proverb that 'The Russian _muzhik_ will break\neven the back of God.'\"\n\n\"Soon I shall have to agree with my uncle in his opinion that you think\nbut poorly of Russia.\"\n\n\"Rubbish! The Russian's very best point is that he holds a poor opinion\nof _himself_. Two and two make four. Nothing but that matters.\"\n\n\"And is nature also rubbish?\" queried Arkady with a musing glance at\nthe mottled fields where they lay basking in the soft, kindly rays of\nthe morning sun.\n\n\"Nature _is_ rubbish--at least in the sense in which _you_ understand\nher. She is not a church, but a workshop wherein man is the labourer.\"\n\nAt this moment there came wafted to their ears the long-drawn strains\nof a violoncello, on which a sensitive, but inexperienced, hand was\nplaying Schubert's _Erwartung_. Like honey did the voluptuous melody\nsuffuse the air.\n\n\"Who is the musician?\" asked Bazarov in astonishment.\n\n\"My father.\"\n\n\"What? Your father plays the 'cello?\"\n\n\"He does.\"\n\n\"At his age?\"\n\n\"Yes--he is only forty-four.\"\n\nBazarov burst out laughing.\n\n\"Why do you laugh?\" asked Arkady.\n\n\"Pardon me, but the idea that your father--a man of forty-four, a\npaterfamilias, and a notable in the county--should play the 'cello!\"\n\nAnd he continued laughing, though Arkady, for all his reverence for his\nmentor, failed to accomplish even a smile.\n\n\n\n\nX\n\n\nDuring the next two weeks life at Marino pursued its normal course.\nArkady took things easily, and Bazarov worked. In passing, it may be\nsaid that, for all his careless manner and abrupt, laconic speech, the\nlatter had become an accepted phenomenon in the house. In particular\nhad Thenichka so completely lost her shyness of him that one night\nshe sent to awake him because Mitia had been seized with convulsions;\nwhereupon Bazarov arrived, and, half-joking, half-yawning, according\nto his usual manner, helped her for two hours in the task of attending\nto the baby. Only Paul Petrovitch disliked the man with the whole\nstrength of his soul, for he accounted him a proud, cynical, conceited\nplebeian, and suspected him not only of failing to respect, but even of\nholding in contempt, the personality of Paul Petrovitch Kirsanov. Also,\nNikolai Petrovitch stood in slight awe of the young Nihilist, since he\ndoubted the likelihood of any good accruing from Bazarov's influence\nover Arkady. Yet always he would listen with pleasure to Bazarov's\ndiscourses, and gladly attend the chemical or physical experiments with\nwhich the young doctor (who had brought a microscope with him) would\noccupy himself for hours at a stretch. On the other hand, in spite of\nBazarov's domineering manner, all the servants had become attached\nto him, for they felt him to be less a _barin_ than their brother;\nand in particular did Duniasha readily joke and talk with him, and\nthrow him many meaning glances as she sped past in quail-like fashion,\nwhile Peter himself, though a man full of conceit and stupidity, with\na forehead perpetually puckered, and a dignity which consisted of a\ndeferential demeanour, a practice of reading journals syllable by\nsyllable, and a habit of constantly brushing his coat; even Peter,\nI say, would brighten and strike an attitude when he was noticed\nby Bazarov. In fact, the only servant to disapprove of Bazarov was\nold Prokofitch, the butler, who looked sour whenever he handed the\nyoung doctor a dish, and called him a \"sharper\" and a \"flaunter,\" and\ndeclared that, for all his whiskers, Bazarov was no better than \"a\ndressed-up pig,\" whereas he, Prokofitch, was practically as good an\naristocrat as Paul Petrovitch himself.\n\nIn the early days of June, the best season of the year, the weather\nbecame beautiful. True, from afar there came threatenings of cholera,\nbut to the local inhabitants such visitations had become a commonplace.\nEach day Bazarov rose early to set forth upon a tramp of some two or\nthree versts; nor were those tramps undertaken merely for the sake of\nthe exercise (he could not abide aimless expeditions), but, rather,\nfor the sake of collecting herbs and insects. Sometimes, too, he would\nsucceed in inducing Arkady to accompany him; and whenever this was the\ncase the pair would, on the way back, engage in some dispute which\nalways left Arkady vanquished in spite of his superior profusion of\nargument.\n\nOne morning the pair lingered considerably by the way, and Nikolai\nPetrovitch set out across the garden to meet them. Just as he reached\nthe arbour, he heard their voices and brisk footsteps approaching,\nthough he himself was invisible to the returning friends.\n\n\"You do not understand my father,\" Arkady was saying.\n\nNikolai Petrovitch halted instead of revealing himself.\n\n\"Oh, he is a good fellow enough,\" replied Bazarov. \"But also he is a\nman on the shelf, a man whose song has been sung.\"\n\nThough Nikolai Petrovitch strained his ears, he failed to catch\nArkady's reply. So the \"man on the shelf\" lingered for a minute or\ntwo--then walked slowly back to the house.\n\n\"For the past three days I have noted him reading Pushkin,\" continued\nBazarov. \"You ought to explain to him that no good can come of that,\nfor he is no longer a boy, and ought to have shaken himself free of\nsuch fiddlesticks. Who would desire to be a Romanticist? Give him\nsomething _practical_.\"\n\n\"For instance?\"\n\n\"Let me consider. For a start, give him B\u00fcchner's[1] _Stoff und Kraft_.\"\n\n\"Good!\" Arkady's tone was approving. \"_Stoff und Kraft_ is at least\nwritten in a popular style.\"\n\nThe same day Nikolai Petrovitch was sitting with his brother. At length\nhe said:\n\n\"I find that you and I are men on the shelf, that our songs have been\nsung. Eh? And perhaps Bazarov is right. Yet I confess that one thing\nhurts me: and that is that, though I had hoped to draw nearer to\nArkady, I am being left in the rear, and he is for ever marching ahead.\nNo longer do he and I understand one another.\"\n\n\"And why is he for ever marching ahead?\" asked Paul Petrovitch\nindignantly. \"How comes he to stand at such a distance from us? The\nreason is simply the ideas which that precious 'Nihilist' is putting\ninto his head. For myself, I detest the fellow, and think him a\ncharlatan. Also, I am certain that, in spite of his frogs, he is making\nno real progress in physics.\"\n\n\"We ought not to say that, brother. For my own part, I look upon him as\na man of culture and ability.\"\n\n\"If so, a detestably conceited one.\"\n\n\"Perhaps he _is_ conceited,\" Nikolai Petrovitch allowed. \"But then it\nwould appear that nothing can be done without something of the kind.\nWhat I cannot make out is the following. As you know, I have done\neverything possible to keep up with the times--I have organised my\npeasantry, I have set up such a farm that throughout the province I am\nknown as 'Fine Kirsanov,' persistently I read and educate myself, in\ngeneral I try to march abreast of the needs of the day. Yet, though I\ndo all this, I am now given to understand that my day is past and gone!\nAnd, brother, I do not say that I am not partially inclined to accept\nthat view.\"\n\n\"For what reason?\"\n\n\"For the following. To-day, as I was reading Pushkin (I think it was\n'The Gipsies' that I had lighted upon), there suddenly entered the room\nArkady. Silently, and with an air of kindly regret, and as gently as a\nchild, he withdrew the book from my hand, and laid before me another\nbook--a German production of some kind. That done, he gave me another\nsmile, and departed with my volume of Pushkin under his arm.\"\n\n\"Good gracious! And what might be the book which he has given you?\"\n\n\"This.\"\n\nNikolai Petrovitch extracted from the tail pocket of his frock-coat a\ncopy (ninth edition) of B\u00fcchner's well-known work.\n\nPaul Petrovitch turned it over in his hands.\n\n\"H'm!\" he grunted. \"Arkady does indeed seem solicitous for your\neducation! Have you tried reading the book?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And how do you like it?\"\n\n\"Well, either I am a fool or the thing is rubbish. Of the two views,\nthe former seems to me the most probable.\"\n\n\"It is not because you have forgotten your German, I suppose?\"\n\n\"Oh no. I understand the language perfectly.\"\n\nAgain Paul Petrovitch turned over the book, and again he glanced at his\nbrother from under his brows. A moment's silence ensued.\n\n\"By the way,\" continued Nikolai Petrovitch with an evident desire to\nchange the conversation, \"I have received a letter from Koliazin.\"\n\n\"From Matvei Ilyitch?\"\n\n\"From the same. It seems that he has just arrived at ----, for the\npurpose of carrying out the Revision[2] of the province, and he writes\nvery civilly that, as our kinsman, he would be glad to see Arkady and\nyou and myself.\"\n\n\"Do you intend to accept his invitation?\" asked Paul Petrovitch.\n\n\"I do not. Do you?\"\n\n\"No. We have no need to drag ourselves fifty versts to eat blanc-mange.\nThe good Mathieu wants to show off a little--that is all. He can\ndo without us. But what an honour to be a Privy Councillor! Had I\ncontinued in the Service, continued hauling at the old tow-rope, I\nmyself might have been Adjutant-General! As it is, I, like yourself, am\non the shelf.\"\n\n\"Yes, brother. Clearly it is time that we ordered our tombstones, and\nfolded our hands upon our breasts.\"\n\nA sigh concluded Nikolai Petrovitch's speech.\n\n\"But _I_ do not intend to give in so soon,\" muttered his brother.\n\"There is first going to be a skirmish between that chirurgeon of\nArkady's and myself. That I can see beyond a doubt.\"\n\nAnd, sure enough, the \"skirmish\" occurred the same evening. Ready for\nbattle as soon he repaired to the drawing-room for tea, Paul Petrovitch\nentered angrily, but firmly, and sat waiting for an excuse to advance\nupon the foe. Yet for a while that excuse hung fire, since Bazarov\nnever said much in the presence of \"the old Kirsanovs,\" and to-night\nwas feeling out of spirits, and drank his tea in absolute silence.\nHowever, Paul Petrovitch was so charged with impatience that his wish\nwas bound to attain fulfilment.\n\nIt happened that the conversation became turned upon a neighbouring\nlandowner.\n\n\"He is just a petty aristocrat,\" Bazarov drily remarked (it seemed that\nhe and the landowner had met in St. Petersburg).\n\n\"Allow me,\" put in Paul Petrovitch, his lips quivering. \"In your view,\ndo the terms 'good-for-nothing' and 'aristocrat' connote the same\nthing?\"\n\n\"I said '_petty_ aristocrat,'\" replied Bazarov as he lazily sipped his\ntea.\n\n\"Quite so. Then I take it that you hold the same opinion of aristocrats\nas of 'petty aristocrats'? Well, I may remark that your opinion is not\nmine. And to that I would add that, while I myself possess a reputation\nfor Liberal and progressive views, I possess that reputation for the\nvery reason that I can respect _real_ aristocrats. For instance, my\ndear sir\" (the latter term was so heatedly uttered that Bazarov raised\nhis eyebrows), \"for instance, my dear sir, take the aristocracy of\nEngland. While yielding upon their rights not an iota, they yet know\nhow to respect the rights of others. While demanding fulfilment of\nobligations due to themselves, they yet fulfil their own obligations.\nAnd for those reasons it is to her aristocratic caste that England\nstands indebted for her freedom. It is because the English aristocratic\ncaste itself supports that freedom.\"\n\n\"A tale which we have heard many times before!\" commented Bazarov. \"But\nwhat are you seeking to prove?\"\n\n\"I am seeking to prove this,\" replied Paul Petrovitch. \"That without\na certain sense of personal dignity, without a sense of self-respect\n(both of which senses are inborn in the true aristocrat), the social\nedifice, the _bien public_, cannot rest upon a durable basis. It is\n_personality_ that matters, my dear sir: and the human personality\nrequires to be as firm as a rock, in that there rests upon it the\nentire structure of society. For example, I know that you ridicule\nmy customs, my dress, my fastidious tastes. Yet do those very things\nproceed from that sense of duty--yes, of duty, I repeat--to which I\nhave just alluded. In other words, I may live in the depths of the\ncountry, yet I do not let myself go. For I respect in myself the man.\"\n\n\"Allow me, Paul Petrovitch,\" said Bazarov. \"You say that you respect\nyourself. Very good. Yet you can sit there with your hands folded!\nHow will _that_ benefit the _bien public_, seeing that inaction would\nscarcely seem to argue self-respect?\"\n\nPaul Petrovitch blanched a little.\n\n\"That is another question altogether,\" he said. \"However, I do not\nfeel called upon to explain the reason why I sit with my hands folded\n(according to your own estimable term). It will suffice merely to\nremark that in the aristocratic idea there is contained a _principle_,\nand that nowadays men who live without principles are as destitute of\nmorality as they are of moral substance. The same thing did I say to\nArkady on the day after his arrival, and I say it now to you. You agree\nwith me, Nikolai, do you not?\"\n\nNikolai Petrovitch nodded assent, while Bazarov exclaimed:\n\n\"The aristocratic idea, forsooth! Liberalism, progress, principles!\nWhy, have you ever considered the vanity of those terms? The Russian of\nto-day does not need them.\"\n\n\"Then what, in your opinion, does he need? To listen to you, one would\nsuppose that we stood wholly divorced from humanity and humanity's\nlaws; whereas, pardon me, the logic of history demands----\"\n\n\"What has that logic to do with us? We can get on quite well without\nit.\"\n\n\"How can we do so?\"\n\n\"Even as I have said. When you want to put a piece of bread into your\nmouth do you need logic for the purpose? What have these abstractions\nto do with ourselves?\"\n\nPaul Petrovitch waved his hand in disgust.\n\n\"I cannot understand you,\" he said. \"You seem to me to be insulting\nthe Russian people. How you or any one else can decline to recognise\nprinciples and precepts is a thing which passes my comprehension. For\nwhat other basis for action in life have we got?\"\n\nArkady put in a word.\n\n\"Both I and Bazarov have told you,\" he said, \"that we recognise no\nauthority of any sort.\"\n\n\"Rather, that we recognise no basis for action save the useful,\"\ncorrected Bazarov. \"At present the course most useful is denial.\nTherefore we deny.\"\n\n\"Deny everything?\"\n\n\"Deny everything.\"\n\n\"What? Both poetry and art and--I find it hard to express it?----\"\n\n\"I repeat, _everything_,\" said Bazarov with an ineffable expression of\n_insouciance_.\n\nPaul Petrovitch stared. He had not quite expected this. For his part,\nArkady reddened with pleasure.\n\n\"Allow me,\" interposed Nikolai Petrovitch. \"You say that you deny\neverything--rather, that you would consign everything to destruction.\nBut also you ought to construct.\"\n\n\"That is not our business,\" said Bazarov. \"First must the site be\ncleared.\"\n\n\"Yes; for the present condition of the people demands it,\" affirmed\nArkady. \"And that demand we are bound to fulfil, seeing that no one\nhas the right merely to devote himself to the satisfaction of his own\npersonal egotism.\"\n\nWith this last Bazarov did not seem altogether pleased, since the\nphrase smacked too much of philosophy--rather, of \"Romanticism,\" as\nBazarov termed that science; but he did not trouble to confute his\npupil.\n\n\"No, no!\" Paul Petrovitch exclaimed with sudden heat. \"I _cannot_\nbelieve that gentlemen of your type possess sufficient knowledge of the\npeople to be rightful representatives of its demands and aspirations.\nFor the Russian people is not what you think it to be. It holds\ntraditions sacred, and is patriarchal, and cannot live without faith.\"\n\n\"I will not dispute that,\" observed Bazarov. \"Nay, I will even agree\nthat you are right.\"\n\n\"And, granting that I am right----\"\n\n\"You have proved nothing.\"\n\n\"Yes, proved nothing,\" echoed Arkady with the assurance of a\nchess-player who, having foreseen a dangerous move on the part of his\nopponent, awaits the attack with expert composure.\n\n\"But how have I proved nothing?\" muttered Paul Petrovitch, rather taken\naback. \"Do you mean to say that you are opposed to, not in favour of,\nthe people?\"\n\n\"Good gracious! Do not the common folk believe, when it thunders, that\nthe Prophet Elijah is going up to Heaven in his chariot? You and I do\nnot agree with that? The point is that the people is Russian, and that\nI am the same.\"\n\n\"Not after what you have just said! Henceforth must I decline to\nrecognise you as any countryman of mine.\"\n\nWith a sort of indolent _hauteur_ Bazarov replied:\n\n\"With his own hand did my grandfather guide the plough. Ask, therefore,\nof your favourite peasant which of us two--you or myself--he rates most\ntruly as his countryman. Why, you do not know even how to speak to him!\"\n\n\"And you, while speaking to him, despise him.\"\n\n\"Should he merit contempt, yes. Reprobate, therefore, my views as much\nas you like, but who told you that they have come to me fortuitously\nrather than been derived from the very national spirit of which you are\nso ardent an upholder?\"\n\n\"Phaugh! We need you Nihilists, do we not?\"\n\n\"Not ours is it to decide the need or otherwise, seeing that even a man\nlike yourself considers that he has a use.\"\n\n\"Gentlemen, gentlemen!\" interposed Nikolai Petrovitch as he rose to his\nfeet. \"I beg of you to indulge in no personalities!\"\n\nPaul Petrovitch smiled. Then, laying his hand upon his brother's\nshoulder, he forced him to resume his seat.\n\n\"Do not be alarmed,\" he said. \"That very sense of dignity at which this\ngentleman pokes such bitter fun will keep me from forgetting myself.\"\n\nAnd he turned to Bazarov again.\n\n\"Do you suppose your doctrine to be a new one?\" he continued. \"If so,\nyou are wasting your time. More than once has the Materialism which you\npreach been mooted; and each time it has been proved bankrupt.\"\n\n\"Another foreign term!\" muttered Bazarov. He was now beginning to lose\nhis temper, and his face had turned a dull, copperish tint. \"In the\nfirst place, we Nihilists preach nothing at all. For to preach is not\nour custom.\"\n\n\"What, then, is your custom?\"\n\n\"To proclaim facts such as that our civil servants accept bribes, that\nwe lack highways, commerce, and a single upright judge, and that----\"\n\n\"Of course, of course! In other words, you and yours are to act as our\n'censors' (I believe that to be the correct term?). Well, I agree with\nmany of your censures, but----\"\n\n\"Other tenets which we hold are that to chatter, and to do nothing but\nchatter, concerning our differences is not worth the trouble, seeing\nthat it is a pursuit which merely leads to pettiness and doctrinairism;\nthat beyond question are our so-called leaders and censors not worth\ntheir salt, seeing that they engage in sheer futilities, and waste\ntheir breath on discussions on art and still life and Parliamentarism\nand legal points and the devil only knows what, when all the time it is\nthe bread of subsistence alone that matters, and we are being stifled\nwith gross superstition, and all our commercial enterprises are failing\nfor want of honest directors, and the freedom of which the Government\nis for ever prating is destined never to become a reality, for the\nreason that, so long as the Russian peasant is allowed to go and drink\nhimself to death in a dram-shop, he is ready to submit to any sort of\ndespoilment.\"\n\n\"You have decided, then, you feel conscious, that your true _m\u00e9tier_ is\nto apply yourselves seriously to nothing?\"\n\n\"Even so,\" came the sullen reply, for Bazarov had suddenly become vexed\nwith himself for having exposed his mind with such completeness to this\n_barin_.\n\n\"You have decided merely to deny everything?\"\n\n\"We have decided merely to deny everything.\"\n\n\"And that you call Nihilism?\"\n\n\"That we call Nihilism.\" In Bazarov's repetition of Paul Petrovitch's\nwords there echoed, this time, a note of pride.\n\nPaul Petrovitch knit his brows.\n\n\"So, so!\" he said in a voice that was curiously calm. \"Nihilism\nis designed to combat our every ill, and you alone are to act as\nour saviours and our heroes! Well, well! But in what consider you\nyourselves and your censorious friends to excel the rest of us? For you\nchatter as much as does every one else.\"\n\n\"No, no!\" muttered Bazarov. \"At least we are not guilty of _that_,\nhowever we may err in other ways.\"\n\n\"You do things, then? At all events, you are preparing to do things?\"\n\nBazarov did not reply, although, in his excitement, Paul Petrovitch had\nstarted up and then quickly recovered his self-command.\n\n\"H'm!\" continued Paul Petrovitch. \"With you to act is to demolish.\nBut how is such demolition to benefit when you do not even know its\npurpose?\"\n\n\"We demolish because we are a force,\" interposed Arkady.\n\nPaul Petrovitch stared--then smiled.\n\n\"And a force need render account to no one,\" added Arkady with a\nself-conscious straightening of his form.\n\n\"Fool!\" gasped Paul Petrovitch. Evidently he could contain himself\nno longer. \"Have you ever considered _what_ you are maintaining with\nyour miserable creed? Even an angel would lose patience! 'A force,'\nforsooth! You might as well say that the wild Kalmuck, or the barbaric\nMongol, represents a force. What boots such a force? Civilisation and\nits fruits are what we value. And do not tell me that those fruits\nare to be overlooked, seeing that even the meanest _barbouilleur_,[3]\nthe meanest piano-player who ever earned five kopecks a night, is of\nmore use to society than you. For men of that kind at least stand for\nculture rather than for some rude, Mongolian propelling-power. Yes, you\nmay look upon yourselves as 'the coming race,' yet you are fit but to\nsit in a Kalmuck shanty. 'A force,' forsooth! Good and 'forceful' sirs,\nI beg to tell you that you number but four men and a boy, whereas those\nothers number millions, and are folk of the kind who will not permit\nsuch as _you_ to trample upon their sacred beliefs, but will first\ntrample upon your worthy selves.\"\n\n\"Let them trample upon us,\" retorted Bazarov. \"We are more in number\nthan you think.\"\n\n\"What? You really believe that you will succeed in inoculating the\nnation as a whole?\"\n\n\"From a little candle,\" replied Bazarov, \"there arose, as you know, the\nconflagration of Moscow.\"[4]\n\n\"A pride almost Satanic in its nature, and then banter! And thus you\nwould seek to attract our youth, _thus_ you would attempt to win the\ninexperienced hearts of our boys! For sitting beside you is one of\nthose very boys, and he is absolutely worshipping you!\" (Upon this\nArkady knit his brows, and averted his head a little.) \"Yes, the\ncanker has spread far already. For instance, they tell me that in Rome\nour artists decline to enter the Vatican, and look upon Raphael as\nnext-door to a fool, just because he is an 'authority'! Yet those very\nartists are themselves so barren and impotent that their fancy cannot\nrise above 'Girls at Fountains,' and so forth, villainously executed!\nAnd such artists you account fine fellows, I presume?\"\n\n\"Like those artists,\" said Bazarov, \"I consider Raphael to be worth not\na copper groat. And as for the artists themselves, I appraise them at\nabout a similar sum.\"\n\n\"Bravo, bravo!\" cried Paul Petrovitch. \"Listen, O Arkady--listen to\nthe way in which the young men of the present day ought to express\nthemselves! Surely our youth will now rally to your side? For once upon\na time they had to go to school, since they did not like to be taken\nfor dunces, and therefore worked at their studies; but now they have\nbut to say: 'Everything in the world is rubbish,' and, behold! the\ntrick is done. They consider that delightful--and naturally! In other\nwords, the blockheads of former days are become the Nihilists of the\npresent.\"\n\n\"Your self-sufficiency--I mean, your self-respect--is carrying you\naway,\" Bazarov remarked nonchalantly (as for Arkady, his eyes had\nflashed, and his whole form was quivering with indignation). \"But our\ndispute has gone far enough. Let us end it. Whenever you may feel that\nyou can point out to me a single institution in our family or our\npublic life which does not call for complete and unsparing rejection, I\nshall be pleased to accept your view.\"\n\n\"Of institutions of that kind I could cite you millions,\" exclaimed\nPaul Petrovitch. \"For example, take the village commune.\"\n\nBazarov's lips twisted themselves into a contemptuous smile.\n\n\"The village commune,\" said he, \"is a subject which you would do better\nto discuss with your brother, since he is learning by experience the\nmeaning of that commune, and of its circular guarantee, and of its\nenforced sobriety and other contrivances.\"\n\n\"Take the family, then--yes, take the family, since at least among the\npeasantry it is still a surviving institution.\"\n\n\"And that question, too, I should imagine were best not dissected by\nyou in detail. But see here, Paul Petrovitch. Allow yourself a minimum\nof two days to think over these things (you will need quite that amount\nof time to do so); and cite to yourself in succession our various\nsocial conditions, and give them your best attention. Meanwhile Arkady\nand myself will go and----\"\n\n\"Go and make sport of everything, I presume?\"\n\n\"No, go and dissect frogs. Come, Arkady! _Au revoir_, gentlemen.\"\n\nAnd the two friends departed. Left alone, the brothers looked at one\nanother.\n\n\"So,\" at last said Paul Petrovitch, \"you see the young men of the\nday--you see our successors!\"\n\n\"Our successors--yes,\" re-echoed Nikolai Petrovitch despondently.\nThroughout the conversation he had been sitting simply on pins and\nneedles; throughout it he had dared do no more than throw an occasional\npained glance at Arkady. \"My brother, there came to me just now a\ncurious reminiscence. It was of a quarrel which once I had with my\nmother. During the contest she raised a great outcry, and refused to\nlisten to a single word I said; until at length I told her that for\nher to understand me was impossible, seeing that she and I came of\ndifferent generations. Of course this angered her yet more, but I\nthought to myself: 'What else could I do? The pill must have been a\nbitter one, but it was necessary that she should swallow it.' And now\n_our_ turn is come; now is it for _us_ to be told by our heirs that we\ncome of a different generation from theirs, and must kindly swallow the\npill.\"\n\n\"You are too magnanimous and retiring,\" expostulated Paul Petrovitch.\n\"For my part, I feel sure that we are more in the right than these\ntwo youngsters, even though we may express ourselves in old-fashioned\nterms, and lack their daring self-sufficiency. Indeed, what a puffed-up\ncrowd is the youth of to-day! Should you ask one of them whether he\nwill take white wine or red, he will reply, in a bass voice, and with\na face as though the whole universe were looking at him: 'Red is my\ncustomary rule.'\"\n\n\"Should you like some more tea?\" interrupted Thenichka, who had been\npeeping through the doorway, but had not dared to enter during the\nprogress of the dispute.\n\n\"No,\" was Nikolai Petrovitch's reply as he rose to meet her. \"So you\ncan order the _samovar_ to be removed.\"\n\nMeanwhile, with a brief \"_Bon soir_,\" Paul Petrovitch betook himself to\nhis study.\n\n\n[1] Ludwig B\u00fcchner (1824-1899), German physician and materialist\nphilosopher.\n\n[2] _i.e._ the census-taking of the serf population.\n\n[3] Scribbler.\n\n[4] In 1812.\n\n\n\n\nXI\n\n\nHalf an hour later Nikolai Petrovitch sought his favourite arbour.\nDespondent thoughts were thronging through his brain, for the rift\nbetween himself and his son was only too evident. Also, he knew that\nthat rift would widen from day to day. For nothing had he spent whole\ndays, during those winters in St. Petersburg, in the perusal of modern\nworks! For nothing had he listened to the young men's discourses! For\nnothing had he been delighted when he had been able to interpolate a\nword into their tempestuous debates!\n\n\"My brother says that we are more in the right than they,\" he\nreflected. \"And certainly I too can say without vanity that I believe\nthese young fellows to stand at a greater distance from the truth than\nourselves. Yet also I believe that they have in them something which\nwe lack--something which gives them an advantage over us. What is that\nsomething? Is it youth? No, it is not youth alone. Is it that there\nhovers about them less of the _barin_ than hovers about ourselves?\nPossibly!\"\n\nBending his head, he passed his hand over his face.\n\n\"Yet to reject poetry!\" he muttered. \"To fail to sympathise with art\nand nature!\"\n\nAnd he gazed around as though he were trying to understand how any\none could be out of sympathy with the natural world. Evening was just\nclosing in, and the sun sinking behind a small aspen copse which,\nsituated half a verst from the garden, was trailing long shadows over\nthe motionless fields. Along the narrow, dark track beside the copse\na peasant on a white pony was trotting; and though the pair were\novershadowed by the trees, the rider was as clearly visible, even to a\npatch on his shoulder, as the twinkling legs of his steed. Piercing\nthe tangled aspens, the sun's beams were bathing the trunks in so\nbrilliant a glow that trunks and beams were one bright mass, and only\nthe foliage on the boughs above formed a dusky blur against the lighter\ntints of the flame-coloured sky. Overhead bats were whirling; the wind\nhad sunk to rest; a few late-homing bees were buzzing somnolently,\nsluggishly amid the lilac blossoms; and a pillared swarm of gnats was\ndancing over a projecting bough.\n\n\"O God, how fair!\" was Nikolai's involuntary thought as his lips\nbreathed a favourite couplet.\n\nSuddenly he remembered Arkady and _Stoff und Kraft_; and though\nhe continued to sit where he was, he quoted poetry no more, but\nsurrendered his mind wholly to the play of his lonely, irregular,\nmournful thoughts. At all times he was a man fond of dreaming; and\nto this tendency his life in the country had added confirmation. To\nthink of what only a short while ago he had been dreaming as he waited\nfor his son on the post-house verandah! For since that hour a change\nhad come about, and in the vague relations between himself and his\nson there had dawned a more definite phase. Next, he saw before him\nhis dead wife. Yet he saw her, not as she had appeared to him during\nthe later years of her life--that is to say, as a kindly, thrifty\n_ch\u00e2telaine_--but as a young girl slim of figure and innocently\ninquiring of eye. Yes, there flitted before his vision a picture only\nof neatly plaited tresses falling over a childish neck. And he thought\nof his first meeting with her when, as a student, he had encountered\nher on the staircase leading to his suite of rooms. He remembered how,\nhaving accidentally brushed against her, he had stopped to apologise,\nbut had only succeeded in muttering \"Pardon, _monsieur_\"; where-upon\nshe had bowed, and smiled, and fled as in sudden alarm--but only\nto turn, the next moment, at the bend of the staircase, to look\nswiftly back, and then, as swiftly, to blush, and assume a more demure\ndemeanour. Ah, those first timid meetings, those half-spoken words,\nthose bashful smiles, those alternate fits of rapture and despair, that\ncourtship that was destined to be crowned with swooning joy! Whither\nwas it all fled? True, she had become his wife, and had conferred upon\nhim such happiness as falls to the lot of few men on earth; but ever\nthe thought recurred to him, and recurred again: \"Why could those days\nof sweetness not have lasted for ever, so that we might have lived a\nlife which should never have known death?\"\n\nHe made no attempt to co-ordinate his thoughts. The predominant feeling\nin his mind was that he would give worlds to be able to connect himself\nwith those blessed days by something stronger than the mere power of\nmemory. He wanted to feel his Maria near him once more, to scent her\ndear breath. A curious mood had him in its grip.\n\n\"Nikolai Petrovitch!\" came the voice of Thenichka from a spot somewhere\nin the vicinity. \"Where are you?\"\n\nAs he heard the call, a feeling that was neither vexation nor shame\npassed over him. No comparison between his dead wife and Thenichka was\npossible, yet he gave a start, and felt a passing regret that Thenichka\nhad seized _that_ moment to seek him. For in some way did the sound\nof her voice bring back to him his grey hairs, his old age, all that\nconstituted the present. So for an instant the enchanted world which\nhe had just entered, and which he had just seen emerge from the misty\nwaves of the past, quivered--then disappeared.\n\n\"I am here, Thenichka,\" he called. \"Please go away. I will come\npresently.\"\n\n\"Another reminder that I am a _barin_,\" he reflected.\n\nThenichka retired, and suddenly he became aware of the fact that since\nthe moment when he had sunk into a reverie nightfall had come. Yes,\nall around him there lay a motionless obscurity, with, gleaming amid\nit, as a small, pale blur, Thenichka's face. Rising, he started to\nreturn to the house, but his unstrung nerves could not calm themselves,\nand, glancing now at the ground, now towards the heavens where there\nswarmed myriads of twinkling stars, he fell to pacing the garden. He\ncontinued this pacing until he was almost worn out; for still did the\nvague, despondent, insistent sense of agitation refuse to leave his\nbreast. Could Bazarov have divined his thoughts, how the Nihilist would\nhave laughed! And even Arkady would have condemned him. For from the\neyes of Nikolai Petrovitch--from the eyes of a man of forty-four who\nwas the proprietor of an estate and a household--there were welling\nslow, uncalled-for tears. This was a hundred times worse than the\n'cello-playing!\n\nAnd still he continued his pacing, for he could not make up his mind\nto enter the peaceful, inviting retreat which beckoned to him so\ncheerfully with its lighted windows, and to leave the darkness of the\ngarden, to forego the touch of fresh air upon his face, to throw off\nhis present mood of sadness and emotion.\n\nAt a turn in the path he encountered Paul Petrovitch.\n\n\"What is the matter with you?\" Paul inquired. \"You are looking as white\nas a ghost. Are you ill? Why not go to bed?\"\n\nNikolai Petrovitch explained to him in a few words his frame of\nmind--then moved towards the house. Paul Petrovitch sauntered down\ntowards the other end of the garden, and ever and anon, as he did so,\nindulged in wrapt contemplation of the heavens. Yet, save for the\nreflection of the starlight, there was nothing to be seen in his dark,\nhandsome eyes; for he had not been born a Romanticist, and his drily\nfastidious, passionate, Frenchified, misanthropic soul was incapable\nof castle-building.\n\n\"I tell you what,\" Bazarov said to Arkady the same night. \"A splendid\nidea has come into my head. You know that to-day your father said that\na certain eminent relation had sent him an invitation which he had no\nintention of accepting. Well, how would it be if you and I were to\naccept it, seeing that you too have been included in the honour? The\nweather has turned beautiful, and we might drive over and look at the\ntown, and thus, incidentally, secure a few days' uninterrupted talk\ntogether.\"\n\n\"Should you then return here?\"\n\n\"No. I should go on to my father's. You see, he lives thirty versts\naway only, and it is a long time since last I saw either him or my\nmother. Moreover, the old folk deserve to be humoured a little, seeing\nthat they have been very good to me--especially my father--and that I\nam their only son.\"\n\n\"And shall you stay long?\"\n\n\"No. Staying in that place is dull work.\"\n\n\"Then pay us a second visit on your way back?\"\n\n\"I will if possible. We will go, then, eh?\"\n\n\"At your pleasure,\" Arkady replied with a show of indifference. But, as\na matter of fact, he was delighted with Bazarov's proposal; and only\nthe thought that he must keep up his \"Nihilism\" prevented him from\nmanifesting his feelings.\n\nSo, the next day, the pair set out for the town of ----; while with one\nconsent the youth of Marino broke into lamentations over their going,\nand Duniasha even went so far as to weep. Only their elders breathed\nmore freely.\n\n\n\n\nXII\n\n\nThe town of ----, whither our friends now proceeded, lay under the\ndominion of one of those young, progressive, despotic provincial\ngovernors who afflict Russia in an unending sequence. As early as the\nfirst year of his rule this particular potentate had succeeded in\nquarrelling, not only with the President of the Provincial Council (who\nwas a retired staff officer, a horse breeder, and an agriculturist),\nbut also with his whole gubernatorial staff of _tchinovniks_: with\nthe result that at the time of our story the commotion therefrom had\nattained a pitch which had just necessitated the sending down of\na commissary empowered to hold an investigation. The Government's\nchoice for this purpose had fallen upon Matvei Ilyitch Koliazin, the\nson of the Koliazin who had once acted as guardian to the brothers\nKirsanov, and a man of the younger school--that is to say, a man who,\nthough a little over forty, still aimed at attaining the dignity of a\nstatesman, and having a breast covered with stars (including at least\none of a foreign minor order), and who, also like the Governor whom\nhe had come to examine, was accounted a Progressive, and held a high\nopinion of himself. Yet never did Matvei allow his boundless vanity\nto prevent him from affecting a stereotyped air of simplicity and\ngood humour, or from listening indulgently to anything that might be\nsaid to him, or from cultivating so pleasant a laugh that everywhere\nhe contrived to pass for \"not a bad sort of a fellow.\" True, he could\non important occasions (if I may quote the trite saying) \"make dust\nfly\" (\"Energy is indispensable for a State worker,\" was a frequent saw\nof his--\"_L'\u00e9nergie est la premi\u00e8re qualit\u00e9 d'un homme d'\u00e9tat_\");\nyet almost invariably did he end by being set down as a fool, while\n_tchinovniks_ of more experience rode roughshod over him. Amongst other\nthings, he had a custom of expressing a great respect for Guizot,[1]\nand also of striving to convince every one that he (Koliazin) was not\none of \"your men of routine, your retired bureaucrats,\" but, rather, a\nman who noted \"every new and more important phenomenon of our social\nlife.\" In fact, such phrases he had at his finger ends, and also he\nstudied (though with a sort of careless pomposity only) the development\nof contemporary literature. Lastly, it not seldom befell that, on\nmeeting a street procession of students, he would, though maturer of\nyears than the majority of its members, add himself to its ranks. In\nshort, only his circumstances and his epoch caused Matvei Ilyitch in\nany way to differ from those officials of the Alexandrine period who,\nbefore setting out to attend a reception at Madame Svietchin's[2] (then\nresident in St. Petersburg), would read a few pages of Condillac's[3]\nworks. Yet, though an adroit courtier, Matvei was a mere glittering\nfraud, since, save that he knew how to hold his own against all comers\n(though, certainly, that is a great achievement in life), he was, in\nall matters of State, a complete stranger to common sense.\n\nOn the present occasion he welcomed Arkady with all the _bonhomie_,\nall the jocosity, of an \"enlightened\" bigwig. Nevertheless his face\nfell a little when he learned that the other relatives whom he had\ninvited had preferred remaining in the country. \"Your father always\nwas a queer fish,\" he remarked as he parted the tails of a velvet\n\"cutaway.\" And, having said this, he turned to a young _tchinovnik_ in\na tightly buttoned uniform, and asked him irritably what he wanted;\nat which onslaught the young _tchinovnik_ (whose lips looked as\nthough a confirmed habit of keeping their own counsel had gummed them\npermanently together) straightened himself with a sharp, apprehensive\nlook at his superior. But, once Matvei had effected this \"settling\" of\nhis subordinate, the great man paid the little one no further attention.\n\nIn passing, I may observe that to most of our bigwigs is this species\nof \"settling\" very dear, and that many are the expedients resorted\nto for its achievement. Particularly is the following method \"quite\na favourite,\" as the English say--in other words, much in request.\nSuddenly a given bigwig will cease to be able to grasp with his\nintelligence even the simplest sentence, and assume an air of abysmal\ndensity. For example, he will inquire what the day of the week may be,\nand be told (with great and stammering deference) that the day is, say,\nFriday.\n\n\"What?\" will roar the bigwig with an air of being forced to strain his\nears to the utmost. \"Eh? what do you say?\"\n\n\"I-It is F-Friday, your E-E-Excellency.\"\n\n\"Eh, what? Friday? What mean you by Friday?\"\n\n\"Y-Your Excellency, F-Friday is, is--F-F-Friday is a day in the week.\"\n\n\"Come, come! You need not have taken so much time to tell me _that_.\"\n\nMatvei Ilyitch was just such a bigwig, although he called himself a\nLiberal.\n\n\"My good fellow,\" he now continued to Arkady, \"I should advise you to\ngo and leave your card upon the Governor. Of course you understand that\nmy reason for counselling you to adopt this procedure is, not that I\nin any way hold with any bygone ideas about kow-towing to authority,\nbut, rather, because the Governor is a good fellow, and I know that you\nwould like to see a little society. For you too are not a bear, I hope?\nNo? Well, the Governor is giving a grand ball the day after to-morrow.\"\n\n\"And shall you be there?\" asked Arkady.\n\n\"I shall, of course, receive tickets for it,\" replied Matvei Ilyitch\nwith an assumed air of regret. \"You dance, I presume?\"\n\n\"I do--though very badly.\"\n\n\"Never mind, never mind. There exists here plenty of good society, and\nit would never do for a young fellow like yourself to be a non-dancer.\nAgain I say this, not because I in any way revere antiquated notions,\nnor yet because I think that intellect ought to go kicking its heels\nabout, but because Byronism has become absurd--_il a fait son temps_.\"\n\n\"But I belong to neither the Byronists nor----\"\n\n\"Well, well! I will introduce you to some of our ladies--I myself will\ntake you under my wing.\" And Matvei Ilyitch smiled in a self-satisfied\nway. \"In fact, you shall have a gay time here.\"\n\nAt this point a servant entered to announce the President of the\nProvincial Treasury. The latter, a mild-eyed veteran with wrinkles\naround his lips and a great love for nature, was accustomed to remark\non summer days that \"of every little flower each little bee is now\ntaking its toll.\" So Arkady seized the occasion to depart.\n\nHe found Bazarov at the hotel where the pair were putting up, and had\ngreat difficulty in persuading him to join in the projected call upon\nthe Governor.\n\n\"Well, well!\" eventually said Bazarov. \"I have laid a hand upon the\ntow-rope, so it ill becomes me to complain of its weight. As we are\nhere to inspect the local lions, let us inspect them.\"\n\nTo the young men the Governor accorded a civil enough welcome, but\nneither bade them be seated nor set the example himself. A man in\na perpetual hurry and ferment, he, on rising in the morning, was\naccustomed to don a tight uniform and stiff collar, and then to give\nhimself up to such an orgy of orders-giving that he never finished\na single meal. As the result, he was known throughout the province\nas \"Bardeloue\"--in reference, be it said, not to the great French\npreacher,[4] but to _burda_, fermented liquor. After inviting Arkady\nand Bazarov to the coming ball, the Governor, two minutes later,\nrepeated the invitation as though he had never given it; while likewise\nhe mistook the pair for brothers, and addressed them throughout as \"the\nMessieurs _Kaiserov_.\"\n\nSubsequently, as the pair were proceeding homewards, a man of small\nstature, and dressed in a \"Slavophil\" costume, leapt from a passing\n_drozhki_, and, with a cry of \"Evgenii Vasilitch!\" flung himself upon\nBazarov.\n\n\"Is that you, Herr Sitnikov?\" remarked Bazarov without even checking\nhis stride. \"What chance brings you hither?\"\n\n\"A pure accident,\" was the other's reply as, turning to the _drozhki_,\nhe signed to the coachman to follow at a foot's pace. \"You see, I had\nbusiness to do with my father, and he invited me to pay him a visit.\"\nSitnikov hopped across a puddle. \"Also, on learning of your arrival,\nI have been to call at your place.\" (True enough, on subsequently\nreaching the hotel, the two friends found awaiting them Sitnikov's\nvisiting-card, with the corners turned down, and one side of it\ninscribed with his name in the French fashion, and the other with his\nname in Slavonic characters.)\n\n\"You are from the Governor's, I suppose?\" continued the little man. \"I\nsincerely hope not, however.\"\n\n\"Your hopes are vain.\"\n\n\"Then I too, alas, must pay him my _devoirs_. But first introduce me to\nyour friend.\"\n\n\"Sitnikov--Kirsanov,\" responded Bazarov without halting.\n\n\"Delighted!\" minced Sitnikov as he stepped back, struck an attitude,\nand hurriedly doffed his super-elegant gloves. \"I have heard much of\nyou, Monsieur Kirsanov. I too am an old acquaintance--I might even say,\nan old pupil--of Evgenii Vasilitch's. Through him it was that I came by\nmy spiritual regeneration.\"\n\nArkady glanced at Bazarov's \"old pupil,\" and saw that he had small,\ndull, pleasant, nervous features; also that his narrow, sunken eyes\nexpressed a great restlessness, and that his lips were parted in a\nperpetual smile of a wooden and ingratiating order.\n\n\"Do you know,\" Sitnikov continued, \"when Evgenii Vasilitch first told\nme that we ought to ignore every species of authority I experienced\na sense of rapture, I felt as though I had suddenly ripened. 'Ah,' I\nthought, 'at last have I found my man!' By the way, Evgenii Vasilitch,\nyou _must_ come and see a certain lady of my acquaintance--one who,\nbeyond all others, is the person to understand you, and to look upon\nyour coming as a red-letter event. Perhaps you have heard of her\nalready?\"\n\n\"No. Who is she?\" asked Bazarov reluctantly.\n\n\"A Madame Kukshin--a Madame, I should say, _Evdoksia_ Kukshin. And she\nis not merely a remarkable character and a woman of light and leading;\nshe is also representative of the _\u00e9mancip\u00e9e_, in the best sense of the\nword. But look here. How would it be if all three of us were to go and\nsee her? She lives only two steps away, and she would give us luncheon.\nYou have not lunched already, I presume?\"\n\n\"No, we have not.\"\n\n\"Then the arrangement would suit us all. By the way, she is\nindependent, but a married woman.\"\n\n\"Good-looking?\" queried Bazarov.\n\n\"N-No--one could not exactly say that.\"\n\n\"Then why ask us to go and see her?\"\n\n\"Ah, ha! You _will_ have your jest, I see. But remember that she will\nstand us a bottle of champagne.\"\n\n\"The practicality of the man!\"\n\nSitnikov gave a shrill giggle.\n\n\"Shall we go?\" he added.\n\n\"I cannot decide.\"\n\nHere Arkady put in a word.\n\n\"We have come to inspect the local people,\" he remarked, \"so let us\ninspect them.\"\n\n\"True enough,\" seconded Sitnikov. \"And, of course, _you_ must come,\nMonsieur Kirsanov. We could not go without you.\"\n\n\"What? Are all three of us to descend upon her?\"\n\n\"What matter? She herself is an odd person.\"\n\n\"And you say that she will stand us a bottle of champagne.\"\n\n\"Yes; or even a bottle apiece,\" asserted Sitnikov. \"I will go bail upon\nthat.\"\n\n\"Go bail with what?\"\n\n\"With my head.\"\n\n\"Your purse would have been better; but lead on.\"\n\n\n[1] Fran\u00e7ois Pierre Guillaume Guizot (1787-1874), the great French\nminister, ambassador, _litt\u00e9rateur_, and educationalist.\n\n[2] Madame Svietchin (1782-1857), wife of the Russian General\nSvietchin. For more than forty years she maintained a famous salon.\n\n[3] Etienne Bonnot de Mably de Condillac (1715-1780), a French\nphilosopher who based knowledge solely upon the physical senses.\n\n[4] Louis Bourdaloue (1632-1704), a professor in the Jesuit College of\nBourges.\n\n\n\n\nXIII\n\n\nThe villa in which Avdotia, or Evdoksia, Nikitishna Kukshin resided\nwas one of the usual Moscow pattern, and stood in one of the recently\nconsumed streets (for as we know, every fifth year sees each of our\nprovincial capitals burnt to the ground) of the town of ----. Beside\nthe front door there hung (over a cracked, crooked visiting-card)\na bell-handle, while in the hall the visitors were met by a female\nwho constituted, not exactly a maidservant, but a mob-capped \"lady\ncompanion.\" And it need hardly be added that these two phenomena, the\nbell-handle and the \"lady companion,\" constituted clear evidence of the\n\"progressiveness\" of the hostess's views.\n\nOn Sitnikov inquiring whether Avdotia Nikitishna were within, a shrill\nvoice interrupted him from an adjoining room:\n\n\"Is that you, Victor? Pray enter.\"\n\nThe female in the mob-cap disappeared.\n\n\"I have not come alone,\" Sitnikov responded as, after an inquiring\nglance at Arkady and Bazarov, he divested himself of his greatcoat, and\nrevealed thereunder a sort of sack jacket.\n\n\"Never mind,\" the voice replied. \"_Entrez, s'il vous pla\u00eet._\"\n\nThe young men did as bidden, and found themselves in a room which\nresembled a workshop rather than a parlour. On tables were piled\npromiscuous papers, letters and Russian magazines (most of the\nlatter uncut); everywhere on the floor were to be seen gleaming the\nfag-ends of cigarettes; and on a leather-padded sofa a lady--youngish,\nflaxen-haired, and clad in a _n\u00e9glig\u00e9e_ soiled silk gown--was lolling\nin a semi-recumbent position. About her stumpy wrists were clasped a\nlarge pair of bracelets, and over her head was thrown a lace mantilla.\nRising, she draped her shoulders carelessly in a velvet tippet with\nfaded ermine trimming, and, saying indolently, \"Good day, Victor,\"\npressed Sitnikov's hand.\n\n\"Bazarov--Kirsanov,\" he said in abrupt imitation of the former;\nwhereupon she responded, \"How do you do?\" and then added, as she\nfixed upon Bazarov a pair of large eyes between which glimmered a\ncorrespondingly small, pink, upturned nose: \"I have met you before.\"\n\nThat said, she pressed his hand even as she had done Sitnikov's.\n\nBazarov frowned, for though the plain, insignificant features of\nthe emancipated lady contained nothing actually to repel, there was\nsomething in their mien which produced upon the beholder the sort of\nunpleasant impression which might have inclined him to ask her: \"Are\nyou hungry, or bored, or afraid? At all events, what is it you want?\"\nAlso, like Sitnikov, she kept pawing the air as she spoke, and her\nevery word, her every gesture, revealed such a lack of control as at\ntimes amounted to sheer awkwardness. In short, though she conceived\nherself to be just a simple, good-hearted creature, her bearing was of\nthe kind to lead the beholder to reflect that, no matter what she did,\nit was not what she had intended to do, and that everything was done\n(to use the children's term) \"on purpose\"--that is to say, non-simply\nand non-naturally.\n\n\"Yes, I have met you before, Bazarov,\" she repeated (like many other\ncontemporary females of Moscow and the provinces, she had adopted the\nfashion of calling men by their surnames alone on first introduction).\n\"Will you have a cigar?\"\n\n\"I thank you,\" interposed Sitnikov (who had deposited his person in an\narmchair, and crossed his legs). \"Also, pray give us some luncheon,\nfor we are absolutely ravenous. Also, you might order us a bottle of\nchampagne.\"\n\n\"You Sybarite!\" exclaimed Evdoksia with a smile (a smile always brought\nher upper gum prominently into view). \"Is he not, Bazarov?\"\n\n\"No; it is merely that I love the comforts of life,\" protested Sitnikov\npompously. \"Nor need that in any way prevent me from being a Liberal.\"\n\n\"But it does, it does,\" cried Evdoksia. However, she gave orders to\nher servant to see both to the luncheon and to the champagne. \"What is\n_your_ opinion on the matter?\" she added, turning to Bazarov. \"I feel\nconvinced that you share mine.\"\n\n\"No, I do not,\" he replied. \"On the contrary, I think that, even from\nthe chemical point of view, a piece of meat is better than a piece of\nbread.\"\n\n\"Then you study chemistry?\" she exclaimed. \"Chemistry is _my_ passion\nalso. In fact, I have invented a special liniment.\"\n\n\"A liniment? You?\"\n\n\"Yes, I. And please guess its use. It is for making unbreakable dolls\nand pipe-bowls. You see that, like yourself, I am of a practical turn\nof mind. But, as yet, I have not completed my course of study. It\nstill remains for me to read up my Liebig. _Apropos_, have you seen an\narticle in the _Viedomosti_ on Woman's Work--an article by Kisliakov?\nIf not, you should read it (for I presume that you take an interest in\nthe Feminine Question, and also in the Question of the Schools?). But\nwhat is your friend's line? _Apropos_, what is his name?\"\n\nThese questions Madame Kukshin, as it were, mouthed, and did so with an\naffected carelessness which waited for no reply, even as a spoilt child\npropounds conundrums to its nurse.\n\n\"My name is Arkady Nikolaievitch Kirsanov,\" Arkady answered for\nhimself. \"And my particular line is doing nothing at all.\"\n\nEvdoksia tittered.\n\n\"How nice!\" she exclaimed. \"Then you do not even smoke? Victor, I am\nfurious with you!\"\n\n\"Why?\" enquired Sitnikov.\n\n\"Because I have just heard that you are again standing up for Georges\nSand, that played-out woman. How is she even to be compared (that\ncreature, who lacks a single idea on education or physiology or\nanything else) with Emerson? In fact, I believe that never in her life\nhas she so much as _heard_ of embryology--though in these days no one\ncan get on without it.\" The speaker flung out her arms in an expressive\ngesture. \"But what a splendid article was that of Elisievitch's!\nHe is indeed a talented gentleman!\" (This was another habit of\nEvdoksia's--the habit of persistently using the term \"gentleman\" for\nthe ordinary word \"man\"). \"Bazarov, pray come and sit beside me on the\nsofa. You may not know it, but I am dreadfully afraid of you.\"\n\n\"Why are you afraid of me (if you will forgive my curiosity)?\"\n\n\"Because you are a dangerous gentleman--you are a critic so caustic\nthat in your presence my confusion leads me to begin speaking like\na lady-landowner of the Steppes. _Apropos_, I am a lady-landowner\nmyself; for, though I employ a local steward named Erothei (a sort of\nCooper's 'Pathfinder,' but compounded with a blend of independence in\nhis composition), I retain the ultimate reins of management in my own\nhands. But how unbearable this town is!--yes, even though I have made\nit my permanent home, seeing that nothing else was to be done!\"\n\n\"The town is what a town always is,\" remarked Bazarov indifferently.\n\n\"But its interests are so petty!\" continued Evdoksia.\n\n\"_That_ is what troubles me. Once upon a time I used to winter in\nMoscow, but now good Monsieur Kukshin has to dwell there alone. And\nMoscow itself is, is--well, not what it used to be. As a matter of\nfact, I contemplate going abroad. I have spent the whole year in making\nmy preparations for the journey.\"\n\n\"You will go to Paris, I presume?\"\n\n\"Yes, and to Heidelberg.\"\n\n\"Why to Heidelberg?\"\n\n\"Because there the great Herr Bunsen[1] has his home.\"\n\nBazarov could not think of a suitable reply.\n\n\"Do you know Pierre Sapozhnikov?\" continued she.\n\n\"No, I do not.\"\n\n\"He is always to be found at Lydia Khostatov's.\"\n\n\"Even with her I am not acquainted.\"\n\n\"Well, Sapozhnikov is going to escort me on my travels. For at least I\nam free--I have no children, thank God! Why I should have put in that\n'Thank God!' I scarcely know.\"\n\nShe rolled another cigarette between her nicotine-stained fingers,\nlicked it, placed it between her lips, and struck a match. The servant\nentered with a tray.\n\n\"Ah! Here comes luncheon! Will you have some? Victor, pray uncork the\nbottle. It is your function to do so.\"\n\n\"Mine, yes, mine,\" he hummed; then gave another of his shrill giggles.\n\n\"Have you any good-looking ladies in this town?\" Bazarov asked after a\nthird glassful of champagne.\n\n\"Yes,\" replied Evdoksia. \"But uniformly they are futile. For example, a\nfriend of mine, a Madame Odintsov, is not bad-looking, and has nothing\nagainst her except a doubtful reputation (a thing of no consequence\nin itself); but, alas! she combines with it such a complete lack of\nfreedom, or of breadth of view, or, in fact, of anything! The system\nof bringing up women needs a radical change. I myself have given much\nthought to the matter, and come to the conclusion that our women are\nill-educated.\"\n\n\"Yes; the only thing to be done with them is to hold them in contempt,\"\nagreed Sitnikov. To him any opportunity of despising, of expressing\nscornful sentiments, was the most agreeable of sensations. Yet, though\nhe thus chose women for his especial censure, he little suspected that\nbefore many months were over he himself would be grovelling at the feet\nof a wife--and doing so merely for the reason that she had been born a\nPrincess Durdoleosov!\n\n\"No, to none of them would our conversation convey anything,\" he\ncontinued. \"Nor is there a single one of them upon whom the attention\nof a serious-minded man would be anything but thrown away.\"\n\n\"Scarcely need they _desire_ to have anything conveyed to them by our\nconversation,\" remarked Bazarov.\n\n\"Of whom are you speaking?\" interposed Evdoksia.\n\n\"Of the smart women of the day.\"\n\n\"What? I suppose you agree with Proudhon's[2] opinion on the subject?\"\n\nBazarov drew himself up.\n\n\"I agree with no man's opinions,\" he remarked. \"I have some of my own.\"\n\n\"_A bas les autorit\u00e9s!_\" cried Sitnikov, delighted at this unlooked-for\nopportunity of showing off in the presence of the man whom he\nworshipped.\n\n\"But even Macaulay----\" began Madame Kukshin.\n\n\"_A bas_ Macaulay!\" roared Sitnikov. \"How can you defend those dolls of\nours?\"\n\n\"I am not defending them at all,\" said Madame Kukshin. \"I am merely\nstanding up for the rights of women--rights which I have sworn to\ndefend to the last drop of my blood.\"\n\n\"_A bas_----\" began Sitnikov--then paused. \"I do not reject them,\" he\nadded in a lower tone.\n\n\"But you _do_ reject them, for you are a Slavophil, as I can see very\nclearly.\"\n\n\"On the contrary, I am _not_ a Slavophil; although, of course, I----\"\n\n\"But you _are_ a Slavophil: you believe in the principles of the\n_Domostroi_,[3] and would like always to be holding over women a\nscourge.\"\n\n\"A scourge is not a bad thing in its proper place,\" observed Bazarov.\n\"But, seeing that we have reached the last drop of, of----\"\n\n\"Of what?\" said Evdoksia.\n\n\"Of champagne, most respected Avdotia Nikitishna--not of your blood.\"\n\n\"Never when I hear my sex abused can I listen with indifference,\"\nresumed Evdoksia. \"It is all too horrible, too horrible! Instead of\nattacking us, people ought to read Michel's[4] _De l'Amour_. What a\nwonderful work it is! Let us talk of love.\"\n\nShe posed her arm gracefully upon the tumbled cushions of the sofa.\n\nThere fell a sudden silence.\n\n\"What is there to say concerning love?\" at length said Bazarov. \"In\npassing, you mentioned a certain Madame Odintsov (I think that was the\nname?). Who is she?\"\n\n\"A very charming woman,\" squeaked Sitnikov, \"as well as clever, rich,\nand a widow. Unfortunately, she is not sufficiently _developed_, and\na closer acquaintance with our Evdoksia would do her a world of good.\nEvdoksia, I drink to your health! Let us sing the honours. 'Et toc, et\ntoc, et tin, tin, tin! Et toc, et toc, et tin, tin, tin!'\"\n\n\"You scamp, Victor!\"\n\nThe luncheon proved a lengthy affair, for to the first bottle of\nchampagne there succeeded a second, and to the latter a third, and to\nthat a fourth. Meanwhile Evdoksia kept up an unceasing flow of chatter,\nand received effective assistance from Sitnikov. In particular did\nthe pair discuss the nature of marriage (\"the outcome of prejudice\nand vice\"), the question whether people are born \"single,\" and the\nconsistency of \"individuality.\" Then Evdoksia seated herself at the\npiano, and, red in the face with wine which she had drunk, clattered\nher flat finger-nails upon the keys, and essayed hoarsely to sing,\nfirst of all some gipsy ditties, and then the ballad, \"Dreaming Granada\nlies asleep\"; while, throwing a scarf over his head to represent the\ndying lover, Sitnikov joined her at the words \"Your lips meet mine in a\nburning kiss.\"\n\nAt length Arkady could stand it no longer.\n\n\"Gentlemen,\" he exclaimed, \"this is sheer Bedlam!\"\n\nAs for Bazarov, he yawned, for he had done little more than interject\na satirical word or two--his attention had been devoted, rather, to\nthe champagne. At length he rose, and, accompanied by Arkady, left the\nhouse without so much as a word of farewell to the hostess. Sitnikov\npursued the pair.\n\n\"Ah, ha!\" he exclaimed as he skipped about the roadway. \"Did I not tell\nyou that she would prove a most remarkable personality? Would that more\nof our women were like her! In her way, she is a moral phenomenon.\"\n\n\"And your father's establishment?\" remarked Bazarov as he pointed\nto a tavern which they happened to be passing. \"Is that also a moral\nphenomenon?\"\n\nSitnikov vented another of his shrill giggles. But, being also ashamed\nof his origin, he felt at a loss whether to plume himself upon, or to\ntake offence at, Bazarov's unexpected pleasantry.\n\n\n[1] Robert Wilhelm Bunsen (1811-1899), chemist and physicist; inventor\nof Bunsen's burner and magnesium light; and originator (with Kirchhov)\nof spectrum analysis.\n\n[2] Pierre Joseph Proudhon (1809-1865), a French doctrinaire who taught\nthat anarchy is the culmination of all social progress.\n\n[3] A curious old sixteenth-century work which, usually attributed to\nthe monk Sylvester, purports to be a \"guide to household management,\"\nand, incidentally, gives a terrible picture of the power of the Russian\nhusband over his wife.\n\n[4] Louise Michel (1830-1906), a French anarchist long resident in\nLondon.\n\n\n\n\nXIV\n\n\nA few days later, the ball was held at the Governor's, and Matvei\nIlyitch figured thereat as the guest of honour. For his part, the\nPresident of the Provincial Council (who was at loggerheads with the\nGovernor) explained at large that only out of respect for Matvei had\nhe deigned to be present, while the Governor continued, even when\nstationary, his usual process of orders-giving. With Matvei's suavity\nof demeanour nothing could be compared save his pomposity. Upon every\nman he smiled--upon some with a hint of superciliousness, upon others\nwith a shade of deference; whilst to the ladies he bowed and scraped\n_en vrai chevalier fran\u00e7ais_, and laughed, throughout, the great,\nresonant, conspicuous laugh which a bigwig ought to do. Again, he\nclapped Arkady upon the back, addressed him loudly as \"young nephew,\"\nand honoured Bazarov (who had been with difficulty coaxed into an\nancient tail-coat) both with a distant, yet faintly condescending,\nglance which skimmed that individual's cheek, and with a vague,\nbut affable, murmur in which there could be distinguished only the\nfragments \"I,\" \"Yes,\" and \"'xtremely.\" Lastly, he accorded Sitnikov\na finger and a smile (in the very act, turning his head away), and\nbestowed upon Madame Kukshin (who had appeared minus a crinoline and\nin dirty gloves, but with a bird of paradise stuck in her hair) an\n\"_Enchant\u00e9_!\" The throng present was immense; nor was a sufficiency\nof cavaliers lacking. True, most of the civilian element crowded\nagainst the walls, but the military section danced with enthusiasm,\nespecially an officer who, being fresh from six weeks in Paris, where\nhe had become acquainted with daring cries of the type of \"Zut!\"\n\"Ah, fichtrrre!\" \"Pst, pst, mon bibi!\" and so forth, pronounced these\nquips to perfection, with true Parisian _chic_; while also he said\n\"_Si j'aurais_\" for \"_Si j'avais_,\" and \"_absolument_\" in the sense of\n\"certainly.\" In short, he employed that Franco-Russian jargon which\naffords the French such intense amusement whenever they do not think it\nmore prudent to assure their Russian friends that the latter speak the\ntongue of France _comme des anges_.\n\nAs we know, Arkady was a poor dancer, and Bazarov did not dance at all;\nwherefore the pair sought a corner, and were there joined by Sitnikov.\nSummoning to his visage his accustomed smile of contempt, and emitting\nremarks mordantly sarcastic in their nature, the great Sitnikov glanced\nhaughtily about him, and appeared to derive some genuine pleasure from\nthus striking an attitude. But suddenly his face underwent a change.\nTurning to Arkady, he said in a self-conscious way: \"Here is Madame\nOdintsov just entering.\"\n\nLooking up, Arkady beheld, halted in the doorway, a tall woman in\na black gown. In particular was he struck with the dignity of her\ncarriage, and with the manner in which her bare arms hung beside\nher upright figure. From her gleaming hair to her sloping shoulders\ntrailed sprays of fuchsia flowers, while quietly, intelligently--I say\n_quietly_, not dreamily--there gazed, with a barely perceptible smile,\nfrom under a white and slightly prominent forehead a pair of brilliant\neyes. In general, the countenance suggested latent, but gentle, kindly\nforce.\n\n\"Do you know her?\" Arkady inquired.\n\n\"I do--intimately,\" replied Sitnikov. \"Shall I introduce you?\"\n\n\"If you please; but only when this quadrille has come to an end.\"\n\nBazarov's attention also had been caught by this Madame Odintsov.\n\n\"What a face!\" he exclaimed. \"No other woman in the room has one\nanything like it.\"\n\nAs soon, therefore, as the quadrille was over, Sitnikov conducted\nArkady to Madame Odintsov; and though at first--whether through the\nexcessive \"intimacy\" of Sitnikov's acquaintance, or whether through the\nfact that he happened to stumble over his words--she gazed at him with\na shade of astonishment, she no sooner heard Arkady's family name than\nher face brightened, and she inquired whether he was the son of Nikolai\nPetrovitch.\n\n\"I am,\" replied Arkady.\n\n\"Then I have twice had the pleasure of meeting your father. Also, I\nhave heard much about him, and shall be most glad to know you.\"\n\nAt this point an aide-de-camp sidled up, and requested the honour of a\nquadrille: which request she granted.\n\n\"Then you dance?\" exclaimed Arkady, but with great deference.\n\n\"I do. What made you think that I do not? Is it that I look too old?\"\n\n\"Oh no, pardon me! By no means! Then perhaps I too might ask for a\nmazurka?\"\n\nSmiling indulgently, she replied, \"If you wish,\" and then looked at him\nnot so much in a \"superior\" manner as in that of a married sister who\nis regarding a very, very young brother. Though she was not greatly\nolder than Arkady (she had just attained her twenty-ninth year), her\npresence made him feel the veriest schoolboy, and caused the difference\nof years to seem infinitely greater than it was. Next, Matvei Ilyitch\napproached her with a majestic air and a few obsequious words;\nwhereupon Arkady moved away a little, while continuing to observe her.\nIn fact, not until the quadrille was over did he find himself able\nto withdraw his eyes from her bewitching person. Throughout, her\nconversation with her partner and the guest of honour was accompanied\nwith small movements of the head and eyes, and twice she uttered a\nlow laugh. True, her nose erred a little on the side of thickness\n(as do those of most Russian women), nor was the colour of her skin\nunimpeachable; yet Arkady came to the conclusion that never in his life\nhad he encountered a woman so charming of personality. Continuously\nthe sound of her voice murmured in his ears, and the very folds of her\ndress looked different from those of other women--they seemed to hang\nstraighter and more symmetrically, and her every movement was smooth\nand natural.\n\nNevertheless, when the strains of the mazurka struck up, and, reseating\nhimself beside his partner, he prepared to enter into conversation\nwith her, he felt a distinct touch of diffidence. Nor, though he kept\npassing his hand over his hair, could he find a word to say. However,\nthis timidity, this state of agitation, did not last long, for soon her\ncalmness infected him, and within a quarter of an hour he was talking\nto her of his father, his uncle, and life in St. Petersburg and the\ncountry. For her part, she listened with kindly interest, while gently\nopening and closing her fan. Thus only at moments when other cavaliers\ncame to ask her for dances (Sitnikov did this twice) did Arkady's\nchatter become interrupted; and whenever she returned to her place,\nto reseat herself with her bosom heaving not a whit more rapidly than\nit had done before, he would plunge into renewed conversation, so\ndelighted was he at the fact that he had found some one to sympathise\nwith him, to whom he could talk, at whose beautiful eyes and forehead\nand gentle, refined, intellectual features he could gaze at leisure.\nShe herself said little, but her every word showed a knowledge of life\nwhich pointed to the fact that already this young woman had thought and\nfelt much.\n\n\"Who was the man with you before Sitnikov brought you to me?\" she\ninquired.\n\n\"So you noticed my friend?\" exclaimed Arkady. \"Has he not a splendid\nface? His name is Bazarov.\"\n\nAnd, once launched upon the subject, Arkady descanted so fully, and\nwith such enthusiasm, that Madame Odintsov turned to observe his friend\nmore closely. But soon the mazurka began to draw to a close, and Arkady\nfound himself regretting the prospect of losing the companion with whom\nhe had spent such a pleasant hour. True, he had felt, throughout, that\nhe was being treated with condescension, and ought to be grateful; but\nupon young hearts such an obligation does not press with any great\nweight.\n\nThe music stopped with a jerk.\n\n\"_Merci_!\" said Madame Odintsov--then rose. \"You have promised to come\nand see me. Also, bring with you your friend, for I am filled with\ncuriosity to behold a man who has the temerity to believe in nothing.\"\n\nNext, the Governor approached Madame with a distraught air and an\nintimation that supper was ready; whereupon she took his proffered arm,\nand, as she departed, turned with a last smile and nod to Arkady, who,\nin answer, bowed and stood following her with his eyes. How straight\nher figure looked under the sheen of her black gown!\n\n\"Already she will have forgotten my existence,\" he thought to himself,\nwhile an exquisite humility pervaded his soul. Then he rejoined Bazarov\nin their joint corner.\n\n\"Well?\" his friend said. \"Have you enjoyed yourself? Some man or other\nhas just been telling me that the lady in question is---- But in all\nprobability the man was a fool. What do _you_ think of her?\"\n\n\"The allusion escapes me,\" replied Arkady.\n\n\"Come, come, young innocence!\"\n\n\"Or at all events your informant's meaning escapes me. Madame is nice,\nbut as cold and formal as, as----\"\n\n\"As a stagnant pool,\" concluded Bazarov. \"Yes, we all know the sort of\nthing. You say that she is cold, but that is purely a matter of taste.\nPerhaps you yourself like ice?\"\n\n\"Perhaps I do,\" the other muttered. \"But of such things I am no judge;\nand in any case she wishes to make your acquaintance as well as mine,\nand has asked me to bring you with me to call.\"\n\n\"The description of me which you gave is easily imagined! On the other\nhand, you did rightly to offer her us both, for no matter who she may\nbe--whether a provincial lioness or only an '_\u00e9mancip\u00e9e_' like the\nKukshin woman, she has at least such a pair of shoulders as I have not\nseen this many a day.\"\n\nArkady recoiled from this cynicism, yet, as often happens in such\ncases, started to reproach his friend for something wholly unconnected\nwith the utterance which had given umbrage.\n\n\"Why do you refuse women freedom of thought?\" he asked under his breath.\n\n\"For the reason, dear sir, that, according to my observation of life,\nno woman, unless she be a freak, thinks _with_ freedom.\"\n\nAnd here the conversation terminated, for supper had come to an end,\nand the friends departed. As they left the room Madame Kukshin followed\nthem with a nervous and wrathful, yet slightly apprehensive, smile in\nher eyes. The reason of this was that she felt wounded in her conceit\nat the fact that neither of the young men had taken any notice of her.\nNevertheless, she remained at the ball until most of the rest of the\ncompany had left; whereafter, it being four o'clock in the morning, she\ndanced a polka-mazurka, _\u00e0 la Parisienne_, with Sitnikov, and with this\nedifying spectacle brought the Governor's f\u00eate to a close.\n\n\n\n\nXV\n\n\n\"Now let us see to what category of mortals to assign this young\nperson,\" said Bazarov to Arkady as, on the following day, the pair\nmounted the staircase of the hotel where Madame Odintsov was staying.\n\"Somehow I seem to scent impropriety in the air.\"\n\n\"You surprise me!\" burst forth Arkady. \"Do _you_, Bazarov, do _you_\nhold with the narrow-minded morality which----\"\n\n\"Idiot!\" exclaimed Bazarov contemptuously. \"Do you not know that\nboth in our jargon and in the understanding of the ordinary person\nthe term 'improper' has now come to mean the same as 'proper'? In\nany case I seem to scent money here. You yourself told me, did you\nnot, that Madame's marriage was a very strange one?--though, for my\npart, I look upon marrying a rich old man as anything but a strange\nproceeding--rather, as a measure of prudence. True, I place little\nreliance upon the gossip of townsfolk, but at least I prefer to suppose\nthat that gossip has, as our cultured Governor would say, 'a basis in\nfact.'\"\n\nArkady did not respond, but knocked at the door of Madame's suite;\nand, the door having been opened, a liveried man-servant ushered the\nvisitors into a large, hideously furnished room of the type which\nis always to be found in Russian hotels--the only exception in the\npresent case being that the apartment was adorned with flowers.\nPresently Madame herself entered, clad in a plain morning gown, and\nlooking even younger in the spring sunlight than she had done in the\nballroom. Arkady duly presented Bazarov, and, as he did so, remarked\nwith surprise that his friend seemed confused, while Madame was as\nimperturbable as ever. This _gaucherie_ on his part Bazarov realised,\nand felt vexed at.\n\n\"Phaugh!\" he thought to himself. \"The idea that I should be afraid of a\nwoman!\"\n\nYet, like Sitnikov, he could only subside into a chair, and fall to\ntalking with an exaggerated emphasis to the woman who sat with her\nbrilliant eyes riveted with such attention upon him.\n\nAnna Sergievna Odintsov had had for father one Sergei Nikolaievitch\nLoktev, a well-known gambler, speculator, and beau. After fifteen years\nof flaunting it in St. Petersburg and Moscow, and dissipating his whole\nsubstance, he had been forced to retire to the country, where soon\nafterwards he had died and left to his daughter Anna (aged twenty) and\nhis daughter Katerina (aged twelve) only a small joint competence.\nAs for the girls' mother (who had come of the impoverished house of\nthe Princes X.), she had expired during the heyday of her husband's\ncareer in St. Petersburg. Anna's position after her father's death was\ntherefore a very difficult one, for the brilliant education which she\nhad received in the capital had in no way fitted her for the care of\na household and an estate, nor yet for the endurance of a life in the\ncountry. Moreover, she possessed not a single acquaintance in that\ncountry neighbourhood, nor any one to whom to turn for advice, since\nher father had done his best to avoid associating with his neighbours,\nin that he had despised them as much as they, in their several ways,\nhad despised him. Howbeit, Anna kept her head, and straightway sent\nfor her mother's sister, the Princess Avdotia Stepanovna X., who, a\nmalicious, presuming old woman, annexed, on the day of her arrival, all\nthe best rooms in the house, raged and stormed from morning till night,\nand even declined to walk in the garden unless she could be accompanied\nby her only serf, a sullen-looking lacquey who wore a faded green\nlivery, a blue collar, and a three-cornered hat. Nevertheless Anna put\nup with these tantrums of her aunt's, superintended the education of\nher sister, and resigned herself to the idea of living in seclusion for\nthe rest of her life. But fate had ordained otherwise. That is to say,\na certain Odintsov--a rich, bloated, unwieldy, soured, semi-imbecile\nhypochondriac of forty-six who was, nevertheless, neither stupid nor\ncruel--happened to see her, and became so enamoured that he offered her\nmarriage: and to this proposal she consented. For six years the pair\nlived together, before the husband died, leaving her all his property.\nThe following year she spent in the country; after which she went\nabroad with her sister--but only as far as Germany, since she quickly\nwearied of foreign parts, and was only too thankful to return to her\nbeloved Nikolsk\u00f6e, which lay some forty versts from the provincial town\nof ----. At Nikolsk\u00f6e she had at her disposal a splendid, tastefully\nfurnished mansion, a beautiful garden, and a range of orangeries (the\nlate Odintsov having denied himself in nothing); but inasmuch as she\nmade but rare appearances in the town, and then only on flying visits\nconnected with business, the provincial gentry conceived a grudge\nagainst her, and took to gossiping of her marriage with Odintsov, and\nrelating such impossible tales as that she had assisted her father in\nhis nefarious schemes, that she had had her reasons for going abroad,\nand that certain unfortunate results of that tour had had to be\nconcealed. \"I tell you,\" the ardent retailer of such fables would say,\n\"that she has been through the mill right enough.\" Eventually these\nrumours reached her ears, but she ignored them altogether, since her\nnature was at once bold and independent.\n\nSeating herself at full length in an armchair, and crossing one hand\nover the other, she set herself to listen to Bazarov's harangue.\nContrary to his usual custom, he spoke without restraint, for he\nwas clearly anxious to interest his listener. Arkady again felt\nsurprised at this, though he failed to detect whether or not Bazarov\nwas succeeding in his aim, seeing that Anna Sergievna's face gave no\nclue to the effect produced, so fixedly did her features retain their\nfaintly polite expression, so unvaryingly did her beautiful eyes\nreflect unruffled attention. True, at first Bazarov's vehemence gave\nher an unpleasant impression as of a bad smell or a jarring note; but\nin time she began to understand that it came of his being ill at ease,\nand she felt flattered at the fact. Only the paltry repelled her; and\nno one could well have accused Bazarov of that quality. Indeed wonders\nwere never to cease for Arkady, since, though he had expected Bazarov\nto talk to Madame Odintsov as to a woman of intellect--to speak to her\nof his views and convictions (seeing that she had expressed a desire\nto behold a man who had \"the temerity to believe in nothing\"), he\ndiscoursed only on medicine, homoeopathy, and botany. At the same time,\nMadame had not wasted her life of solitude, but had read a large number\nof standard works, and could express herself in the best of Russian;\nand though at one point she diverted the conversation to music, she\nno sooner perceived that he declined to recognise the existence of\nthe art than she returned to botany, even though Arkady would gladly\nhave continued the discussion of the importance of national melodies.\nIn passing, her treatment of Arkady as a younger brother remained\nthe same. What she valued in him was, evidently, the good humour and\nsimplicity of youth--nothing more. Thus there was held, for three\nhours, an animated, but intermittent, discursive conversation.\n\nAt length the friends rose to say farewell. With a kindly glance Anna\nSergievna offered them her beautiful white hand; then, after a moment's\nreflection, said irresolutely, but with a pleasant smile:\n\n\"If neither of you fear finding the time tedious, will you come and pay\nme a visit at Nikolsk\u00f6e?\"\n\n\"I should deem it the greatest pleasure!\" cried Arkady.\n\n\"And you, Monsieur Bazarov?\"\n\nBazarov merely bowed: which again surprised Arkady, while also he\nnoticed that his friend's face looked flushed.\n\n\"Well?\" the younger man said as the pair issued into the street. \"Are\nyou still of the opinion that she is, is----?\"\n\n\"I cannot say. But what an icicle she has made of herself!\" There was\na pause. \"At all events, she is an imposing personage, a _grande dame_\nwho lacks but a train to her gown and a coronet to her head.\"\n\n\"But none of our _grandes dames_ speak Russian as she does,\" remarked\nArkady.\n\n\"No; for she has undergone a rebirth, and eaten of our bread.\"\n\n\"And what a charm is hers!\"\n\n\"You mean, what a splendid body--the very thing for a dissecting\ntheatre!\"\n\n\"Stop, stop, for God's sake! Her body differs from all other women's.\"\n\n\"No need to lose your temper, young innocent. Have I not said that she\nstands in the front rank of women? Yes, we must pay her that visit.\"\n\n\"When?\"\n\n\"The day after to-morrow. Nothing else is to be done here, for we\nneed not stay to drink champagne with the Kukshin woman, and listen\nto the harangues of your kinsman, the Liberal bigwig. Not we! The day\nafter to-morrow, therefore, let us give the whole thing the go-by. _A\npropos_, my father's place lies near Nikolsk\u00f6e. For Nikolsk\u00f6e is on the\n---- road, is it not?\"\n\n\"It is.\"\n\n\"_Optime!_ Then we shall gain nothing by delay: only fools and clever\npeople procrastinate. Her anatomy, I repeat, is splendid.\"\n\nWithin three days, in bright, but not too warm, weather, the two\nfriends were bowling along the road to Nikolsk\u00f6e. With a will did the\nwell-fed stage horses trot out, and lightly swish their flanks with\ntheir plaited, knotted tails; and as Arkady glanced along the road, he,\nfor some unknown reason, smiled.\n\n\"Congratulate me!\" cried Bazarov of a sudden. \"To-day is the 22nd of\nJune--the feast of my Patron Saint. Certainly he looks after me, does\nhe not?\" Then the speaker added in a lower tone: \"But to-day, also,\nthey are expecting me at home.... Well, let them expect me.\"\n\n\n\n\nXVI\n\n\nThe manor-house in which Anna Sergievna resided stood on an open\nhillock, and close to a yellow stone church with a green roof, white\ncolumns, and an entrance surmounted by a fresco representative of Our\nLord's Resurrection--the latter executed in the \"Italian\" style, and\nhaving as its most noticeable feature the figure of a swarthy warrior\nwhose rounded contours filled the entire foreground. Behind the church,\nthe village extended into two long wings, and had thatched roofs\nsurmounted by a medley of chimneys; while the manor-house itself was\nbuilt in a style homogeneous with the design of the church--that is\nto say, in the style commonly known as \"Alexandrine,\" and embracing\nyellow-painted walls, a green roof, white columns, and a front\nadorned with a coat-of-arms. In fact, both buildings had been erected\nby a provincial architect to the order of the late Odintsov, a man\nimpatient (so he himself always expressed it) of \"vain and arbitrary\ninnovations.\" Lastly, to right and left of the house there showed the\ntrees of an antique garden, while an avenue of clipped firs led the way\nto the principal entrance.\n\nThe friends having been met in the hall by two strapping lacqueys in\nlivery, one of the latter immediately ran for the butler; who (a stout\nman in a black tail-coat) proceeded to usher the guests up a carpeted\nstaircase, and into a room which contained a couple of beds and the\nusual appurtenances of the toilet. Evidently neatness was the order of\nthe day in the establishment, for everything was both spotlessly clean\nand as fragrant as the chamber wherein a Minister of State holds his\nreceptions.\n\n\"Anna Sergievna will be glad to see you in half an hour,\" the butler\nsaid. \"Meanwhile, have you any orders for me?\"\n\n\"No, worthy one,\" replied Bazarov. \"Except that you might so far\ncondescend as to bring me a small glassful of _vodka_.\"\n\n\"It shall be done, sir,\" said the butler with a shade of hesitation;\nwhereafter he departed with creaking boots.\n\n\"What grandeur!\" commented Bazarov. \"In your opinion, how ought our\nhostess to be addressed? In the style of a duchess?\"\n\n\"Yes, and of a very great duchess,\" replied Arkady. \"The more so,\nseeing that she has invited such influential aristocrats as ourselves\nto visit her.\"\n\n\"I presume that you are referring to your humble servant--a future\ndoctor, the son of a doctor, and the grandson of a sexton? By the\nway, are you aware that my grandparent was a sexton, even as was\nSperansky's?\"[1] A smile curled his lips. \"Thus you see that the lady\nis mistaken, woefully mistaken. We haven't such a thing as a tail-coat,\nhave we?\"\n\nArkady shrugged his shoulders bravely; but he too was feeling a little\nawe-stricken.\n\nAt the close of the half-hour the pair entered the drawing-room, which\nthey found to be a large, lofty apartment of rich, but tasteless,\nappointments. Against the walls, in the usual affected style, stood\nheavy, expensive furniture, the walls themselves were hung with brown\ncurtains to which were florid gilt borders (all these things the late\nOdintsov had ordered through a Muscovite friend who kept a wineshop),\nand above a divan in the centre of the room hung a portrait of a\nwrinkled, sandy-haired individual who seemed to be regarding the\nnewcomers with extreme distaste.\n\n\"_He_,\" whispered Bazarov.\n\nThe hostess herself then entered. She was clad in a light dress, and\nhad her hair dressed behind the ears--a style which communicated to\nher pure, fresh countenance an air of almost girlish juvenility.\n\n\"Thank you for having kept your promise,\" she said. \"And now that you\nare come, I think that you will find the time not altogether dull. For\none thing, I intend to introduce you to my sister, who is a skilful\npiano-player (of course, Monsieur Bazarov, to you such things are a\nmatter of indifference, but you, Monsieur Kirsanov, I know, adore the\nart of music). Also, an elderly aunt lives with me as my companion, and\nat intervals a neighbour looks in for a game of cards. You see our home\ncircle. Now let us seat ourselves.\"\n\nMadame delivered this little speech with the precision of a lesson\nwhich she had learnt by heart, and then turned to converse with Arkady.\nOn finding that her mother had known his, and that the latter had\nmade the former her confidant during her love affair with Nikolai\nPetrovitch, the lad fell to speaking enthusiastically of his dead\nparent, while Bazarov applied himself to the inspection of some albums.\n\n\"What a domesticated individual I am!\" thought he to himself.\n\nPresently, with much pattering of paws, there burst into the room a\nsplendid Russian greyhound with a blue collar; and it was followed by\na young girl of eighteen with a dark complexion, dark hair, a round,\nbut pleasant, face, and small, dark eyes. She was carrying a basket of\nflowers.\n\n\"My sister Katia,\" said Madame Odintsov, indicating the girl with her\nhead.\n\nKatia seated herself beside Madame, and fell to arranging her flowers;\nwhile the greyhound (whose name was Fifi) approached each of the guests\nin turn, laid his cold nose in their hands, and wagged his tail.\n\n\"Have you gathered those flowers yourself?\" asked Madame Odintsov.\n\n\"Yes, Anna Sergievna,\" the girl replied.\n\n\"And is your aunt going to join us at tea?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nThese replies of Katia's were accompanied with a frank, but gentle\nand bashful, smile, and an upward glance half grave, half sportive.\nEverything in her betokened youth and freshness--her voice, the down on\nher cheeks, her little pink hands with their white, dimpled palms, and\nthe slightly contracted shoulders. Also, she blushed without ceasing,\nand drew her breath with a fluttering respiration.\n\nPresently Madame Odintsov turned to Bazarov.\n\n\"Surely it is only out of politeness that you are looking at those\nphotographs?\" she said. \"They cannot possibly interest you. Pray move\nnearer to us, and let us engage in an argument.\"\n\nBazarov approached her.\n\n\"What shall we argue about?\" he inquired.\n\n\"About anything you like. But first let me warn you that I am a\nredoubtable opponent.\"\n\n\"You?\"\n\n\"Yes, certainly. You look surprised? Why so?\"\n\n\"Because, so far as I can tell, your temperament is one of the cold and\nlethargic order, whereas argument needs impulsiveness.\"\n\n\"How have you contrived so quickly to appraise me? To begin with, I am\nboth impatient and exacting. Ask Katia if I am not. Also, I am easily\nmoved to impulse.\"\n\nBazarov darted a glance at her.\n\n\"Possibly,\" he said. \"Certainly you ought to know best. But, since\nyou desire to argue, let us argue. While looking at those views of\nSaxon Switzerland, I heard you remark that they could not interest\nme. This you said, I presume, because you suppose me to be lacking in\nthe artistic sense. Well, I am so. But might not those pictures be\ninteresting to me solely from the geological point of view--from the\nstandpoint of an observer, say, of the formation of mountains?\"\n\n\"Pardon me, but, as a geologist, you would prefer to resort to some\nspecial work on that science, not to a few pictures.\"\n\n\"Oh, not necessarily. For a picture may instantly present what a book\ncould set forth only in a hundred pages.\"\n\nAnna Sergievna made no reply.\n\n\"Well,\" she resumed, leaning forward upon the table--a movement which\nbrought her face closer to Bazarov's, \"since you possess not a grain of\nthe artistic instinct, how do you contrive to get on without it?\"\n\n\"Rather, I would ask you: What is the artistic instinct able to effect?\"\n\n\"It is able at least to help one to examine and to instruct one's\nfellow man.\"\n\nBazarov smiled.\n\n\"In the first place,\" he retorted, \"the prime requisite in that\nconnection is experience of life; and, in the second place, the study\nof detached personalities is scarcely worth the trouble. For all we\nhuman beings are alike, in body as in spirit. In each of us there is an\nidentical brain, an identical spleen, an identical heart, an identical\npair of lungs, an identical stock of the so-called moral qualities\n(trifling variations between which we need not take into account).\nTherefore from a single specimen of the human race may all the rest be\njudged. In fact, human beings are like trees in a forest. You never\nfind a botanist studying its individual trunks.\"\n\nKatia, who had been arranging her flowers, glanced at Bazarov in\namazement, and, in so doing, encountered his keen, contemptuous gaze,\nand blushed to her ears. Anna Sergievna shook her head.\n\n\"Trees in a forest!\" she exclaimed. \"Think you, then, that there is no\ndifference between the wise man and the fool, the good and the bad?\"\n\n\"No, I do not,\" replied Bazarov. \"On the contrary, I believe that such\ndifferences do exist. The point is that they exist only as between\nthe sound and the ailing. For instance, a consumptive's lungs are not\nas yours and mine; yet they have been fashioned precisely as our own\nhave been. Also, whereas, to a certain extent, we know whence bodily\ndisorders arise, _moral_ disorders come of faulty education, the\nthousand and one follies with which the human brain is afflicted, in\nshort, any irregular condition of the social body. Rectify that body,\nand moral sickness will soon cease to be.\"\n\nSpeaking as though he were saying to himself, \"Believe me or not as you\nlike, it is all one to me,\" Bazarov drew his long fingers through his\nwhiskers, while his eyes glowed like coals.\n\n\"Then you think,\" pursued Anna Sergievna, \"that, once the social body\nhas been rectified, stupid and evil people will cease to exist?\"\n\n\"At all events, once the social body is properly organised, the\nfact that a man be wise or stupid, good or bad, will cease to be of\nimportance.\"\n\n\"Ah! I understand! That is because we all possess an identical spleen?\"\n\n\"Precisely so, madam.\"\n\nShe turned to Arkady.\n\n\"And what is your opinion, Arkady Nikolaievitch?\" she enquired.\n\n\"I agree with Evgenii,\" was his reply as, in his turn, he received a\nglance of astonishment from Katia.\n\n\"I am surprised, gentlemen,\" said Madame. \"However, I can hear my aunt\napproaching, so let us spare her ears, and discuss this later.\"\n\nAnna Sergievna's aunt--a small, spare woman with a mallet-shaped face,\na pair of narrow, malicious eyes, and a grey false front--bestowed\nscarcely so much as a bow upon the guests, but at once relapsed into a\nhuge velvet armchair which no one but herself was allowed to use. And\neven when Katia hastened to place for her a footstool, the old woman\ndid not thank her, nor even look at her, but chafed her hands under the\nyellow shawl which covered the whole of her frail figure. Beyond all\nthings was she fond of yellow; wherefore she had had her cap trimmed\nwith ribands of the same hue.\n\n\"Have you slept well, Auntie?\" Madame Odintsov inquired with a raising\nof her voice.\n\n\"That dog is here again!\" the old woman muttered on noticing that Fifi\nwas taking an irresolute step or two in her direction. \"Turn the beast\nout, I say! Out with it!\"\n\nCalling Fifi, Katia opened the door for the animal to leave the room;\nwhereupon, though it bounded out in joyous mood (under the impression\nthat it was about to be taken for a walk), it no sooner found itself\nmarooned outside than it fell to whining and scratching at the panels;\nwhich caused the Princess to frown, and necessitated Katia's exit to\nrectify matters.\n\n\"Tea is ready, I believe,\" Madame Odintsov continued. \"Gentlemen, pray\ncome. Will you have some tea, Auntie?\"\n\nThe Princess rose from her chair in silence, and headed a procession\nto the dining-room, where a Cossack footman pulled a padded armchair\nfrom under the table (like the last, it was reserved for the Princess\nalone), and she subsided into its depths. Katia poured out tea, and\nhanded her aunt the first cup--a cup adorned with a coat-of-arms;\nwhereafter the old woman added some honey to the beverage (she looked\nupon tea-drinking with sugar as a sin of extravagance, and the more\nso since never at any time would she consent to spend an unnecessary\nkopeck), and then asked hoarsely:\n\n\"What has Prince Ivan to say in his letter?\"\n\nNo one answered, and in time Bazarov and Arkady apprised the fact that,\nthough treated, certainly, with respect, the old woman attracted no\none's serious attention.\n\n\"They keep her here for show,\" Bazarov reflected. \"She is kept because\nshe comes of a princely house.\"\n\nTea over, Anna Sergievna proposed a walk; but since at that moment a\ndrop of rain came pattering down, the company (with the exception of\nthe Princess) returned to the drawing-room. Presently the neighbour\naddicted to a game of cards came in, and proved to be one Porphyri\nPlatonitch--a stout, grey-headed, affable, diverting individual who,\nin addition, could boast of a pair of legs as shapely as though turned\nwith a lathe. Anna Sergievna then inquired of Bazarov (with whom she\nhad again been in conversation) whether he would care to join them in\nthe old-fashioned game of \"Preferences\"; and he consented on the ground\nthat he could not too soon prepare himself for the post of a district\nphysician.\n\n\"But take care,\" remarked his hostess. \"Porphyri Platonitch and I\nare not unlikely to beat you. Meanwhile, do you, Katia, go and play\nsomething on the piano for the benefit of Arkady Nikolaievitch. I know\nthat he loves music, and we too shall be glad to listen to you.\"\n\nReluctantly Katia approached the piano; nor, in spite of Arkady's\nfondness for music, did he follow her any more eagerly.\n\nThe truth of it was that he felt himself to be being \"got rid of\" by\nMadame Odintsov, and already there was simmering in his heart, as in\nthe heart of any young man of his age, that vague, oppressive feeling\nwhich is the harbinger of love.\n\nRaising the lid of the piano, Katia murmured under her breath, and\nwithout looking at Arkady:\n\n\"What shall I play?\"\n\n\"Anything you wish,\" he replied with indifference.\n\n\"But what sort of music do you _prefer_?\" she persisted with unchanged\nattitude.\n\n\"Classical music,\" was the reply delivered with equal nonchalance.\n\n\"Mozart?\"\n\n\"Certainly--Mozart.\"\n\nSo Katia produced the Viennese master's Sonata-Fantasia in C minor.\nShe played it well, but coldly, and not with any excess of precision.\nLikewise, she kept her lips compressed, her eyes upon the keys, and\nher form erect and motionless. Only towards the close of the piece did\nher face kindle at all, while at the same moment a tiny curl detached\nitself from her loosely-bound hair, and fell over her dusky forehead.\n\nArkady also felt moved by the closing portion of the Sonata--the\nportion where the charming, careless gaiety of the melody gives place\nto sudden bursts of mournful, almost tragic lamentation. Yet the\nthoughts which Mozart's strains aroused in him bore no relation to\nKatia. He merely looked at her now and then, and reflected:\n\n\"She plays well; nor is she bad-looking.\"\n\nThe Sonata over, Katia inquired, without removing her hands from the\nkeyboard: \"Is that enough?\" and Arkady replied that he would not think\nof troubling her further. Then he went on to talk of Mozart, and to\nask her whether she herself had selected the Sonata, or whether it had\nbeen selected for her by some one. Katia answered in monosyllables, and\nfrom time to time went into hiding, retired into herself; and on each\noccasion of this sort she made her reappearance but reluctantly, and\nwith a face composed to a stubborn, almost a stupid, air. Yet she was\nnot timid so much as diffident and a trifle overawed by the presence of\nthe sister who had brought her up (not that the sister in question ever\nsuspected it). Finally, she returned to her flowers, and Arkady found\nhimself reduced to calling Fifi to his side, and stroking the dog's\nhead with a kindly smile.\n\nAs for Bazarov, he had to pay forfeit after forfeit, for Anna Sergievna\nwas fairly clever at cards, and Porphyri Platonitch was a player\nfully able to look after himself. Consequently the young doctor rose\na loser, not by a considerable sum, but by one which, at all events,\nwas sufficient to be scarcely agreeable. After supper Anna Sergievna\nstarted a discussion on botany.\n\n\"I wish you would take me for a walk to-morrow morning,\" she said. \"I\nwant you to teach me the Latin names of our field flowers, and also\ntheir characteristics.\"\n\n\"But how could the Latin names benefit you?\" he inquired.\n\n\"System is in all things necessary,\" she replied.\n\n\"A truly wonderful woman!\" Arkady commented the same evening, on\nfinding himself alone with his friend in the bedroom.\n\n\"Yes,\" replied Bazarov. \"She certainly possesses brains. Also, she has\ndreamed dreams.\"\n\n\"In what sense?\"\n\n\"In the best sense, my friend--in the very best sense, O Arkady\nNikolaievitch. Certain also am I that she manages her property well.\nBut the marvellous phenomenon is not she, but her sister.\"\n\n\"What? That hoyden?\"\n\n\"Yes, that hoyden. The hoyden contains an element of freshness and\nvirginity and timidity and reticence and anything else you like which\nmakes her really an object worthy of interest. Of the one you could\nmake whatsoever you might desire, whereas of the other there is\nnothing to be said save that she represents a yesterday's loaf.\"\n\nArkady made no reply, and soon the two men were asleep and dreaming\ntheir own dreams.\n\nThe same night Anna Sergievna devoted much thought to her two guests.\nBazarov she liked both for his total lack of affectation and for\nthe piquancy of his criticisms; so that she seemed to divine in him\nsomething new, something which had hitherto remained unknown to her\nexperience. All of which excited her curiosity.\n\nAnd she too was a strange being. Free from all prejudice, and devoid\nof all strong beliefs, she rendered obeisance to nothing, and had\nin view no goal. Again, though much was open to her sight, and much\ninterested her, nothing really satisfied her, and she had no wish\nfor such satisfaction, since her intellect was at once inquiring\nand indifferent, and harboured doubts which never merged into\ninsensibility, and aspirations which never swelled into unrest. True,\nif she had been dowered with less wealth and independence, she might\nhave plunged into the fray, and learnt the nature of passion; but, as\nthings stood, she took life unhastingly, and, though often finding\nit tedious, spent her days in a deliberate, rarely agitated manner.\nTrue, at times rainbow colours gleamed even before _her_ eyes; yet\nno sooner had they faded than she would draw her breath as before,\nand in no way regret their disappearance. Again, though, at times,\nher imagination exceeded the bounds of what is considered permissible\nby conventional morality, her blood still coursed tranquilly through\nher lethargic and bewitchingly shaped frame; and only when she was\nissuing in a warm and tender glow from her comfortable bathroom would\nshe fall to pondering upon the futility of life, its sorrow and toil\nand cruelty, and feel her soul swell to sudden temerity, and begin to\nseethe with noble aspirations. Yet even then, let but a draught happen\nto blow in her direction from an open window, and at once she would\nshrug her shoulders, commiserate herself, come very near to losing her\ntemper, and become conscious of nothing but the thought that the one\nthing necessary was to ensure that by hook or by crook that abominable\ndraught should be averted.\n\nAgain, like all women who have never known what it is to fall in\nlove, she was sensible of a persistent yearning for something wholly\nundefined. There was nothing that she actually lacked, yet she seemed\nto lack everything. The late Odintsov she had merely tolerated (the\nmarriage having been one _de convenance_ only--though she would never\nhave consented to become his wife had he not also been kindly of\nheart), and from the experience she had derived a certain aversion to\nthe male sex in general, which she conceived to be composed exclusively\nof creatures slovenly, idle, wearisome, and weakly exacting in their\nhabits. In fact, only once had she met (it was somewhere abroad) a\nman who had in any way attracted her. He had been a young Swede of a\nknightly countenance, honest blue eyes, and an open brow; but, for all\nthe impression that he had made upon her, the impression in question\nhad not prevented her from shortly afterwards returning to Russia.\n\n\"A strange man, that Bazarov,\" she thought to herself as she reposed\nin her magnificent bed with its lace-embroidered pillows and its light\nsilken coverlet. It may be said, that, in addition to having inherited\nher late father's fastidious and luxurious tastes, she still cherished\nfor that wayward, but kindhearted, parent a considerable affection,\nsince during his lifetime he had not only adored her and cracked jokes\nwith her on equal terms, but also accorded her his whole confidence,\nand made it his invariable custom to seek her advice. Of her mother she\nhad but the scantiest of remembrance.\n\n\"Yes, a strange man is that Bazarov,\" she repeated; after which she\nstretched her limbs, smiled, clasped her hands behind her head, ran an\neye over the pages of two foolish French novels, let fall the second\nof these volumes from her hands, and relapsed into slumber--a cold,\nspotless figure in spotless, fragrant white.\n\nWhen breakfast was over next morning, she set forth upon the botanising\nexpedition with Bazarov; to return home just before luncheon time.\nMeanwhile Arkady did not leave the house, but spent an hour with Katia,\nnor found the time wearisome, seeing that of her own accord Katia\nvolunteered to repeat the Sonata. Yet the instant that his eyes beheld\nMadame Odintsov returning his heart leapt within him. She was crossing\nthe garden with a slightly tired step, but with her cheeks rosy of hue,\nher eyes shining under her round straw hat with even greater brilliancy\nthan usual, and her fingers twirling between them the stalk of some\nfield flower. Also, her light mantilla had slipped to her shoulders,\nand the broad ribands of her hat were floating over her bosom.\nBehind her walked Bazarov with his usual air of superciliousness and\nself-assurance, while on his face there was an expression cheerful, and\neven good-humoured. Yet somehow, Arkady did not like that expression.\n\nMuttering \"Good-morning,\" Bazarov passed towards his room, while Madame\nOdintsov accorded the young man a negligent handshake--then similarly\ncontinued her way.\n\n\"'Good morning!'\" thought Arkady to himself. \"One would think that she\nand I had made one another's acquaintance only to-day!\"\n\n\n[1] Robert Wilhelm Bunsen (1811-1899), chemist and physicist; inventor\nof Bunsen's burner and magnesium light; and originator (with Kirchhov)\nof spectrum analysis.\n\n\n\n\nXVII\n\n\nAs we know, time either flies like a bird or crawls like a snail. Thus\na man is in best case when he fails to notice either the rapidity or\nthe slowness of its flight. Similarly did Bazarov and Arkady spend\ntheir fortnight at Madame Odintsov's. Of this another contributory\ncause was the fact that alike in her household and in her daily life\nshe maintained a _r\u00e9gime_ to which she herself strictly adhered, and\nto which she constrained others to adhere; so that the daily domestic\nround accomplished itself according to a fixed programme. At eight\no'clock the company would assemble for breakfast; whereafter, until\nluncheon time, individuals could do whatsoever they chose (the hostess\nherself devoting her attention to her steward--she administered her\nestate on the _obrok_ or tithes system--her household servants, and her\nhead housekeeper). Next, before dinner, the company would reassemble\nfor conversation or for reading aloud; and the rest of the evening\nwould be devoted to a walk, to cards, or to music. Lastly, at half-past\nten Anna Sergievna would withdraw to her room, issue her orders for the\nfollowing day, and retire to bed.\n\nBut to Bazarov this measured, slightly formal regularity was not wholly\nagreeable. \"Somehow it reminds one of running on a pair of rails,\" he\nused to declare; while so much did the sight of liveried lacqueys and\ngraded serfs offend his democratic instincts that once he averred that\none might as well dine in the English fashion outright, and wear white\nties and black tail-coats. These views he expressed to Anna Sergievna\n(something in her always led men to lay bare their opinions in her\npresence); and, after she had heard him out, she said: \"From your\npoint of view, the matter is as you say, and perhaps I play the fine\nlady too much; but in the country one cannot live anyhow; such a course\nalways leads one to grow slovenly.\"\n\nSo she continued her _r\u00e9gime_ as before. Yet, though Bazarov grumbled,\nhe and Arkady found that to that very formality they owed the fact that\neverything in the establishment \"ran as on rails.\" In passing it may be\nmentioned that between the two young men there had taken place a change\nwhich dated from the day of their arrival at Nikolsk\u00f6e, and manifested\nitself, as regards Bazarov (for whom Anna Sergievna evidently\nentertained a liking, though seldom did she agree with his _dicta_), in\nthe form of an unwonted captiousness which led him easily to lose his\ntemper, to speak always with reluctance, to glare about him, and to be\nas unable to sit still as though mines had been exploding beneath his\nseat. As for Arkady (now come finally to the conclusion that he was in\nlove with Madame Odintsov), the change manifested itself, rather, in\nhis falling a prey to a melancholy which in no way prevented him from\nmaking friends with Katia, and even helped him to maintain with her\nkindly and cordial relations.\n\n\"Whereas Madame cares nothing for me,\" he would reflect, \"_this_\ngood-hearted creature does not give me the cold shoulder.\"\n\nAnd these reflections would cause his heart to taste once more the\nsensuous joy of \"magnanimity.\" Dimly Katia herself divined that\nher society afforded him a sort of comfort; wherefore she saw no\nreason to deny either him or herself the pleasure of this innocent,\nhalf-diffident, half-trustful _camaraderie_. True, in the presence,\nand under the keen eye, of the elder sister (who always caused Katia\nto retire precipitately into her shell) the pair never exchanged a\nsingle word (indeed, as a man in love, Arkady could not well have\npaid attention to any one but the object of his adoration while in\nthe latter's vicinity); but as soon as he found himself alone with\nKatia he began, to a certain degree, really to enjoy himself. That is\nto say, whereas he knew himself to be incompetent to interest Madame\n(seeing that whenever he found himself alone with her he blushed and\nlost his head, while she, on her side, did not know what to say to him,\nso jejune was his mind as compared with her own), in Katia's presence\nhe felt perfectly at home, and could treat her with condescension,\nand let her expound to him the impressions which she derived from\nmusic and the reading of tales, poems, and other \"trifles.\" Nor did\nhe notice, nor would he have consented to recognise had he noticed,\nthe fact that those same \"trifles\" interested him as much as they did\nKatia. At the same time, the latter in no way acted as a clog upon his\nmelancholy; wherefore, just as Madame was at her ease with Bazarov,\nso the young man was at his with Katia, and, after a short period of\njoint converse, the two couples would usually diverge. This happened\nespecially during walks, and the more readily in that, whereas Katia\nadored nature, and Arkady too loved it (though he would never have\nadmitted the fact), to Madame and Bazarov the charms of the natural\nworld represented more or less a matter of indifference. Hardly need I\nadd that from this constant separation between Arkady and Bazarov there\nflowed inevitable results which brought about in the relations of the\npair a gradual change. That is to say, Bazarov ceased to discourse on\nMadame Odintsov--he ceased even to censure her for her \"aristocratic\nmanners\"; and while, with regard to Katia, he sang her praises as usual\n(at the same time advising the placing of a check upon her sentimental\ntendencies), he took to uttering these encomiums only in a half-hearted\nand a perfunctory way, and, in general, to lecturing his pupil less\nthan he had formerly done. Rather, he seemed to avoid him, to feel in\nsome way uncomfortable in his presence.\n\nThese things Arkady duly noted, but kept his observations to himself.\n\nThe real cause of the innovation was the feeling which Madame Odintsov\ninspired in Bazarov's breast, and which he found to be a torture and\na madness to him. Yet, had any one hinted to him, ever so distantly,\nthat what was taking place in his soul could ever have been possible,\nhe would have denied it with a contemptuous laugh and a cynical\nimprecation, seeing that, though a great devotee of feminine society\nand feminine beauty, he looked upon love in the ideal, the \"romantic\"\n(to use his own term) aspect as unpardonable folly, and upon the\nsentiment of chivalry as a sort of aberration or malady which moved\nhim frequently to express his astonishment that Toggenburg and his\nMinnesingers and troubadours never ended by being clapped in a madhouse.\n\n\"Should a woman please you,\" he would say, \"strive to attain your goal;\nbut if you cannot attain that goal, waste no further trouble--just turn\naway. For the world does not rest upon a single keystone.\"\n\nIn similar fashion Madame Odintsov \"pleased\" Bazarov: yet, though the\nwidespread reports in circulation about her might, with the freedom\nand independence of her views and the undoubted _penchant_ which she\nentertained for himself, have been reckoned to tell in his favour, he\nsoon discovered that, in her case, the \"goal\" was _not_ to be attained.\nAlso, he found to his surprise that he could not \"turn away\"--rather,\nthat the mere thought of her made his blood boil. True, that symptom,\nif it had been the only one, might have been dealt with; but there\nbecame implanted in him something else--something which he had hitherto\nrefused to admit, something of which he had hitherto made sport,\nbut something which now aroused his pride. Therefore, although, when\nconversing with Anna Sergievna, he poured added scorn upon everything\n\"romantic,\" he recognised, during his hours of solitude, that even\nin his own personality there lurked an element of \"Romanticism.\" And\nat such times there was nothing for it but to rush out of doors into\nthe woods, and to stride along at a pace which snapped off chance-met\nboughs, and found vent in curses at both them and himself. Or he would\nseek a hayloft or stable, and, stubbornly closing his eyes, strive to\nwoo sleep, and almost invariably fail. Yet, as he sat there, there\nwould come to him delusions that those proud lips _had_ once responded\nto his kisses, that those chaste arms _had_ embraced his neck, that\nthose soulful eyes _had_ gazed tenderly--yes, tenderly--into his: and\nat such times his head would whirl, and for a second or two, and until\nhis discontent returned, he would relapse into a state of trance, and,\nas though urged by a demon, think thoughts of unavowable import. Again,\nthere were times when he would conceive a change similar to his own to\nhave taken place in _her_, and the expression of her face already to\nbe charged with a special significance. Yet, this point reached, he\nwould end merely by stamping his feet, grinding his teeth, and mentally\nshaking his fist at himself.\n\nOnce, when walking with her in the garden, he announced to her in curt,\ngruff tones that he intended soon to depart for his father's place;\nwhereupon Anna Sergievna turned pale, as though something had pricked\nher heart, and pricked it in such a manner as to surprise even herself,\nand to leave her wondering what it could portend. Yet not for the sake\nof testing her, nor of seeing what might possibly come of it, had he\nmentioned his purposed departure (never at any time did he indulge\nin \"scheming\"). Rather, the reason was that, earlier that morning,\nhe had had an interview with his father's steward, Timotheitch, a\nrough, but quick-witted, old fellow who, in past days, had acted as\nhis nurse, and had now presented himself--with tousled, flaxen hair,\nred, weather-beaten face, watery, sunken eyes, short, stout jacket of\ngrey-blue cloth, leathern girdle, and tarred boots--at Nikolsk\u00f6e.\n\n\"Good-day to you, ancient!\" had been Bazarov's greeting.\n\n\"Good-day to _you, batiushka_!\" had responded the old man with a\ngleeful smile which had covered his face with wrinkles.\n\n\"And how is it that I see you here?\" Bazarov had continued. \"Is it that\nthey have sent you to fetch me?\"\n\n\"By no means, pardon me, _batiushka_!\" Timotheitch had stammered out\nthis denial for the reason that he had suddenly recollected certain\nstrict injunctions imposed upon him before starting. \"No, it is merely\nthat I am on my way to the town on affairs connected with the estate,\nand turned aside a little to pay my respects to your honour. No, not to\ndisturb you at all--oh dear no!\"\n\n\"Do not lie,\" Bazarov had said. \"Is _this_ the way to the town?\"\n\nTimotheitch, cringing, had returned no reply.\n\n\"And how is my father?\" Bazarov had continued.\n\n\"Quite well, thank God!\"\n\n\"And my mother?\"\n\n\"Your mother is the same, thank God!\"\n\n\"And they are, I suppose, expecting me?\"\n\nThe old man had cocked his head with a knowing air.\n\n\"Evgenii Vasilitch, why should they _not_ be expecting you? Yes, as God\nis my trust, I know that their hearts are simply aching for a sight of\nyou.\"\n\n\"Well, well! Do not make too long a stay of it, but tell them that I\nwill come presently.\"\n\n\"I will, _batiushka_.\"\n\nYet it had been with a sigh that Timotheitch had replaced his cap\non his head with both hands, left the house, remounted the shabby\n_drozhki_ which he had left waiting at the gates, and disappeared at a\ntrot--though _not_ in the direction of the town.\n\nThe same evening saw Madame sitting in her boudoir with Bazarov, and\nArkady pacing the salon, and listening to Katia's music. As for the\nPrincess, she had gone to bed, for she could not abide the presence\nof guests--least of all, of \"those upstarts and good-for-nothings\" as\nshe termed our friends. In fact, though she confined herself, in the\ndrawing-room or the dining-room, to sulking, she resorted, when alone\nwith her maid in the bedroom, to abuse of Arkady and Bazarov which made\nher cap and her false front fairly dance on her head. These things, of\ncourse, Madame Odintsov knew.\n\n\"Why need you depart?\" she said to Bazarov. \"Have you forgotten your\npromise?\"\n\nBazarov started.\n\n\"What promise?\" he asked.\n\n\"Then you _have_ forgotten it! I mean the promise to give me a few\nlessons in chemistry?\"\n\n\"How can I fulfil it? My father is expecting me at home, and I ought\nnot to stay a day longer. You had better read through _Notions\nG\u00e9n\u00e9rales de Chimie_, by Pelouse and Fr\u00e9my. It is an excellent work,\nand clearly written--the very thing you want.\"\n\n\"But you said that no book can adequately replace--I forget the exact\nphrase you used, but you know what I mean, do you not?\"\n\n\"I cannot help myself,\" he muttered.\n\n\"Nevertheless, why go?\" She lowered her voice as she spoke. Bazarov\nglanced at her as she leant back in her chair and crossed her arms\n(which were bare to the elbow), and saw that by the light of the lamp\n(softened with a shade of pleated paper) she was looking paler than\nusual--also that the outlines of her figure were almost buried in a\nsoft white gown, from underneath which there peeped forth the tips of\nher toes, posed crosswise.\n\n\"What reason should I have for remaining?\" he replied.\n\nShe gave her head the faintest toss.\n\n\"What reason should you have?\" she re-echoed. \"Well, are you not happy\nhere? Do you think that there will be no one to regret your departure?\"\n\n\"There will be no one. Of that I am certain.\"\n\n\"Then you are wrong,\" came the reply after a pause. \"But I do not\nbelieve you--I have an idea that you are not speaking seriously.\"\n\nBazarov said nothing.\n\n\"Why do you not answer me?\" she persisted.\n\n\"What is there to say? In general, to regret people's absence is not\nworth while, and, least of all, the absence of people like myself.\"\n\n\"Why, again?\"\n\n\"Because I am a prosaic and eminently uninteresting individual. Nor do\nI know how to talk.\"\n\n\"But you know how to play the esquire?\"\n\n\"No, not even that. And, as you know, the softer aspect of life, the\naspect which you hold so dear, lies altogether beyond me.\"\n\nMadame Odintsov nibbled the corner of her handkerchief.\n\n\"Think what you like,\" she said, \"but at least _I_ shall find things\ndull when you are gone.\"\n\n\"Arkady will remain,\" he hazarded.\n\nShe shrugged her shoulders.\n\n\"Nevertheless I shall find the time wearisome,\" she repeated.\n\n\"Not for long.\"\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\n\"Because, as you have very truly said, things never seem dull to you\nsave when your _r\u00e9gime_ is infringed. In fact, with such faultless\nregularity have you ordered your life that there abides in it no room\nfor dullness or depression or any other burdensome feeling.\"\n\n\"And I too am faultless, I suppose--I have ordered my life too\nregularly ever to err?\"\n\n\"I daresay. Take an example of it. In a few minutes it will be ten\no'clock; when, as I know by experience, you will request me to leave\nyour presence.\"\n\n\"Oh no, I shall not. You may remain. By the way, please open that\nwindow. The room is simply stifling.\"\n\nBazarov rose and unfastened the casement, which swung backwards with a\nsnap, for the reason that he had not expected it to open so easily, and\nthat his hands were trembling. Into the aperture glanced the soft, warm\nnight with its vista of dark vault of heaven, faintly rustling trees,\nand pure, free, sweet-scented air.\n\n\"Also, please pull down the blind, and then resume your seat. I wish to\nhave a little further talk with you before you go. Tell me something\nabout yourself--a person to whom, by the way, you never refer.\"\n\n\"I would rather converse with you on more profitable subjects.\"\n\n\"What modesty! Nevertheless I wish to learn something of you, and of\nyour family, and of the father for whose sake you are soon going to\nabandon me.\"\n\n\"Why the word 'abandon'?\" reflected Bazarov. Then he added aloud:\n\"Things of that kind interest no one--least of all you. I and my people\nare obscure folk.\"\n\n\"Whereas I, you imagine, am an aristocrat?\"\n\nBazarov looked up.\n\n\"Yes,\" he replied with emphasis.\n\nShe smiled.\n\n\"Then I can see that your knowledge of me is small,\" she remarked.\n\"But of course--you believe all human beings to be identical, and\ntherefore not worth the trouble of studying. Some day I will tell you\nmy history. But first tell me yours.\"\n\n\"You say that my knowledge of you is small?\" queried Bazarov. \"You may\nbe right. Possibly _every_ human being is an enigma. Let us take an\nexample of that. You have withdrawn from society, and find it irksome,\nand limit your visitors' list to a couple of students. Yet why, with\nyour intellect and your beauty, do you live in the country?\"\n\n\"Why?\" came the sharp rejoinder. \"But first be so good as to explain\nwhat you mean by my 'beauty.'\"\n\nBazarov frowned.\n\n\"That lies beside the point,\" he muttered. \"The point is that I cannot\nunderstand why you settle in a rural spot of this kind.\"\n\n\"You cannot understand it, you cannot explain it?\"\n\n\"No. There is only one possible explanation: and that is that you\nremain here because you are a person of self-indulgence who love\ncomfort and the amenities of life, and are indifferent to aught else.\"\n\nAgain Madame Odintsov smiled.\n\n\"Then you are still determined to believe that I am incapable of being\nmoved?\" she said.\n\nBazarov glanced at her from under his brows.\n\n\"By curiosity, yes,\" he said. \"But by nothing else.\"\n\n\"Indeed? Then I cease to wonder that you and I do not get on together.\nYou are exactly like myself.\"\n\n\"That you and I do not get on together?\" echoed Bazarov vaguely.\n\n\"Yes. But I had forgotten--you must be longing to retire?\"\n\nBazarov rose. The lamp was casting a dim light, while into the\nfragrant, darkened, isolated room there came wafted at intervals, under\nthe swinging blind, the sensuous freshness of the night, and the sounds\nof its mysterious whisperings. Madame Odintsov did not stir. Over her\nwas stealing the same strange agitation which had infected Bazarov.\nSuddenly he realised that he was alone with a young and beautiful woman.\n\n\"Need you go?\" she asked slowly.\n\nHe made no reply--he merely resumed his seat.\n\n\"Then you think me a spoilt, pampered, indolent person?\" she continued\nin the same slow tone as she fixed her eyes upon the window. \"Yet this\nmuch I know about myself: that I am very unhappy.\"\n\n\"Unhappy? For what reason? Because you attach too much importance to\npetty slanders?\"\n\nShe frowned. Somehow she felt vexed that he should have understood her\nthus.\n\n\"No; things of that kind do not disturb me,\" she said. \"Never should\nI allow them to do so--I am too proud. The reason why I am unhappy is\nthat I have no wish, no enthusiasm, to live. I daresay you will not\nbelieve me, and will think that a mere 'petty aristocrat,' a person who\nis lapped in lace and seated in an armchair, is saying all this (and I\nwill not conceal from you that I love what you call 'the comforts of\nlife'): yet all the while I feel as though I had no desire to continue\nmy existence. Pray reconcile that contradiction if you can. But perhaps\nyou consider what I say 'Romanticism'?\"\n\nBazarov shook his head.\n\n\"You are yet young,\" he said. \"Also, you are rich and independent. What\nmore could you have? What more do you desire?\"\n\n\"What more?\" she re-echoed with a sigh. \"I do not know. I only know\nthat I feel tired, antiquated; I feel as though I had been living a\nlong, long time. Yes, I am growing old,\" she continued as she drew\nthe ends of her mantilla around her bare shoulders. In doing so, she\nglanced at Bazarov. Her eyes met his, and the faintest of blushes stole\ninto her face. \"Behind me lie many memories--memories of my life in St.\nPetersburg, of a period of wealth followed by poverty, of my father's\ndeath, of my marriage, of my travels abroad--yes, many such memories\nthere are. Yet none of them are worth cherishing. And before me lies\nonly a weary road with no goal to it, along which I have no desire to\ntravel.\"\n\n\"You are disenchanted,\" said Bazarov.\n\n\"No,\" she replied with a shiver. \"Rather, I am dissatisfied. Oh that I\ncould form a strong attachment of some kind!\"\n\n\"To fall in love _might_ save you,\" remarked Bazarov. \"But you are\nincapable of that. That is where your misfortune lies.\"\n\nMadame dropped her eyes upon the sleeve of her mantilla.\n\n\"I am incapable of falling in love?\" she murmured.\n\n\"Not altogether. Moreover, I did wrong to call it a misfortune: for the\nperson most to be pitied is the person who meets with that experience.\"\n\n\"What experience do you mean?\"\n\n\"The experience of falling in love.\"\n\n\"How come you to know that?\"\n\n\"By hearsay,\" he replied irritably, while to himself he added: \"You are\na mere coquette whom sheer idleness is leading to weary and madden me.\"\nAnd his heart swelled within him.\n\n\"On the other hand,\" he went on, \"it may be that you are too exacting?\"\n\nAs he spoke he bent forward and fell to playing with the tassels of his\nchair.\n\n\"Possibly I am,\" she agreed. \"But, you see, I conceive that it ought to\nbe everything or nothing. 'A life for a life.' 'Take my all, give your\nall, and put a truce to regrets and any thought of return.' That is the\nbest rule.\"\n\n\"Indeed?\" queried Bazarov. \"Well, it is not a bad rule, and I am\nsurprised that you should have failed to attain your desire.\"\n\n\"Self-surrender, you think, is an easy thing?\"\n\n\"Not if one considers matters first, and appraises oneself, and\nsets upon oneself a definite value. It is only surrender _without_\nconsideration that is easy.\"\n\n\"But how could one not value oneself? If one had value, no one would\ndesire one's surrender.\"\n\n\"That would not be your concern nor mine: some one else's business\nwould it be to determine our respective values. The one thing that\nwould immediately concern us would be to know _how_ to surrender.\"\n\nMadame Odintsov sat up sharply.\n\n\"I still believe you to be speaking from experience,\" she said.\n\n\"No; words, idle words--words not meant to be taken personally.\"\n\n\"Then you yourself might be capable of surrendering?\"\n\n\"I might. But in any case I should not care to boast.\"\n\nBoth remained silent for a moment. From the drawing-room came the notes\nof the piano.\n\n\"How late Katia is playing!\" remarked Anna Sergievna.\n\nBazarov raised his head.\n\n\"Yes, it _is_ late,\" he said. \"Time for you to go to rest.\"\n\n\"Wait a moment, however. Why should you hurry away? I have something\nmore to say to you.\"\n\n\"What may it be?\"\n\n\"Wait,\" she repeated. As she did so, her eyes gazed at him as though\nstudying his personality. For a few moments he paced the room--then\nsuddenly approached her, said \"Good night,\" squeezed her hand until she\ncould have shrieked with the pain, and departed.\n\nRaising her fingers to her lips, she blew after him a kiss. Then,\nrising with an abrupt, convulsive movement, she ran towards the door\nas though to call him back. But at that moment her maid entered with\na decanter on a silver tray, and Madame halted, bid the maid begone,\nreseated herself, and sank into a reverie. Her hair, like a winding\nblack snake, had broken loose from its fastenings. Dimly illumined by\nthe lamp, she sat motionless, save that at intervals she chafed her\nhands, for the night air was beginning to grow chilly.\n\nTwo hours later Bazarov re-entered his bedroom in a state of\ndishevelment and despondency, and with his boots soaked with dew.\nArkady was seated, fully dressed, at the writing-table, with a book in\nhis hands.\n\n\"So you are not in bed yet?\" Bazarov remarked irritably.\n\nArkady's only reply was to ask the counter-question:\n\n\"You have been sitting with Anna Sergievna, have you not?\"\n\n\"I have,\" replied Bazarov. \"I was sitting there while you and Katia\nwere playing the piano.\"\n\n\"Oh, _I_ was not playing,\" retorted Arkady. Then he stopped, for he\nfelt the tears to be very near his eyes, and had no wish to let them\nfall in the presence of his satirical mentor.\n\n\n\n\nXVIII\n\n\nWhen Madame Odintsov entered the breakfast-room next morning, Bazarov\nhad been sitting over his cup for a considerable time. He glanced\nsharply at her as she opened the door, and she turned in his direction\nas inevitably as though he had signed to her to do so. Somehow her face\nlooked pale, and it was not long before she returned to her boudoir,\nwhence she issued again only at luncheon time. Since dawn the weather\nhad been too rainy to admit of outdoor expeditions, and therefore the\nparty adjourned to the drawing-room, where Arkady began to read aloud\nthe latest number of some journal, while the Princess manifested her\nusual surprise at his conduct (as though it had been conduct of an\nindecent nature!), and fixed upon him a gaze which, though one of\nlasting malignancy, proved also to be one of which he took not the\nslightest notice.\n\n\"Pray come to my boudoir, Evgenii Vasilitch,\" said Anna Sergievna. \"I\nhave something to ask you. I think that last night you mentioned some\ntextbook or another?\"\n\nRising, she moved towards the door, whilst the Princess stared around\nthe room as much as to say: \"Dear, dear! This does surprise me!\" Then\nshe brought her eyes back to Arkady, who, raising his voice, and\nbending towards Katia (by whose side he was sitting), continued his\nreading as before.\n\nMeanwhile Madame Odintsov walked hurriedly to her boudoir, and Bazarov\nfollowed with his eyes fixed upon the floor, and his ears open to\nno sound but the faint rustling of a silk dress. Arrived at her\ndestination, Madame seated herself in the chair which she had occupied\novernight, and Bazarov also took a seat where he had sat on the\noccasion in question.\n\n\"What is the title of the book?\" she asked after a brief pause.\n\n\"_Notions G\u00e9n\u00e9rales_, by Pelouse and Fr\u00e9my. I can also recommend\nGanot's _Trait\u00e9 \u00c9l\u00e9mentaire de Physique Exp\u00e9rimentale_, which is more\ndetailed in its plates than the other work, and, in general, is----\"\n\nBut Madame Odintsov held up her hand.\n\n\"Pardon me,\" she interrupted. \"I have not brought you here to discuss\ntextbooks. I have brought you here to renew our conversation of last\nnight, at the point where you left the room so abruptly. I hope that I\nshall not weary you?\"\n\n\"I am entirely at your service. What was it we were discussing?\"\n\nShe glanced at him.\n\n\"Happiness, I think,\" she said. \"In fact, I was speaking to you of\nmyself. The reason why I mention happiness is the following. Why is it\nthat when one is enjoying, say, a piece of music, or a beautiful summer\nevening, or a conversation with a sympathetic companion, the occasion\nseems rather a hint at an infinite felicity existent elsewhere than a\nreal felicity actually being experienced? Perhaps, however, you have\nnever encountered such a phenomenon?\"\n\n\"'Where we are not, there do we wish to be,'--you know the proverb.\nLast night you said that you are dissatisfied. Such a thought never\nenters into my head.\"\n\n\"Is it that such thoughts seem to you ridiculous?\"\n\n\"No--rather, that they never occur to me.\"\n\n\"Indeed? Well, to know what your thoughts _are_ is a thing which I\ngreatly wish to attain.\"\n\n\"I do not understand you.\"\n\n\"Then listen. For a long time past I have been wishing to have this out\nwith you. Do not tell me--you yourself know that it is useless to do\nso--that you are a man apart. As a matter of fact, you are a man still\nyoung, with all your life before you. I wish to know for what you are\npreparing, and what future awaits you, and what is the goal which you\nare seeking to reach, and whither you are travelling, and what you have\nin your mind--in short, who and what you are.\"\n\n\"I am surprised! Already you know that I dabble in natural science;\nwhile, as regards my future----\"\n\n\"Yes? As regards your future?\"\n\n\"I have told you that I purpose to become a district physician.\"\n\nAnna Sergievna waved her hand impatiently.\n\n\"Why tell me that, when you yourself do not believe it? It is for\nArkady to return me such answers, not you.\"\n\n\"And is Arkady in any way----?\"\n\n\"Wait. Do you mean to tell me that such a modest r\u00f4le will really\nsatisfy you, when you yourself have asserted that the science of\nmedicine does not exist? No, no! You have given me that answer for the\nreason that you desire to keep me at arm's length, that you have no\nfaith in me. Then let me tell you that I _am_ capable of understanding\nyou, that I too have known poverty and ambition, that I too have had my\nexperiences.\"\n\n\"I daresay: yet pardon me when I intimate that I am not accustomed to\nbare my soul. Moreover, there is fixed between you and me such a gulf\nthat----\"\n\n\"A gulf? Do you again say that I am an aristocrat? Come, come, Evgenii\nVasilitch! Have I not already told you that I----?\"\n\n\"Can it avail anything to discuss the future when, for the most part,\nour futures are wholly independent of ourselves? Should the occasion\narise to be up and doing, well and good: but, should the occasion _not_\narise, at least let us leave ourselves room for thankfulness that we\ndid not waste time in useless chatter.\"\n\n\"What? You call a friendly talk 'useless chatter'? Then do you deem me,\nas a woman, unworthy of your confidence, or do you despise all women?\"\n\n\"You I do not despise: and that you know full well.\"\n\n\"I know nothing of the kind. Of course I can understand your reluctance\nto speak of your future career; but as to what is taking place within\nyou at the present moment----\"\n\n\"'Taking place within me at the present moment'?\" Bazarov exclaimed.\n\"One would think I was a state or a community! Nor is it a process\nwhich interests me; while, in addition, a man cannot always put into\nwords 'what is taking place within him.'\"\n\n\"I do not see it. Why should you hesitate to express what may be in\nyour soul?\"\n\n\"Could _you_ do as much?\" asked Bazarov.\n\n\"I could,\" came the reply after a brief hesitation.\n\nBazarov bowed in an ironical manner.\n\n\"Then you have the advantage of me,\" he said.\n\nHer glance quickened into a note of interrogation.\n\n\"Very well,\" she said. \"Yet I will venture to say that you and I\nhave not met in vain, and that we shall always remain good friends.\nMoreover, I feel certain that in time your secretiveness and reserve\nwill disappear.\"\n\n\"Then have you noticed in me much such 'secretiveness and reserve'?\"\n\n\"I have.\"\n\nBazarov rose, and moved towards the window.\n\n\"Do you really want to know the cause of that 'secretiveness, and\nreserve'?\" he asked. \"Do you really want to know 'what is taking place\nwithin' me?\"\n\n\"I do,\" she replied. Yet even as she spoke she felt run through her a\ntinge of apprehension for which she could not account.\n\n\"And you will not be angry with me if I tell you?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"No?\"\n\nHe approached her and halted behind her.\n\n\"Learn, then,\" he said, \"that I love you with a blind, insensate\npassion. You have forced it from me at last!\"\n\nShe stretched out her arms before her, while Bazarov, turning, pressed\nhis forehead against the window-pane. His breath caught in his throat,\nand his whole body was quivering. Yet this was not the agitation born\nof the diffidence of youth, nor was it the awe inspired by a first\nconfession of love. Rather, it was the beating of a strong and terrible\nemotion which resembled madness and was, perhaps, akin to it. As for\nMadame Odintsov, a great horror had come over her--also a great feeling\nof compassion for him.\n\n\"Evgenii Vasilitch!\" she cried. In the words there rang an involuntary\nnote of tenderness.\n\nWheeling about, he devoured her with his glance. Then he seized her\nhands in his, and pressed her to his bosom.\n\nShe did not free herself at once. Only after a moment did she withdraw\nto a corner, and stand looking at him. He rushed towards her again, but\nshe whispered in hurried alarm:\n\n\"You have mistaken me!\"\n\nHad he taken another step, she would have screamed.\n\nBiting his lips, he left the room.\n\nHalf an hour later her maid brought her a note. It consisted of a\nsingle line only, and said: \"Must I depart to-day, or may I remain\nuntil to-morrow?\"\n\nTo it Anna Sergievna replied: \"Why depart? I have failed to understand\nyou, and you have failed to understand me--that is all.\"\n\nBut mentally she added: \"Rather, I have failed to understand myself.\"\n\nUntil dinner time she remained secluded, and spent the hours in pacing\nher room with her hands clasped behind her. Occasionally she would halt\nbefore the window-panes or a mirror, to draw a handkerchief across a\nspot on her neck which seemed to be burning like fire. And every time\nthat she did so she asked herself what had led her to force Bazarov's\nconfidence; also, whether or not she had had any suspicion that such a\nthing might result.\n\n\"Yes, I _am_ to blame,\" she finally decided. \"Yet I could not have\nforeseen the whole _d\u00e9nouement_.\"\n\nThen she recalled Bazarov's almost animal face as he rushed to seize\nher in his arms. And at the thought she blushed.\n\n\"Or is it that----?\" Here she stopped, and shook back her curls. The\nreason was that she had seen herself in a mirror, and, as in a flash,\nhad learnt from that image of a head thrown back, with a mysterious\nsmile lurking between a pair of half-parted lips and in a pair of\nhalf-closed eyes, something which confounded her.\n\n\"No, no! Again no!\" she cried. \"Only God knows what might come of it.\nSuch things are not to be played with. Freedom from worry is the chief\nthing in the world.\"\n\nNor had her _sangfroid_ really been shattered. Rather, she was a\nlittle agitated--so little that, when, for some unknown reason, she\nshed a tear or two, those tears owed their origin not to any deep\nemotion, to the fact that she was wounded, but to a sense of having\ninvoluntarily been at fault in permitting certain vague yearnings--a\ncertain consciousness of the transience of life, a certain desire for\nnovelty--to urge her towards the boundary line. And over that boundary\nline she had peeped. And in front of her she had beheld, not an abyss,\nbut a waste, a sheer ugliness.\n\n\n\n\nXIX\n\n\nIn spite of her self-command, in spite of her superiority to\nconvention, Madame Odintsov could not but feel a little uncomfortable\nwhen she entered the dining-room for the evening meal. Nevertheless the\nmeal passed off without incident, and after it Porphyri Platonitch came\nin, and related various anecdotes on the strength of a recent visit\nto the neighbouring town--among other things, a story to the effect\nthat Governor \"Bardeloue\" had commanded his whole staff of officials\nto wear spurs, in order that, if need be, he could dispatch them on\ntheir errands on horseback! Meanwhile, Arkady talked in an undertone\nto Katia, and also paid diplomatic attention to the Princess; while\nBazarov maintained such an obstinate, gloomy silence that Madame,\nglancing at him (as she did twice, and openly, not covertly), thought\nto herself, as she scanned his stern, forbidding face, downcast eyes,\nand all-pervading expression of rigid contempt: \"No, no! Again, no!\"\n\nDinner over, she conducted her guests into the garden, and, perceiving\nthat Bazarov desired a word with her, walked aside a little, halted,\nand waited for him. Approaching with his eyes on the ground, he said in\na dull way:\n\n\"I must beg your pardon, Anna Sergievna. Surely you must be feeling\nextremely angry with me?\"\n\n\"No, not angry so much as grieved,\" she replied.\n\n\"So much the worse! But I have received sufficient punishment, have I\nnot? My position now (I am sure that you will agree with me) is a very\nawkward one. True, you wrote in your message: 'Why need you depart?'\nbut I cannot and will not remain. By to-morrow, therefore, I shall have\ndeparted.\"\n\n\"But why need you, need you----?\"\n\n\"Why need I depart?\"\n\n\"No, I was going to have said something quite different.\"\n\n\"We cannot recover the past,\" he continued, \"and it was only a question\nof time before this should happen. I know only of one condition under\nwhich I could remain. And that condition is never likely to arise. For\n(pardon my presumption) I suppose you neither love me now nor could\never do so?\"\n\nWith the words there came a flash from under his dark brows.\n\nShe did not reply. Through her brain there flitted only the one\nthought: \"I am afraid of this man!\"\n\n\"Farewell,\" he continued, as though he had divined that thought. Then\nhe moved away towards the house.\n\nEntering the house a little later, Anna Sergievna called to Katia, and\ntook the girl by the arm: nor throughout the rest of the evening did\nshe once part from her. Also, instead of joining in a game of cards,\nshe sat uttering laugh after laugh of a nature which ill consorted with\nher blanched and careworn face. Gazing at her perplexedly, as a young\nman will do, Arkady kept asking himself the question: \"What can this\nmean?\" As for Bazarov, he locked himself in his room, and only appeared\nto join the rest at tea. When he did so, Anna Sergievna yearned to say\nsomething kind to him, but could think of no words for the purpose. To\nher dilemma, however, an unexpected incident put an end. This was the\nentry of the butler to announce Sitnikov!\n\nTo describe the craven fashion in which the young Progressive\nentered the room would be impossible. Although, with characteristic\nimportunity, he had decided to repair to the residence of a lady\nwith whom he was barely acquainted, and who had not accorded him an\ninvitation (his pretext for such presumption being that, according\nto information received, she happened to be entertaining guests who\nwere both intellectual and \"very intimate\" with himself), he had since\nfelt his courage ebb to the marrow of his bones, and now, instead of\nproffering all the excuses and compliments which he had prepared in\nadvance, blurted out some ridiculous story to the effect that Evdoksia\nKukshin had sent him to inquire after the health of Anna Sergievna,\nand that Arkady Nikolaievitch had always spoken of him in terms of the\nhighest respect. But at this point he began to stammer, and so lost his\nhead as to sit down upon his own hat! No one bade him depart, however,\nand Anna Sergievna even went so far as to present him to her aunt and\nsister. Accordingly it was not long before he recovered his equanimity,\nand shone forth with his accustomed brilliancy. Often the appearance\nof the paltry represents a convenient phenomenon in life, since it\nrelaxes over-taut strings, and sobers natures prone to conceit and\nself-assurance by reminding them of their kinship with the newcomer.\nThus Sitnikov's arrival caused everything to become duller and a trifle\nmore futile, but also rendered things simpler, and enabled the company\nto partake of supper with a better appetite, and to part for the night\nhalf an hour earlier than usual.\n\n\"Let me recall to you some words of your own,\" said Arkady when he had\ngot into bed, and Bazarov was still undressing. \"I refer to the words:\n'Why are you down-hearted? Have you just fulfilled a sacred duty?'\"\n\nBetween the two there had become established those half-quizzical\nrelations which are always a sign of tacit distrust and a smouldering\ngrudge.\n\n\"To-morrow I intend to set out for my father's place,\" remarked\nBazarov, in disregard of what Arkady had said.\n\nThe latter raised himself on his elbow. Though surprised, he also, for\nsome reason, felt glad.\n\n\"Ah!\" he exclaimed. \"Then _that_ is why you are down-hearted?\"\n\nBazarov yawned.\n\n\"When you are come to be a little older,\" he replied, \"you will know\nmore.\"\n\n\"And what of Anna Sergievna?\" continued Arkady.\n\n\"Well? What of her?\"\n\n\"Is it likely that she will let you go?\"\n\n\"I am not her hireling.\"\n\nArkady relapsed into thought, and Bazarov sought his bed, and turned\nhis face to the wall.\n\nFor a few moments silence reigned.\n\n\"Evgenii,\" said Arkady suddenly.\n\n\"Yes?\"\n\n\"I too intend to leave to-morrow.\"\n\nBazarov made no reply.\n\n\"True, I shall be returning to Marino,\" continued Arkady, \"but we might\nbear one another company as far as Khokhlovsk\u00efe Viselki, and there you\ncould hire horses of Thedot. Of course, I should have been delighted to\nmake your family's acquaintance, but, were I to accompany you, I might\nact as a source of constraint upon them and yourself alike. You must\npay us another visit at Marino later.\"\n\n\"I will. As a matter of fact, I have left some of my things there.\"\nBazarov still had his face turned to the wall.\n\n\"Why does he not ask _me_ the reason of _my_ departure--a departure as\nsudden as his?\" reflected Arkady. \"Why is either of us departing, for\nthat matter?\"\n\nAs he continued to reflect he realised that, while unable to return a\nsatisfactory answer to the question propounded, he seemed to have got\na heartache somehow, to be feeling that he would find it hard to part\nwith the life at Nikolsk\u00f6e to which he was grown so accustomed. Yet he\ncould not remain there alone. That would be worse still.\n\n\"Between him and her there is something in the wind,\" he reflected.\n\"That being so, what would my sticking here avail after he had gone? I\nshould weary Anna Sergievna, and lose my last chance of pleasing her.\"\n\nThen he began to draw a mental picture of the lady whom he had just\nnamed: until there cut across the fair presentment of the young widow\nanother set of features.\n\n\"Katia too I shall miss,\" he whispered to his pillow (which had already\nreceived one of his tears). At length, raising his curly poll, he\nexclaimed:\n\n\"What, in the devil's name, brought that idiot Sitnikov here?\"\n\nHe heard Bazarov stir under the bedclothes, then remark:\n\n\"You yourself are an idiot. We need the Sitnikovs of this world. Such\ndonkeys are absolutely necessary to us, to _me_. The gods ought not to\nhave to bake pots.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" reflected Arkady. For, as in a flash, there had become revealed\nto him the bottomless profundity of Bazarov's conceit.\n\n\"Then you and I are the gods?\" he said aloud. \"Or are you a god, and I\na donkey?\"\n\n\"You are,\" came the gruff reply. \"As yet, at all events, you are.\"\n\nNo particular astonishment was evinced by Madame Odintsov when, on\nthe following day, Arkady informed her that it was his intention to\naccompany Bazarov. Rather, she looked distraught and weary. Katia\nglanced at him gravely and in silence, and the Princess went so far as\nto cross herself under her shawl--a precaution against the young men\nobserving the gesture. Sitnikov too was dumbfounded at having just\nentered the breakfast-room in a new and most elegant suit (this time\n_not_ of \"Slavophil\" cut, not to mention the fact that he had also had\nthe pleasure of amazing his temporary valet with the multitude of his\nshirts), only to find himself confronted with the prospect of being\ndeserted by his comrades! He shuffled and wriggled like a hare driven\nto the edge of a covert, and blurted out, almost in panic-stricken\nfashion, that he too had a great mind to depart. Nor did Madame\nOdintsov make any great effort to dissuade him.\n\n\"I have an exceedingly comfortable _koliaska_,\" the unfortunate young\nman said to Arkady, \"and I could give you a lift in it, and leave\nEvgenii Vasilitch to use your _tarantass_, which would suit him better\nthan the _koliaska_.\"\n\n\"But I should not like to take you so far out of your way, for the\ndistance to my home is considerable.\"\n\n\"That would not matter, that would not matter. I have plenty of time to\nspare, and also some business to do in that direction.\"\n\n\"What? Leasehold business again?\" inquired Arkady disparagingly. But\nSitnikov was so distraught that he forbore to giggle in his usual\nfashion.\n\n\"I can guarantee that the _koliaska_ is comfortable,\" he repeated.\n\"Indeed, it could hold all three of us.\"\n\n\"Do not vex Monsieur Sitnikov by refusing,\" put in Madame Odintsov.\n\nSo, with a meaning glance at her, Arkady nodded assent to Sitnikov.\n\nBreakfast over, the guests departed. Anna Sergievna offered Bazarov her\nhand.\n\n\"I hope we shall meet again?\" she said.\n\n\"Only if you wish it,\" he replied.\n\n\"Then we _shall_ meet again.\"\n\nThe first to issue upon the verandah and enter Sitnikov's _koliaska_\nwas Arkady. The butler assisted him obsequiously, although Arkady could\nwith equal readiness have struck the man or burst into tears. As for\nBazarov, he took possession of the _tarantass_.\n\nKhokhlovsk\u00efe Viselki reached, Arkady waited until Thedot, the local\nposting-master, had harnessed fresh horses, and then, approaching the\n_tarantass_, said to Bazarov with his old smile:\n\n\"Evgenii, take me with you. I should like to come to your place, after\nall.\"\n\n\"Get in, then,\" muttered Bazarov.\n\nThis made Sitnikov, who had been walking up and down beside his\nconveyance, and whistling, fairly gasp. Nevertheless the heartless\nArkady removed his luggage from the _koliaska_, seated himself beside\nBazarov, and, according his late fellow-traveller a courteous bow,\nshouted: \"Right away!\" The _tarantass_ started, and soon was lost to\nview. Much taken aback, Sitnikov gazed at his coachman. But the latter\nwas flicking the flanks of the trace horse with his whip, and therefore\nSitnikov had no choice but to leap into the vehicle, to shout to a\ncouple of peasants: \"Off with your caps, you rascals!\" and be driven\nto the town, whither he arrived at a late hour, and where, on the\nfollowing day, he declared to Madame Kukshin that he had had enough of\n\"those odious churls and upstarts.\"\n\nOn Arkady seating himself beside Bazarov in the _tarantass_, he pressed\nhis hand, and Bazarov seemed to divine the meaning of the silent\nhand-clasp, and to appreciate it. During the previous night the elder\nman had never once closed his eyes. Also, for several days past he had\nneither smoked a cigar nor eaten more than the merest scrap of food.\nIndeed, as he sat in the _tarantass_, his fine-drawn profile, under the\novershadowing cap, looked sharper and grimmer than ever.\n\n\"Give me a cigar, will you?\" he said. \"Also, pray look at my tongue,\nand tell me if it has a bilious appearance.\"\n\n\"Yes, it has,\" replied Arkady.\n\n\"I thought so, for this cigar seems tasteless. Moreover, the infernal\nthing has come unrolled.\"\n\n\"You have changed a good deal of late?\" hazarded Arkady.\n\n\"I daresay. But I shall be myself again, soon. The only thing now\ntroubling me is the fact that my mother is so good-naturedly fussy.\nShould one's paunch not be projecting, or should one not eat at least\nten meals a day, she relapses into despair. My father, of course, is\ndifferent, for he has been all over the world, and knows what is what.\nThis cigar is simply unsmokable.\" And Bazarov consigned it to the dust\nof the roadway.\n\n\"The distance to your place is twenty-five versts, I suppose?\" queried\nArkady.\n\n\"It is so. But inquire of that sage there.\" And Bazarov pointed to the\npeasant (an _employ\u00e9_ of Thedot's) who was seated on the box.\n\nThe \"sage\" in question replied that he \"could not say exactly,\" since\nthe verst-posts in those parts had not been measured out; after\nwhich he went on to swear at the shaft horse for \"kicking\" its \"jowl\nabout\"--that is to say, jerking its head up and down.\n\n\"Aye, aye,\" commented Bazarov. \"Take warning from me, my young friend.\nAn instructive example sits before you--an example of the vanity of\nthis world. By a single thread does the destiny of every man hang, and\nat any moment there may open before him an abyss into which he and his\nmay plunge. For always he is laying up for himself misfortune.\"\n\n\"At what are you hinting?\" asked Arkady.\n\n\"At nothing. I am merely saying outright that you and I have behaved\nvery foolishly. However, why talk of it? I have noticed that in\nsurgical operations it is the patient who fights against his hurt who\nsoonest gets well.\"\n\n\"I do not understand you,\" Arkady said. \"So far as I can see, you have\nnothing whatsoever to complain of.\"\n\n\"You cannot understand me? Well, mark this: that you had far better\ngo and break stones by the roadside than allow a woman to obtain\neven the least hold over you. Such a thing is sheer\" (he nearly said\n\"Romanticism,\" but changed his mind) \"rubbish.\"\n\n\"Perhaps you do not believe me?\" he went on. \"Nevertheless, I tell you\nthat, though you and I have been cultivating feminine society, and\nenjoying it, the sense of relief when such society is abandoned is like\ntaking a cold bath on a summer's day. Never ought a man to touch such\nfollies. Always he ought, as the excellent Spanish saying has it, 'to\nremain as the beasts of the field.' Look here,\" he added to the peasant\non the box. \"Do you, my man of wisdom, possess a wife?\"\n\nThe peasant turned a portion of a flat, near-sighted visage in the\nfriends' direction.\n\n\"A wife?\" he repeated. \"Yes, I do. Why shouldn't I?\"\n\n\"Never mind that. Do you ever beat her?\"\n\n\"My wife? Sometimes. But never without good cause.\"\n\n\"Excellent! And does she ever beat _you_?\"\n\nThe peasant gave his reins a jerk.\n\n\"What a thing, _barin_!\" he exclaimed. \"Surely you must be joking?\"\nEvidently the question had offended him.\n\n\"You hear that, Arkady Nikolaievitch?\" said Bazarov. \"You and I have\nbeen similarly beaten. That is what comes of being gentry.\"\n\nArkady laughed in spite of himself, but Bazarov turned away, and did\nnot speak again until the end of the journey.\n\nTo Arkady the twenty-five versts seemed like fifty; but at length there\ncame into view, on the slope of a low hill, the homestead of the manor\nwhere Bazarov's parents resided. On one side of it, amid a clump of\nyoung birch trees, there could be seen the servants' quarters under\ntheir thatched roofs; while at the door of the nearest hut a couple of\nfur-capped peasants were engaged in a contest of mutual abuse.\n\n\"You are an old pig!\" one of them said to the other. \"And that is worse\nthan being a young one.\"\n\n\"Your wife is a witch,\" retorted the other.\n\n\"From the lack of restraint in their bearing,\" commented Bazarov, \"as\nwell as from the playfulness of their terms of speech, you will gather\nthat my father's peasantry are not downtrodden. But here is my father\nhimself. I can see him stepping out on to the verandah. He will have\nheard the sound of our collar-bells. Yes, it _is_ he! I recognise his\nfigure. But how grey he looks, poor old fellow!\"\n\n\n\n\nXX\n\n\nBazarov leant forward from the _tarantass_, and Arkady, peering\nover his friend's shoulder, beheld, on the entrance steps of the\nmanor-house, a tall, thin man with dishevelled hair and a narrow,\naquiline nose. Clad in an old military tunic of which the front was\nflying open, he was standing with legs apart, a long pipe in his mouth,\nand eyes blinking in the glare of the sunlight.\n\nThe horses pulled up.\n\n\"So you have come at last!\" exclaimed Bazarov's father, still\ncontinuing to smoke (though, as he did so, the stem of the pipe was\nrattling and shaking between his fingers). \"Now, jump out, jump out!\"\n\nAgain and again he embraced his son.\n\n\"Eniusha, Eniusha!\"[1] the tremulous voice of an old woman also cried\nas the door of the house opened and there appeared on the threshold\na short, rotund old dame in a white cap and a short striped blouse.\nGasping and staggering, she would have fallen had not Bazarov hastened\nto support her. As he did so her fat old arms clasped him around the\nneck, and her head sank upon his bosom. All then was still for a\nmoment. Only her convulsive sobs broke the silence. Meanwhile Bazarov\nSenior breathed hard, and blinked more vigorously than ever.\n\n\"Enough, enough, Arisha!\" he said at length with a glance at Arkady,\nwho had remained standing beside the _tarantass_ (and even the peasant\non the box-seat had turned away his head). \"Pray cease, I tell you.\nThis is not necessary. I beg of you to cease.\"\n\n\"Ah, Vasili Ivanitch!\" whimpered the poor old woman. \"To think of the\nlong while since last I saw my Eniusha, my own, my darling boy!\" Still\nkeeping her arms clasped around Bazarov, she withdrew her ruffled,\nconvulsed, tear-stained face from his breast, looked at him for a\nmoment with blissful, yet comical, eyes, and glued herself again to his\nbosom.\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" said Vasili Ivanitch. \"Such is in the nature of things. But\nhad we not better go indoors? See! Evgenii has brought a guest!\"\n\nWith a slight scrape and a bow, he added to Arkady:\n\n\"Pray pardon us, sir, but you will understand the situation. A woman's\nweakness--ahem!--and a mother's heart.\"\n\nHis lips, chin, and eyebrows too were working. Evidently he was\nstriving to master himself, and to appear totally indifferent. Arkady\nresponded to his bow with a like salutation.\n\n\"Yes, yes, dear mother; let us go indoors,\" said Bazarov. Leading\nthe shaking old lady into the house, he seated her in a cosy chair,\nbestowed upon his father another hurried embrace, and then presented\nArkady.\n\n\"I am glad indeed to make your acquaintance!\" said Vasili Ivanitch.\n\"I am glad indeed! But do not expect too much of us, my dear sir. My\nestablishment is organised on simple lines; it is placed on what I\nmight call 'a war footing.' Come, come, Arina! Pray calm yourself, and\nattend to your duties as a hostess. Oh, fie, to give way in such a\nmanner! What will our guest think of you?\"\n\n\"My dear, I do not know the gentleman's name,\" the old lady sobbed\nthrough her tears.\n\n\"Arkady Nikolaievitch,\" prompted Vasili Ivanitch in an undertone, but\nwith great ceremony.\n\n\"Then pray pardon a foolish old woman, sir.\" Arina Vlasievna blew her\nnose, inclined her head to right and left, and wiped each eye in turn\nas she did so. \"Yes, pray pardon me, but I had thought never again to\nsee my darling boy before I died.\"\n\n\"But, you see, we _have_ seen him again,\" said Vasili Ivanitch. \"Here,\nTaniushka!\"--this to a barefooted serf girl of thirteen who, clad in a\nbright red cotton frock, had been an interested, but timid, observer\nin the doorway. \"Bring your mistress a glass of water on a salver.\nDo you hear? And you, gentlemen,\" he continued with old-fashioned\nsprightliness, \"will you be so good as to step into the study of a\nretired veteran?\"\n\n\"First another kiss, Eniusha,\" gasped Arina Vlasievna. Then, as Bazarov\nbent over her form, she added: \"How handsome you have grown!\"\n\n\"Handsome or not, he is human,\" said Vasili Ivanitch. \"Wherefore, now\nthat you have satisfied your mother's heart, I look to you to see also\nto the satisfaction of our honoured guests. For than yourself no one\nknows better that nightingales cannot be fed on air.\"\n\nThis caused the old lady to rise from her chair, and to exclaim:\n\n\"Yes, yes: in one moment, Vasili Ivanitch. The table shall be laid, and\nI myself will hurry to the kitchen, and see that the _samovar_ be got\nready. Everything shall be done. Why, it must be three years since last\nI gave Eniusha a meal.\"\n\n\"Yes, three years, dear wife. But now bustle about, and do not let\nyourself get flurried. Gentlemen, accompany me, I beg of you. But here\nis Timotheitch coming to pay you his respects. How delighted he looks,\nthe old rascal! Now, pray favour me with your company.\"\n\nAnd he strode fussily ahead with much shuffling and creaking of\nflat-soled slippers.\n\nThe Bazarovian establishment consisted of six small rooms, of which\none--the room to which Vasili Ivanitch was now conducting our\nfriends--was looked upon as the study. Between its two windows there\nstood a fat-legged table, strewn with dusty, fusty papers; on the walls\nhung a number of Turkish weapons, _nagaiki_,[2] and swords, a couple\nof landscapes, a few anatomical plates, a portrait of Hufeland,[3] a\nblack-framed monogram done in hair, and a diploma protected with a\nglass front; between two large birchwood cupboards stood a ragged,\nbattered leathern sofa; on shelves lay huddled a miscellany of books,\nboxes, stuffed birds, jars, and bladders; and, lastly, in a corner\nreposed a broken electric battery.\n\n\"Already I have warned you,\" said Vasili Ivanitch to Arkady, \"that we\nlive here, so to speak, _en bivouac_.\"\n\n\"Make no excuses,\" put in Bazarov. \"Kirsanov knows that you and I are\nnot Croesuses, and that no butler is kept. But where can we find Arkady\na bed? That is the question.\"\n\n\"We have an excellent room in the wing, where he would be most\ncomfortable.\"\n\n\"You have added a wing, then?\"\n\n\"Yes, Evgenii Vasilitch,\" Timotheitch interposed. \"At least, a\nbathroom.\"\n\n\"But it is to a room _next_ the bathroom that I am referring,\" Vasili\nIvanitch hastened to explain. \"However, that will not matter, since it\nis now summer time. I will run up there at once, and see that it is\nput in order. Meanwhile, Timotheitch, fetch in the luggage. To you,\nEvgenii, I will allot the study. _Cuique suum._\"[4]\n\n\"There!\" said Bazarov to Arkady as soon as his father had left the\nroom. \"Is he not just such a jolly, good-hearted, queer old fellow as\nyour own father, though in a different way? He chatters just as he\nalways used to do.\"\n\n\"Yes; and your mother seems an excellent woman.\"\n\n\"She is. Moreover, you can see that she does not attempt to hide her\nfeelings. Only wait and see what a dinner she will give us!\"\n\n\"But as you were not expected to-day,\" put in Timotheitch, who had just\nre-entered with Bazarov's portmanteau, \"no beef has been got into the\nhouse.\"\n\n\"Never mind. Let us dine _without_ beef--or, for that matter, without\nanything at all. 'Poverty is no crime.'\"\n\n\"How many souls[5] are there on your father's property?\" asked Arkady.\n\n\"It is not his property; it is my mother's. The number of souls on it\nis, I think, fifteen.\"\n\n\"No, twenty-two,\" corrected Timotheitch with an air of pride. The next\nmoment the sound of shuffling slippers was heard once more, and Vasili\nIvanitch re-entered.\n\n\"Your room will be ready for you in a few minutes,\" he announced\ngrandiloquently to Arkady. \"Meanwhile, here is your servant.\" He\npointed to a close-cropped urchin who, clad in an out-at-elbows blue\n_kaftan_ and an odd pair of shoes, had also made his appearance. \"His\nname is Thedika, and, for all my son's injunction, I had better repeat\nto you not to expect too much of him--though certainly he will be able\nto fill your pipe for you. I presume that you smoke?\"\n\n\"I do, but only cigars.\"\n\n\"A commendable rule! I too prefer cigars, but find them extremely\ndifficult to procure in this isolated part of the country.\"\n\n\"Have done with bewailing your poverty,\" Bazarov good-naturedly\ninterrupted. \"Rather, seat yourself on this sofa, and take a rest.\"\n\nVasili Ivanitch smilingly did as he was bidden. Extremely like his son\nin features (save that his forehead was lower and narrower, and his\nmouth a trifle wider), he was for ever on the move--now shrugging his\nshoulders as though his coat cut him under the armpits, now blinking,\nnow coughing, now twitching his fingers. In this he was sharply\ndifferentiated from his son, whose most distinguishing characteristic\nwas his absolute immobility.\n\n\"Have done with bewailing my poverty?\" repeated the old man. \"Why,\nyou cannot surely think that I would weary our guest with complaints\nconcerning our isolation? As a matter of fact, a man of brains need\n_never_ be isolated, and I myself do everything in my power to avoid\nbecoming moss-grown, and falling behind the times.\"\n\nExtracting from his pocket a new yellow handkerchief which he had\ncontrived to lay hands upon while proceeding to Arkady's room, he\ncontinued, as he flourished the handkerchief in the air:\n\n\"Of the fact that, at some cost to myself, I have organised my\npeasantry on the _obrok_ system, and apportioned them one-half, even\nmore, of my land, I will not speak, since I conceive that to have been\nmy duty, as well as a measure dictated by prudence (though no other\nlandowner in the neighbourhood would have done as much). Rather, I am\nreferring to scholarships and to science.\"\n\n\"I see that you have here _The Friend of Health_ for 1855,\" remarked\nBazarov.\n\n\"Yes, a friend sent it me,\" Vasili Ivanitch hastened to explain.\n\"Phrenology too we take into account\" (he addressed this last to Arkady\nrather than to Bazarov, while accompanying it with a nod towards a\nsmall plaster bust of which the cranial surface was divided into a\nseries of numbered squares). \"Yes indeed! Nor are we ignorant of\nSch\u00f6nlein[6] and Rademacher.\"\n\n\"In the province of ---- you still believe in Rademacher?\" queried\nBazarov.\n\nVasili Ivanitch laughed.\n\n\"In the province of ---- we still believe in ----? Ah, gentlemen!\nHardly could you expect us to move as fast as you do. You find us in\na state of transition. In my day, the humoralist Hoffmann and the\nvitalist Braun had already come to be looked upon with ridicule (and\ntheir fulminations undoubtedly seem absurd); but now you have replaced\nRademacher with a new authority, and are making obeisance to that\nauthority exactly as though in twenty years' time he too will not have\nfallen into contempt.\"\n\n\"Let me tell you, for your comforting,\" said Bazarov, \"that we ridicule\nall medicine, and render obeisance to no one.\"\n\n\"What? Do you not wish to become a doctor?\"\n\n\"Yes; but the one thing does not preclude the other.\"\n\nVasili Ivanitch raked out his pipe until only a glowing morsel of ash\nremained.\n\n\"Perhaps so, perhaps so,\" he said. \"That point I will not dispute.\nFor who am I that I should dispute such things--I who am a mere\nretired army doctor, _et voil\u00e0 tout_--an army doctor who has taken to\nagriculture?\"\n\nWith that he turned to Arkady.\n\n\"Do you know, I served under your grandfather,\" he said. \"He was then\nin command of a brigade. Many and many a review have I seen. And the\nsociety in which I mixed, the men whom I had as comrades! Yes, this\nhumble individual has felt the pulses of Prince Vitzentschein and\nZhukovsky, and also known all the leaders of the Southern Army of '14.\"\nHe pursed his lips impressively. \"At the same time, of course, my\ndepartment was a separate one from theirs. It was the department of the\nlancet, you understand. Your grandfather stood high in the esteem of\nevery one, and was a true soldier.\"\n\n\"We will agree that he was a decent old curmudgeon,\" drawled Bazarov.\n\n\"To think of speaking so, Evgenii!\" exclaimed the old man. \"General\nKirsanov was not one of those who----\"\n\n\"Never mind him. As we were driving hither I greatly admired your birch\nplantation. It is doing splendidly.\"\n\nVasili Ivanitch's face brightened instantly.\n\n\"Yes, and see what a garden I have made!\" he exclaimed. \"Every tree in\nit has been planted with my own hands--orchard trees, and bush fruit\ntrees, and every sort of medicinal herb. Ah, young sirs, though you may\nbe wise in your generation, many a truth did old Paracelsus[7] discover\n_in herbis et verbis et lapidibus_. For myself, I have now retired from\npractice; yet twice a week am I given a chance to refurbish my ancient\nstore of knowledge, since folk come to me for advice, and I cannot well\nturn them away. In particular do the poor seek my help, since there is\nno other doctor hereabouts. Yet stay! A certain retired major dabbles\nin the art. Once I asked him whether he had ever _studied_ medicine,\nand he replied that he had not, that all that he did he did 'out of\nphilanthropy'! 'Out of philanthropy'! Ha, ha, ha! What think you of\nthat, eh? Ha, ha, ha!\"\n\n\"Fill me a pipe, Thedika,\" said Bazarov curtly.\n\n\"And there was another doctor who came to visit a patient in this\nneighbourhood,\" continued Vasili Ivanitch in a tone of mock despair.\n\"But by the time he arrived the patient had already joined his\nforefathers, and the servant of the house would not admit the doctor,\nsaying that the latter's services were no longer required. This the\ndoctor had scarcely expected, and he was rather taken aback. 'Did the\n_barin_ gasp before he died?' he inquired. 'He did, sir,' was the\nreply. 'Very much?' 'Yes, very much.' 'Good!--And the doctor returned\nhome. Ha, ha, ha!\"\n\nYet no one laughed except the old man himself. True, Arkady contrived\nto summon up a smile, but Bazarov only stretched himself and yawned.\nThe conversation lasted about an hour, and then Arkady managed to\nget away to his room, which he found to consist of the vestibule to\nthe bathroom, but at the same time to be clean and inviting. Soon\nafterwards Taniushka arrived to announce dinner.\n\nThe meal, though hastily prepared, was excellent, and even sumptuous.\nOnly the wine proved to be rather of the \"gooseberry\" order--the\ndark-coloured sherry procured by Timotheitch from a certain wine\nmerchant in the town smacking in equal parts of resin and of honey.\nAlso, in addition, the flies made themselves a nuisance, owing to the\nfact that the page boy whose duty it was to keep them at bay with a\ngreen whisk had, for the nonce, been banished, lest he should excite\ntoo much comment on the part of the up-to-date visitors. Lastly, Arina\nVlasievna had robed herself in gala attire--that is to say, in a\nhigh-peaked cap with yellow ribands and a blue, embroidered shawl. She\nburst into renewed weeping on beholding her beloved Eniusha, but, this\ntime, gave her husband no occasion to chide her, so speedily did her\nown fear of staining her shawl cause her to wipe away the tears. None\nbut the two young men ate anything, for the host and hostess had long\nago dined; while as waiters there officiated Thedika (much burdened\nwith the novelty of wearing shoes) and a woman of a masculine type of\nface, and with a hump on her back, who was also accustomed to execute\nthe functions of housekeeper, keeper of the poultry, and sempstress.\nDuring the meal Vasili Ivanitch paced to and fro, and discussed,\nin cheerful, and even rapturous, terms, the grave fears which\nNapoleon's[8] policy and the intricacy of the Italian question inspired\nin his breast. Arina Vlasievna, for her part, quite disregarded Arkady,\nand offered him not a single dish, but, seated with her hand supporting\nher face (to which a pair of puffy, cherry-coloured lips and a few\nmoles communicated a kindly expression), kept her eyes fixed upon her\nson, while her breath came in a succession of pants. Her great desire\nwas to ask her son how long he was going to stay, but she dared not\ndo so for fear he should reply: \"Only for two days,\" or something\nof the kind--which was a prospect of a nature to make her heart die\nwithin her. On the roast being served, Vasili Ivanitch disappeared, and\nreturned, the next moment, with an uncorked bottle of champagne.\n\n\"See here,\" he exclaimed. \"Rustic though we may be, we still keep\nsomething to make merry with on state occasions.\"\n\nThat said, he filled three tumblers and a wine-glass, proposed a health\nto \"our inestimable guests,\" heel-tapped his glass in the military\nfashion, and forced his wife to drain hers to the dregs. Presently the\npastry course supervened; during which, though Arkady could not bear\nanything sweet, he deemed it his duty to partake of no less than four\nout of the many confections which had been prepared for his benefit.\nAnd this obligation he felt to be the more binding in that Bazarov\nbluntly declined all, and lit a cigar. Lastly there appeared tea,\ncream, biscuits, and butter; after which Vasili Ivanitch conducted the\nparty into the garden, in order that the guests might admire the beauty\nof the evening. As he passed a certain bench he whispered in Arkady's\near:\n\n\"This is where I love to sit and meditate as I watch the sun sinking.\nIt is just the spot for a hermit like myself. And, further on, I have\nplanted a few of Horace's favourite trees.\"\n\n\"What trees?\" asked Bazarov, who had partially overheard.\n\n\"Acacia trees.\"\n\nThe other yawned, and, on observing this, Vasili Ivanitch hastened to\nsay:\n\n\"I expect that you travellers would like now to seek the arms of\nMorpheus?\"\n\n\"We should,\" Bazarov assented. \"Yes, that is a true saying.\"\n\nUpon which the son said \"Good night\" to his mother, and kissed her\non the forehead, while she bestowed upon him a threefold embrace and\n(covertly) a blessing; while Vasili Ivanitch conducted Arkady to his\nroom, and wished him \"such God-given rest as I myself used to enjoy\nduring the happier years of my life.\"\n\nAnd certainly Arkady slept splendidly in the mint-scented annexe to\nthe bathroom, where the only sound to be heard was that of a cricket\nchirping lustily against a rival from behind the stove.\n\nMeanwhile, on leaving Arkady, Vasili Ivanitch repaired to the study,\nwhere, squatting at the foot of the sofa, he was about to enter into a\ndiscursive conversation with his son when the latter dismissed him, on\nthe plea that he desired, rather, to go to sleep. Yet never once did\nBazarov close his eyes that night, but lay staring into the darkness,\nsince his memories of childhood had less power to move him than had\nthe remembrance of the bitter experience through which he had recently\npassed.\n\nFor her part, Arina Vlasievna said her prayers with an overflowing\nheart, and then indulged in a long talk with Anfisushka; who, planted\nlike a block before her mistress, with her solitary eye fixed upon\nthe latter, communicated in a mysterious whisper her opinions and\nprognostications on the subject of Evgenii Vasilitch. Finally Arina\nVlasievna's pleasurable emotion, coupled with the wine and the tobacco\nsmoke, so caused the old lady's head to start whirling that, when\nher husband came to bed, he found himself obliged to moderate her\nexuberance with a gesture.\n\nArina Vlasievna was a true Russian housewife of the old school. That\nis to say, she ought to have lived a couple of hundred years earlier,\nduring the period when the ancient Muscovite Empire was in being.\nAt once pious and extremely nervous, she believed in every species\nof portent, divination, proverb, and vision; also in such things as\n_urodiv\u00efe_,[9] household demons, wood spirits, unlucky encounters,\nspells, popular medicines, Thursday salt, and an ever-imminent end\nto the world. Again, she placed much faith in such ideas as that, if\na lighted candle lasts through the night preceding Easter Day, the\nbuckwheat crops will come up well; that, should a human eye chance to\nfall upon a mushroom during the process of its growth, such growth\nwill terminate forthwith; that the devil loves to be where-soever\nthere is water; and that all Jews bear on their breasts a blood-red\nstain. Again, she stood in great awe of mice, adders, frogs, sparrows,\nleeches, thunder, cold water, draughts, horses, billy-goats, fair\nmen, and black cats, and also looked upon crickets and dogs as\nunclean creatures. Again, she never ate veal, pigeons, crabs, cheese,\nasparagus, artichokes, hare, or water melons (the last-named for the\nreason that, when split open, they reminded her of the head of John\nthe Baptist!). Nor could she ever speak of oysters without a shudder.\nAgain, though she loved eating, she observed every fast; though she\nslept ten hours out of the twenty-four, she never even went to bed if\nVasili Ivanitch had got a headache; she read no books beyond _Alexis_\nor _Siskins of the Forest_; she wrote, at most, two letters a year; she\nknew every wrinkle as regards the departments of housekeeping, boiling,\nand baking (and that even though she herself never laid a finger upon\nanything, and hated even to have to stir from her place); she was\naware that there were certain folk in the world who must command, and\nothers who must serve--wherefore she loved servility and genuflexions;\nshe treated all her subordinates with kindness and consideration; she\nsent never a beggar away empty; and she condemned no one for a fault,\nalthough at times she had a tendency to talk scandal. Likewise, in\nher youth she had been comely, and a player of the clavichord, and\nable to speak a little French; but, owing to long residence with a\nhusband whom she had married purely for love, she had grown rusty in\nthose accomplishments, and forgotten alike her French and her music;\nshe loved and feared her son to a degree almost beyond expression; she\ndeputed the management of her property entirely to Vasili Ivanitch, and\nnever interfered with it, but would fall to gasping, and waving her\nhandkerchief about, and affrightedly raising her eyebrows, whenever\nher helpmeet happened to broach some new plan or some necessary reform\nwhich he had in his mind's eye; and, lastly, she was of so apprehensive\na temperament that she lived in constant fear of some unknown\nmisfortune, and would burst into tears should any one mention anything\nof a mournful character.\n\nSuch women are now extinct; and only God knows whether we ought to be\nglad of the fact.\n\n\n[1] An endearing diminutive of Evgenii.\n\n[2] Cossack whips.\n\n[3] Christoph Wilhelm Hufeland (1762-1836), a well-known German\nphysicist whose treatise _Makrobiotik_, or _The Art of Prolonging\nLife_, has been translated into almost every European language.\n\n[4] \"To each his own.\"\n\n[5] _i.e._ serfs.\n\n[6] Johann Lukas Sch\u00f6nlein (1793-1864), a noted German physician.\n\n[7] Theophrastus Bombastus von Hohenheim (1493-1541), most commonly\nknown by his self-coined name of Paracelsus, and a German-Swiss\ntraveller and physician.\n\n[8] Napoleon III.\n\n[9] _Urodiv\u00efe_, or \"sacred imbeciles,\" were persons who, deficient of\nintellect in the ordinary sense, were yet believed by ancient Russia\nto enjoy particularly intimate communication with the divine and the\nunseen.\n\n\n\n\nXXI\n\n\n\nWhen, in the morning, Arkady rose and opened the window, the first\nobject to greet his eyes was Vasili Ivanitch. Clad in a smock-frock,\nand belted with a handkerchief, the old man was busily digging in his\nvegetable garden. As soon as he noticed his young guest, he leaned upon\nhis spade, and cried:\n\n\"Good morning! How have you slept?\"\n\n\"Splendidly,\" replied Arkady.\n\n\"And I, as you see, am imitating Cincinnatus, and preparing a bed of\nlate turnips. By the mercy of God do the times compel every man to\nwin his bread with his own hands. At all times, indeed, is it useless\nto rely upon others: it is best to work oneself. Thus Jean Jacques\nRousseau was right. Half an hour ago, however, you would have seen me\nin a very different r\u00f4le--first of all, injecting opium into a woman\nwho had come to me with what the peasants call I the goad,' and we\ndysentery, and then pulling out some teeth for a second woman. And,\nwould you believe it, when I proposed administering ether to the second\nwoman she would have none of it! These things I do gratis, you know,\nand as an amateur. Yet, let that not surprise you, for, after all, I am\nbut a plebeian, but a _homo novus_. Come downstairs to sit in the shade\nand enjoy the freshness of the morning until breakfast shall be ready.\"\n\nArkady did as invited.\n\n\"You confer a favour upon me,\" said Vasili Ivanitch, raising his hand\nin military fashion to the battered skull-cap which adorned his head.\n\"You see, I know you to be used to luxury and ease. Yet even the folk\nof the great world need not disdain to snatch a brief respite under the\nroof of a cottage.\"\n\n\"I neither belong to the great world nor am used to luxury,\" protested\nArkady.\n\n\"Come now!\" Vasili Ivanitch indulged in an amiable affectation of\nincredulity. \"I myself, though I am now on the shelf, have rubbed about\nin my time, and can tell a bird by its flight. Also, I dabble a little\nin physiognomy and psychology. For that matter, I will not hesitate\nto say that, had I _not_ enjoyed those advantages, I should long ago\nhave come to rack and ruin, for the reason that, being one of the small\nfry, I should soon have been jostled out of the way by the crowd. Also,\nwithout flattery, I may say that the friendship which I discern to\nbe existing between you and my son affords me the greatest pleasure.\nOnly this moment I was speaking to him; for (as probably you know) he\njumps out of bed at a very early hour, and goes careering all over the\ncountryside. M-might I make so bold as to ask you whether you have\nknown him long?\"\n\n\"Only since last winter.\"\n\n\"Indeed? Also, might I make so bold as to ask whether--But sit you\ndown, will you not?--might I also, as his father, venture to ask your\nfrank opinion of him?\"\n\n\"Your son is the most remarkable man that I have ever met,\" came the\nenthusiastic reply.\n\nVasili Ivanitch's eyes closed suddenly, while his cheeks quivered, and\nthe spade slipped from his hand.\n\n\"Then you think?\" he began.\n\n\"I do not _think_--I am certain that there lies before your son a\nfuture which will make your name famous. I have felt certain of this\nsince the first moment I met him.\"\n\n\"Indeed? Indeed?\" Vasili Ivanitch could scarcely articulate the words,\nbut on his capacious lips there had dawned, and become fixed, a smile\nof triumph.\n\n\"Would you like to hear how our first meeting came about?\"\n\n\"Indeed I should! And any other details you like.\"\n\nArkady therefore plunged into a discourse on Bazarov of the same ardour\nand the same enthusiasm as he had displayed on the night of the mazurka\nwith Madame Odintsov. As Vasili Ivanitch listened, he blew his nose,\nrolled his handkerchief into a ball, coughed, and ruffled his hair;\nuntil, no longer able to contain himself, he reached over in Arkady's\ndirection, and pressed his lips to the young man's shoulder.\n\n\"You have indeed cheered my heart!\" he exclaimed, still smiling. \"I\nsimply idolise my son! But while my dear old wife is able to stand\non rather a different footing with Evgenii--she is his mother, you\nknow--I myself dare not express my whole feelings in his presence,\nfor the reason that he dislikes such things, and is opposed to any\nmanifestations of emotion. For the same reason some folk accuse him of\nhardness of heart and pride and insensibility; but men like Evgenii\ncannot be measured by ordinary standards, can they? For example, any\none but he would have gone on acting as a drag upon his parents; but,\nwould you believe it? never once since his birth has he asked us for a\n_kopeck_ more than he absolutely needed! There, by God!\"\n\n\"Yes, your son is a sincere, single-minded man,\" agreed Arkady.\n\n\"Yes, single-minded,\" affirmed Vasili Ivanitch. \"And not only do I\nidolise him--I am proud of him, and have as my one conceit the hope\nthat some day there may stand in his biography the following words: 'He\nwas the son of a plain military doctor who, nevertheless, had the wit\nto divine the merits of the subject of this book, and to spare no pains\nin his education.'\"\n\nThe old man's voice faltered for a moment, but presently resumed:\n\n\"What think you? Will the field of medicine bring him the fame which\nyou have foretold?\"\n\n\"Not the field of medicine alone--though in it, as elsewhere, he will\nbecome a leader.\"\n\n\"What field, then, Arkady Nikolaievitch?\"\n\n\"I could not say. But in any case he will rise to fame.\"\n\n\"'He will rise to fame'!\" The old man relapsed into a state of ecstatic\ncontemplation.\n\nPresently Anfisushka arrived with a large plate of raspberries and the\nmessage:\n\n\"Arina Vlasievna has sent me to say that breakfast is ready.\"\n\nVasili Ivanitch started from his reverie.\n\n\"Bring us also some nice cool plums,\" he said.\n\n\"I will, sir.\"\n\n\"Yes, mind that they are cool. Arkady Nikolaievitch, do not stand on\nceremony, but help yourself. Is Evgenii Vasilitch yet back, Anfisushka?\"\n\n\"I am,\" called Bazarov from Arkady's room.\n\nVasili Ivanitch wheeled about.\n\n\"Aha!\" he cried. \"So you have gone to pay your friend a visit? But you\nare too late, _amice_: he and I have been having a long conversation\ntogether, and it is now breakfast time, and your mother is calling us.\nBy the way, Evgenii, a word or two with you.\"\n\n\"Concerning what?\"\n\n\"Concerning a peasant who is suffering from jaundice.\"\n\n\"Jaundice?\"\n\n\"Yes, of a very chronic and stubborn kind. I have prescribed scurvy\ngrass and St. John's wort, and ordered the man to eat carrots, and\ngiven him a dose of soda; but such things are mere palliatives--I want\nsomething of a more drastic nature. That you laugh at medicine I am,\nof course, aware; but none the less I feel certain that you could give\nme some good, practical advice. But that you can do later. At the\npresent moment, let us go in to breakfast.\"\n\nAnd he leapt from the bench on which he had been seated, trolling gaily\nthe couplet:\n\n    \"Let us take for our rule, for our rule let us take it,\n    To live but for pleasure, and never forsake it!\"\n\n\"What high spirits!\" Bazarov remarked as he retired from the window.\n\nLater, when the noontide sun was glowing from behind a thin canopy of\ndense, pale vapour, and all was still save that the chirping of a few\nbirds in the trees lulled the hearer to a curious, drowsy lethargy, and\nthe incessant call of a young hawk on a topmost bough made the air ring\nwith its strident note, Arkady and Bazarov made for themselves pillows\nof sweet, dry, fragrant, crackling hay, and stretched themselves in the\nshadow of a rick.\n\n\"Do you see that aspen tree?\" remarked Bazarov. \"I mean the one growing\nat the edge of a depression, where a brick kiln used to stand? Well,\nwhen I was a boy I used to believe that, together, the depression and\nthe aspen tree constituted a special talisman, in that, when near them,\nI never found time hang heavy upon my hands. Of course, the explanation\nis that in those days I failed to understand that that immunity from\n_ennui_ was due to the very fact of my being a boy. But, now that I am\ngrown up, the talisman seems to have lost its power.\"\n\n\"How long were you here in those days?\"\n\n\"Only two years. After that we moved elsewhere. In fact, we led a\nwandering life, and spent it mostly in towns.\"\n\n\"Is the house an old one?\"\n\n\"It is. My maternal grandfather built it.\"\n\n\"Who was he?\"\n\n\"The devil only knows! I think a major of some sort, a man who had\nserved under Suvorov,[1] and could tell all manner of tales about\ncrossing the Alps--though I daresay he told plenty of lies too.\"\n\n\"Ah! I noticed a portrait of Suvorov in the drawing-room.\nCheerful-looking old houses like this I simply love. Somehow they seem\nto have a smell of their own.\"\n\n\"Yes--a smell of lamp-oil mingled with trefoil,\" agreed Bazarov with a\nyawn. \"But what flies they contain as well!\"\n\nThere was a pause. Then Arkady resumed:\n\n\"Were you strictly kept when you were a boy?\"\n\n\"You have seen for yourself what my parents are like. Surely they do\nnot seem very severe folk.\"\n\n\"And do you love them very much?\"\n\n\"I do.\"\n\n\"Certainly they seem to love _you._\"\n\nBazarov was silent. Presently, however, clasping his hands behind his\nhead, he asked:\n\n\"Do you know what is in my mind?\"\n\n\"No. What?\"\n\n\"I am thinking of the pleasant life that my parents must lead. To\nthink that at sixty my father can still fuss about, and talk of\n'palliatives,' and doctor people, and do the bountiful to the peasants,\nand, in short, enjoy himself, and that my mother has her days so\ncrammed full of occupations (including sighing and groaning) that she\ndoes not know which to begin upon first! On the other hand, _I_----\"\n\n\"Yes, you?\"\n\n\"Am doing what you see--lying under a rick. The space occupied by my\nbody is small indeed compared with the surrounding immensity in which\nit has neither part nor lot, and the portion of time allotted to me\nhere on earth is insignificant indeed compared with the eternity\nwhich I have never known, and shall never enter! Yet in this same\natom, in this same mathematical point which I call my body, the blood\ncirculates, and the brain operates at will. A fine discrepancy for\nyou--a fine futility!\"\n\n\"I would remark that what you have just said applies to every human\nbeing in creation.\"\n\n\"True. What I mean is that my parents know not a single tedious\nmoment, nor are in the least distressed with the thought of their\ninsignificance--it is a thought which never stinks in their nostrils;\nwhereas _I_--well, I feel nothing but weariness and rancour in my\nbreast.\"\n\n\"Rancour? Why rancour?\"\n\n\"How can you ask? Have you forgotten the recent past?\"\n\n\"No: only, I do not recognise your right to be _angry_: unhappy,\nperhaps, but not----\"\n\n\"I perceive you to understand love as it is understood by all our\nmodern young men. That is to say, chirping 'Tsip, tsip, tsip!'\nlike pullets, you take to your heels as soon as ever you see love\napproaching. I, however, am different.--But enough of this. What is\npast help is best not talked about.\" Bazarov rolled over on to his\nelbow. \"Ah! Here is a young ant towing in its wake a half-dead fly.\nPull, brother, pull! Never mind that the fly hangs back, but avail\nyourself of your animal right to abjure all sympathy, seeing that our\nfriend has only himself to thank for his trouble.\"\n\n\"Do not speak like that,\" expostulated Arkady. \"How are you yourself to\nthank for your trouble?\"\n\nBazarov raised his head.\n\n\"Nay,\" he said, \"I was but jesting. Never have I got myself into\ntrouble, and never shall any woman do it for me. Amen! I have spoken.\nNever will you hear from me another word on the subject.\"\n\nFor a while the two friends lay without speaking.\n\n\"Yes,\" continued Bazarov, \"man is a strange being. Contemplating from\na distance the dull life led by my parents, one would almost feel\ninclined to say to oneself: 'What could be better than that, seeing\nthat in that existence one merely eats and drinks and knows oneself to\nbe acting in a sane and regular manner?' Yet a man will still become\ndepressed, and yearn for company, even though he may curse it when he\nhas got it.\"\n\n\"One ought so to order one's life that every moment in it shall be of\nsignificance,\" said Arkady sententiously.\n\n\"Of course; but while the significant, and even the\npseudo-significant--yes, the absolutely insignificant as well--may be\nbearable, it is trifles, trifles that matter.\"\n\n\"Unless a man recognise their existence, they do not exist.\"\n\n\"H'm! A contra-platitude.\"\n\n\"What is that?\"\n\n\"This--that, should you say that education is useful, you will be\nuttering a platitude; but, should you say that education is harmful,\nyou will be uttering a contra-platitude. The one is identical with the\nother, except that they differ a little in elegance of expression.\"\n\n\"And which has right on its side?\"\n\n\"'Which has right on its side?' I can only re-echo: 'Which?'\"\n\n\"Come! You are out of spirits to-day.\"\n\n\"Am I? Then the sun must have touched me a little, or else I must have\neaten too many raspberries to be good for me.\"\n\n\"Then you would do well to have a sleep.\"\n\n\"I think you are right. Only, do not look at me while I sleep, for a\nman cuts his very worst figure at such a time.\"\n\n\"Surely _you_ do not care for people's opinion?\"\n\n\"I do, even though a man in the best sense of the term ought never to\ntrouble his head about such things, seeing that such a man is either\nabove criticism or too feared and hated for critics to wish to tackle\nhim.\"\n\n\"Curious! For I myself never hate any one.\"\n\n\"And I hate a great many people. You, you see, are a tender soul,\nyou are so much pap, and therefore hatred could never come within\nyour purview. People as retiring, as devoid of self-confidence as you\nare----\"\n\n\"What about your own self-confidence?\" interrupted Arkady. \"What about\nyour own opinion of yourself?\"\n\nBazarov paused--then replied:\n\n\"As we were passing the hut of your _starosta_ to-day (what a neat,\npretty little place it looked!) you said to me: 'Not until every\npeasant shall have come to own such a place as this, and every one of\nus shall have contributed his mite to that end, will Russia attain\nperfection.' But, for my part, I abominate the scurvy churl for whom\nI am supposed to jump out of my skin, even though never a 'thank you'\nshould I get from him for doing so. For why should he thank me? His\n_m\u00e9tier_ happens to be living in a white hut, and mine to be----\"\n\n\"Come, come, Evgenii! One is almost forced to agree with those who\naccuse us of being unprincipled.\"\n\n\"You talk like your uncle. No such thing as principle exists. That\nyou seem never to have divined. Instincts only exist, and upon them\neverything depends.\"\n\n\"How so?\"\n\n\"Thus. We will take myself as an example. Owing to the nature of my\ninstincts, I am prone to deny--I am prone to deny because my brain\nis so constituted. In the same way, if you were to ask me why I am\ninterested in chemistry, and why you like apples, I should reply that\nthe same reason holds good in each case--that our respective instincts\nare what they are. In other words, there exists between your instincts\nand mine a certain affinity. Deeper it is not given us to probe.\"\n\n\"Then is honour an instinct?\"\n\n\"It is.\"\n\n\"Oh, Evgenii!\" cried Arkady sorrowfully.\n\n\"Do you dislike the conversation? Then let us philosophise no more, but\n'permit nature to waft upon us the silence of sleep,' to quote Pushkin.\"\n\n\"Pushkin never said any such thing,\" objected Arkady.\n\n\"Then, if he did not, he ought, being a poet, to have done so. Perhaps\nhe had served in the army?\"\n\n\"Never did he serve in the army.\"\n\n\"Indeed? Why, in his every line we come across 'To battle, to battle,\nfor the honour of Russia!'\"\n\n\"That is a mere invention on your part. The statement is an absolute\ncalumny.\"\n\n\"A calumny? What matters a calumny? What is there in the term to be\nafraid of? Slander a man as much as you like, yet for himself he will\nhear things twenty times worse.\"\n\n\"Suppose we sleep,\" said Arkady irritably.\n\n\"With pleasure,\" Bazarov replied.\n\nNevertheless neither succeeded in the effort, for almost every\nsleep-destroying sentiment happened to be in the ascendant. So, after\nfive minutes of such ineffectual striving, both opened their eyes, and\nlay mutely gazing about then.\n\n\"Look!\" cried Arkady after a pause. \"Do you see that withered maple\nleaf fluttering to the ground? Are not its movements exactly like those\nof a butterfly? Strange that an object so joyous and full of life\nshould be able so to counterfeit an object mournful and dead!\"\n\n\"My friend,\" protested Bazarov, \"let me make at least _this_ request of\nyou: that you do not talk in 'beautiful language.'\"\n\n\"I talk as I am able. I decline to be domineered over. Should a thought\nchance to enter my head, why should I not express it?\"\n\n\"Similarly am I at liberty to express the thought that to talk in\n'beautiful language' is sheerly indecent.\"\n\n\"Indecent? Then swearing is _not_ indecent?\"\n\n\"Aha! I perceive you still to be minded to follow in your uncle's\nfootsteps. How the idiot would have rejoiced if he could have heard\nyou!\"\n\n\"_What_ did you call Paul Petrovitch?\"\n\n\"I called him merely what he is--merely an idiot.\"\n\n\"Have done!\" shouted Arkady.\n\n\"Therein I detect the tie of blood,\" said Bazarov calmly. \"It is a\nvery stubborn factor, I have noticed, in some people. A man may abjure\neverything else, and cut himself adrift from every other prejudice,\nyet still remain powerless to confess that the brother who habitually\nsteals his shirts is a thief. You see, the difficulty lies in the word\n'my.' Is not that so?\"\n\n\"No. It was from a sense of justice, rather than from a sense of\nkinship, that I spoke. But since you have no understanding of the\nformer, as an instinct which you simply do not possess, you are not in\na position to pass judgment upon such a feeling.\"\n\n\"In other words, 'I, Arkady Kirsanov, am altogether above your\ncomprehension,' Well, I make mute obeisance to that.\"\n\n\"Come, come, Evgenii! We shall end by quarrelling.\"\n\n\"Oh that you _would_ do me the favour to quarrel! We could have a real\nset-to _\u00e0 outrance_, and with our coats off.\"\n\n\"To the end that----?\"\n\n\"To the end that we might rend one another in pieces. Why not? Here,\namid the hay, in this idyllic setting, far from the madding crowd and\nevery human eye, it would be not at all a bad thing. No, you shall\n_not_ make it up with me! Rather will I seize you by the throat!\"\n\nAs he extended his long, sharp fingers, Arkady rolled over and prepared\njestingly to grapple with his assailant. But the next moment the sight\nof Bazarov's face, with its expression of malice and the non-jesting\nmenace which lurked in the twisted smile and the flashing eyes, gave\nhim a shock, and filled him with involuntary awe.\n\n\"_This_, then, is where you have got to!\" cried Vasili Ivanitch from\nbehind them as, vested in a home-made cotton pea-jacket and a home-made\nstraw hat, the old military doctor suddenly confronted the pair. \"I\nhave been searching for you everywhere, and certainly you have chosen\na capital spot, and are engaged also in a capital occupation--in the\noccupation of lying on the earth and gazing at the heavens. For my\npart, I believe that such an occupation can have its uses.\"\n\n\"I gaze at the heavens only when I am going to sneeze,\" said Bazarov.\nThen, turning to Arkady, he added in an undertone: \"Forgive me if I\nhurt you.\"\n\n\"Do not mention it,\" was Arkady's rejoinder in a similar undertone, as\ncovertly he pressed his friend's hand.\n\nShocks of such a kind, however, were bound, in time, to react upon\ntheir friendship.\n\n\"As I look at you, young gentlemen,\" Vasili Ivanitch continued as,\nnodding his head, he rested his hands upon a crooked stick, his\nown manufacture, which had a Turk's head for a handle, \"I cannot\nsufficiently admire you. What strength you embody! How you speak of\nthe flower of youth, of capacity, and of talent! You resemble Castor\nand Pollux themselves.\"\n\n\"To think of your flaunting your mythology like that!\" said Bazarov.\n\"At the same time, you must have been a fine Latin scholar in your day.\nIn fact, did not you once receive a silver medal for an essay?\"\n\n\"The Dioscuri, the Dioscuri themselves!\" continued the old man\necstatically.\n\n\"Come, come, father! Do not play the fool,\"\n\n\"Ah, well! No, I have not sought you out to pay you compliments: I have\ncome to inform the pair of you that dinner is nearly ready, and also to\ngive you, Evgenii, a warning. I know that, as a man of sense, as well\nas a man well versed in the world, you will be charitable. The case\nis this. This morning your mother took it into her head to organise a\nthanksgiving ceremony on the occasion of your return.--No, do not think\nthat I am inviting you to the ceremony: on the contrary, it is over.\nAll that I am going to say is that Father Alexis----\"\n\n\"The priest?\"\n\n\"Yes, and our private confessor. Well, this Father Alexis is going\nto dine with us, even though I had not expected it, and it was\nnot my suggestion, but merely an arrangement which has come about\nsomehow--probably through his having failed to understand me aright.\nNot that we look upon him as anything but a man of rectitude and good\nsense.\"\n\n\"Surely you do not mean to imply that he is likely to devour my portion\nof the food, do you?\"\n\nVasili Ivanitch burst out laughing.\n\n\"Ha, ha, ha!\" he cried.\n\n\"I feel easy, then,\" continued Bazarov. \"In fact, never do I mind with\nwhom I sit at table.\"\n\nVasili Ivanitch's face brightened at once.\n\n\"I felt sure of that in advance,\" he said. \"Yes, I knew that you, a\nyoung man, are as superior to prejudice as I am at sixty-two\" (Vasili\nhad none the less shrunk from confessing that he had wished for the\nthanksgiving ceremony as much as his wife had, since his piety was\nfully equal to hers). \"In any case Father Alexis would like to make\nyour acquaintance; while you, for your part, will very likely take to\nhim, seeing that he not only plays cards, but also (though this is\nquite between ourselves) smokes a pipe!\"\n\n\"Indeed? After dinner, then, we will have a game, and I will despoil\nhim utterly.\"\n\n\"Ha, ha, ha! We shall see, we shall see.\"\n\n\"Then at times you hark back to old days?\" Bazarov asked with a tinge\nof surprise.\n\nVasili Ivanitch's bronzed cheeks took on a faint flush.\n\n\"For shame, Evgenii!\" he muttered. \"Remember that the past is the past.\nNevertheless, even in this gentleman's presence I am ready to confess\nthat in my youth I had my addictions, and that, since, I have paid for\nthem. But how hot the weather is! Let me seat myself beside you; though\nI hope that, in doing so, I shall not interrupt your conversation?\"\n\n\"By no means,\" replied Arkady with alacrity.\n\nVasili Ivanitch subsided with a grunt and the remark:\n\n\"Your _logement_ reminds me of my military bivouacking days--this rick\nbeing a dressing-station.\" There followed a sigh. \"Aye, many and many\nan experience have I had in my time. For instance, let me tell you a\ncurious story about the black death in Bessarabia.\"\n\n\"When you received the order of St. Vladimir?\" said Bazarov. \"Yes, I\nknow the story. But why do you never wear the badge of the order?\"\n\n\"As I have told you, I care not a jot for appearances,\" protested\nVasili Ivanitch (though only on the previous day had he had the red\nriband of the order removed from his coat). He then embarked upon the\nstory.\n\n\"Evgenii has gone to sleep,\" presently he whispered to Arkady with a\ngood-humoured wink and a pointing finger. \"Come, come, Evgenii!\" he\nadded in a louder tone. \"It is time to get up! Time for dinner!\"\n\nFather Alexis--a stout, good-looking man with thick, well-combed hair\nand an embroidered girdle over a lilac cassock--proved a clever,\nresourceful guest who, taking the initiative as regards shaking hands\nwith Arkady and Bazarov (somehow he seemed to divine that they did not\nrequire his blessing), bore himself, in general, with complete absence\nof restraint, and, while neither demeaning himself nor imposing general\nconstraint, made merry over scholastic Latin, defended his archbishop,\nquaffed a couple of glasses of wine (refusing a third), and accepted\none of Arkady's cigars, though, instead of smoking it, he put it into\nhis pocket to take home with him. The only thing that was at all\nunpleasant was the fact that every now and then, on raising a stealthy\nhand to brush from his face a fly, he, in lieu of doing so, crushed the\ninsect flat!\n\nDinner over, he seated himself with modest zest at the card-table, and\nended by despoiling Bazarov of two-and-a-half roubles in paper money\n(this rural establishment took no account of the system of computing\ncash in silver). During the game the hostess sat beside her son with\nher cheek resting on her hand as usual, and only rose from the table\nwhen it became necessary to order further relays of refreshment. Yet\nto caress Bazarov was more than she dared do; nor did he give her the\nleast encouragement in that direction; in addition to which Vasili\nIvanitch further restrained her ardour by whispering at intervals:\n\"Do not worry our Evgenii. Young men do not like that sort of thing.\"\nAlso, hardly need it be said that the dinner of which the company\nhad just partaken had been of the usual sumptuousness, seeing that at\nbreak of day Timotheitch had set out for Circassian beef, and that\nthe _starosta_ also had galloped in quest of trout, eels, and crabs,\nwhile a sum of forty-two kopecks had been paid to peasant women for\nmushrooms. Arina Vlasievna's eyes, fixed immovably upon Bazarov, had in\nthem something more than tenderness and affection. In them there were\nalso sadness, curiosity, a touch of apprehension, and a kind of painful\ndeference. Yet never did he mark their expression, since never did he\nturn in her direction, save to put to her the curtest of questions,\nand, once, to ask her to lay her hand in his, \"for luck.\" On the latter\noccasion she slipped her plump fingers into his hard, capacious palm,\nwaited a little, and then asked him:\n\n\"Has that helped you at all in your play?\"\n\n\"It has not,\" he replied with a contemptuous grimace. \"On the contrary,\nthings are even worse than they were before.\"\n\n\"Yes, the cards seem to be against you,\" remarked Father Alexis with an\nassumed air of sympathy as he stroked his handsome beard.\n\n\"But beware of the Code Napoleon, my father,\" observed Vasili Ivanitch\nas he played an ace. \"Beware of the Code Napoleon.\"\n\n\"Which, in the end, brought Napoleon to St. Helena,\" retorted the\nfather as he trumped the ace.\n\n\"A glass of currant wine, Eniushka dear?\" asked Arina Vlasievna.\n\nBazarov replied with a shrug of his shoulders.\n\nNext day he said to Arkady:\n\n\"To-morrow I must depart. The place wearies me, for I wish to work, and\nit is impossible to do so here. I will come to your place, I think,\nfor all my chemical preparations are there. Moreover, one can at least\nlock one's door at your place; whereas here, though my father keeps\nsaying, 'My study is entirely at your disposal, and no one shall\ndisturb you,' he himself is never absent for a moment. And, for that\nmatter, I should be ashamed to lock him outside, or my mother either.\nSometimes I can hear her groaning in the next room. Yet no sooner do I\ngo out to her than I find that I have not a word to say.\"\n\n\"She will be much distressed at your departure,\" said Arkady. \"And so\nwill he.\"\n\n\"But I intend to return.\"\n\n\"Exactly when?\"\n\n\"When I am on my way back to St. Petersburg.\"\n\n\"I am particularly sorry for your mother.\"\n\n\"Why so? Has she been stuffing you with fruit?\" Arkady lowered his eyes.\n\n\"You do not know her,\" he said. \"She is not only a good woman, but also\na very wise one. This morning I had half an hour's very practical and\ninteresting talk with her.\"\n\n\"A talk in which she told you all about me?\"\n\n\"We spoke of other topics besides yourself.\"\n\n\"Possibly. Possibly, too, you, as an outsider, may see things clearer\nthan I do. Yet when a woman can talk for half an hour it is a good\nsign, and I will depart as I have said.\"\n\n\"But you will not find it easy to break the news to her, for her plans\nfor us extend over a couple of weeks.\"\n\n\"No, it may not prove easy, as you say; and the less so since the devil\nled me to vex my father this morning. It was like this. A few days ago\nhe had one of his serfs flogged, and therein did rightly. No, you need\nnot look at me with such indignation. I say my father did rightly for\nthe reason that the peasant in question had proved himself to be an\narrant thief and drunkard. Unfortunately, my father had not expected\nme to get to hear of the occurrence; wherefore he was the more put\nout when he found that I had done so. Well, now his vexation will be\ntwofold! However, no matter. He will get over it before long.\"\n\nYet, though Bazarov had said \"No matter,\" he let the whole of the rest\nof the day elapse before he could make up his mind to acquaint Vasili\nIvanitch with his intention. Finally, just as he was saying good-night\nto his father in the study, he observed with a prolonged yawn:\n\n\"By the way, I had almost forgotten to request you to have our horses\nsent forward to Thedot's.\"\n\nVasili Ivanitch looked thunderstruck.\n\n\"Then is Monsieur Kirsanov leaving us?\" he inquired.\n\n\"Yes, and I am going with him.\"\n\nVasili Ivanitch fidgeted for a moment or two.\n\n\"You say that you are going with him?\" he murmured.\n\n\"Yes. I _must_ go. So pray have the horses sent forward as requested.\"\n\n\"I--I will, I will,\" the old man stuttered. \"So they are to go to\nThedot's? Yes, yes, very well. Only, only--is there any particular\nreason for this change of plan?\"\n\n\"There is. I am engaged to pay Arkady a short visit. That done, I will\nreturn to you.\"\n\n\"Only to be a _short_ visit? Good!\" And Vasili Ivanitch pulled out his\npocket-handkerchief, and blew his nose. In doing so, he bent his head\nvery low--almost to the ground. \"Well, well! Things shall be as you\ndesire. Yet we had hoped that you would have stayed with us a little\nlonger. Three days only! Three days after three years of absence! Ah,\nthat is not much, Evgenii--it is not much!\"\n\n\"But I tell you I intend to return soon. You see, I _must_ go.\"\n\n\"You have no choice, eh? Very well, very well. Of course, engagements\nmust be kept. Yes, yes; of course they must be kept. And I am to\nsend the horses forward? Very good. Naturally, Arina and I had not\naltogether looked for this. Only to-day she has been to a neighbour to\nbeg flowers for your room.\"\n\nNor of the fact that, each morning, he had gone downstairs in his\nslippers to confer with Timotheitch; nor of the fact that, producing,\nwith tremulous fingers, one ragged banknote after another, he had\ncommissioned his henchman to make various purchases with special\nreference to the question of eatables (in particular, of a certain red\nwine which he had noticed the young men to like); no, of none of these\nfacts did Vasili Ivanitch make any mention.\n\n\"The greatest thing in the world is one's freedom,\" he went on. \"I,\ntoo, make it my rule. Never should one let oneself be hampered or----\"\n\nA sudden break occurred in his voice, and he made for the door.\n\n\"I promise you that we will return soon, my father. I give you my word\nof honour upon that.\"\n\nBut Vasili Ivanitch did not look round--he just waved his hand and\ndeparted. Mounting to the bedroom, he found Arina asleep, so started to\nsay his prayers in an undertone, for fear of awaking her. But at once\nshe opened her eyes.\n\n\"In that you, Vasili Ivanitch?\" she asked.\n\n\"Yes, mother.\"\n\n\"Have you just left Eniusha? Do you know, I am anxious about him. Does\nhe sleep comfortably on the sofa? To-day I told Anfisushka to lay him\nout your travelling mattress and the new pillows. Also, I would have\ngiven him our feather bed had he not disliked soft lying.\"\n\n\"Do not fret, mother dear. He is quite comfortable. 'Lord, pardon us\nsinners!'\" And Vasili Ivanitch went on with his prayers. Yet his heart\nwas full of an aching compassion for his old companion; nor did he\nwant to tell her overnight of the sorrow which was awaiting her on the\nmorrow.\n\nNext day, therefore, Arkady and Bazarov departed. From earliest morn an\nair of woe pervaded the household. Anfisushka let fall some crockery,\nand Thedika's perturbation ended in his taking off his shoes. As for\nVasili Ivanitch, he fussed about, and made a brave show--he talked in\nloud tones, and stamped his feet upon the floor as he walked; but his\nface had suddenly fallen in, and his glance could not meet that of\nhis son. Meanwhile Arina Vlasievna indulged in quiet weeping. Indeed,\nbut for the fact that her husband had spent two hours that morning in\ncomforting her, she would have broken down completely, and lost all\nself-control.\n\nBut at last, when, after reiterated promises to return within, at most,\na month, Bazarov had freed himself from the arms which sought to detain\nhim, and entered the _tarantass_; when the horses had started, and\ntheir collar-bow had begun to tinkle, and the wheels to revolve; when\nto gaze after the vehicle any longer had become useless, and the dust\nhad subsided, and Timotheitch, bent and tottering, had crawled back\ninto his pantry; when the old couple found themselves alone in a house\nwhich seemed suddenly to have grown as dishevelled and as decrepit as\nthey--then, ah, then did Vasili Ivanitch desist from his brief show of\nwaving his handkerchief in the verandah, and sink into a chair, and\ndrop his head upon his breast.\n\n\"He has gone for ever, he has gone for ever,\" he muttered. \"He has gone\nbecause he found the life here tedious, and once more I am as lonely as\nthe sand of the desert!\"\n\nThese words he kept repeating again and again; and, each time that he\ndid so, he raised his hand, and pointed into the distance.\n\nBut presently Arina Vlasievna approached him, and, pressing her grey\nhead to his, said:\n\n\"Never mind, my Vasia. True, our son has broken away from us; he is\nlike a falcon--he has flown hither, he has flown thither, as he willed:\nbut you and I, like lichen in a hollow tree, are still side by side, we\nare not parted.... And ever I shall be the same to you, as you will be\nthe same to me.\"\n\nTaking his hands from his face, Vasili Ivanitch embraced his old\ncomrade, his wife, as never--no, not even during the days of his\ncourtship--he had done before. And thus she comforted him.\n\n\n[1] Alexander Vasilievitch Suvorov (1729-1800), the great Russian\ngeneral who, after defeating Napoleon in Italy, crossed the Alps to\njoin hands with Korsakov, but found the latter to have been routed by\nMassena.\n\n\n\n\nXXII\n\n\n\nIn silence, or merely exchanging a few unimportant words, the\ntravellers made their way to Thedot's posting-house. Arkady felt\nanything but pleased with Bazarov, and Bazarov felt anything but\npleased with himself. Moreover, the younger man's heart was heavy with\nthe sort of unreasoning depression which is known only to youth.\n\nThe driver hitched his horses, and then, mounting to the box, inquired\nwhether he was to drive to the right or to the left.\n\nArkady started. The road to the right led to the town, and thence to\nhis father's house; while the road to the left led to Madame Odintsov's\nestablishment.\n\nHe glanced at Bazarov.\n\n\"To the left, Evgenii?\" he queried.\n\nBazarov turned away his head.\n\n\"Why that folly again?\" he muttered.\n\n\"Folly, I know,\" said Arkady, \"but what does that matter? We need but\ncall in passing.\"\n\nBazarov pulled his cap over his eyes.\n\n\"Do as you like,\" he said.\n\n\"To the left, then,\" cried Arkady to the coachman; and the _tarantass_\nstarted in the direction of Nikolsk\u00f6e. Nevertheless, for all that the\nfriends had decided upon this foolish course, they remained as silent\nand downcast as ever.\n\nIndeed, Madame Odintsov's butler had not even made his appearance\nupon the verandah before the pair divined that they had done unwisely\nto yield to such an impulse. The fact that no one in the house had\nexpected them was emphasised by the circumstance that when Madame\nentered the drawing-room they had already spent a considerable time\nthere in awkward silence. However, she accorded them her usual suave\nwelcome, though she seemed a little surprised at their speedy return,\nand, at heart, not over-pleased at it. For this reason they hastened\nto explain that theirs was a mere passing call, and that in about four\nhours they would be continuing their journey to the town. In reply she\nsaid nothing beyond that she requested Arkady to convey her greetings\nto his father, and then sent for her aunt; and inasmuch as the Princess\nentered in a state of having just overslept herself, her wrinkled old\nface betokened even greater malignity than usual. Katia was not well,\nand did not leave her room at all: and this caused Arkady suddenly to\nrealise that he would have been as glad to see her as Anna Sergievna.\nThe four hours were filled with a desultory conversation which Anna\nSergievna carried on without a single smile: nor until the very moment\nof parting did her usual friendliness seem to stir within her soul.\n\n\"I am out of humour to-day,\" she said, \"but that you must not mind.\nCome again soon. I address the invitation to you both.\"\n\nBazarov and Arkady responded with silent bows, re-entered the\n_tarantass_, and drove forward to Marino, whither they arrived, without\nincident, on the following evening. _En route_, neither of the pair\nmentioned Madame Odintsov, and Barazov in particular scarcely opened\nhis mouth, but gazed towards the horizon with a hard look in his eyes.\n\nBut at Marino every one was delighted to see them, for Nikolai\nPetrovitch had begun to feel uneasy at the prolonged absence of his\nson, and now leapt from the sofa with a cry of joy when Thenichka ran\nto announce that \"the young gentlemen\" were arriving. Yes, even Paul\nPetrovitch felt conscious of a touch of pleasant excitement, and smiled\nindulgently as he shook hands with the wanderers. Ensued then much\ntalking and questioning, in which Arkady took the leading part, and\nmore especially during supper, which lasted far into the night, since\nNikolai Petrovitch ordered up several bottles of porter which had\njust arrived from Moscow, and made so merry that his cheeks assumed a\nraspberry tint, and he fell to venting half-boyish, half-hysterical\nlaughs. Moreover, the general enlivenment extended even to the kitchen,\nwhere Duniasha kept breathlessly banging doors, and at three o'clock\nin the morning Peter essayed to execute on the guitar a Cossack waltz\nwhich would have sounded sweet and plaintive amid the stillness of the\nnight had not the performance broken down after the opening cadenza,\nowing to the fact that nature had denied the cultured underling a\ntalent either for music or for anything else.\n\nIndeed, of late, life at Marino had been far from comfortable. In\nparticular had poor Nikolai Petrovitch been in a bad way, for his\ntroubles in connection with the estate--troubles of an exclusively\nfutile and hopeless order--were growing greater from day to day. The\nworst of them came of the system of hired labour, which enabled some\nof the workmen to keep demanding either their discharge or an increase\nof wages, and others to depart as soon as ever they had received their\nearnest-money. Also, some of the horses had fallen sick, certain\nimplements had been burnt, all hands were performing their tasks in a\nslovenly manner, a milling machine ordered from Moscow had turned out\nto be useless owing to its weight, a second such machine had broken\ndown on its first being used, half the cattle sheds had disappeared\nin a conflagration caused by a blind old serf woman \"smoking\" her cow\nwith a firestick during blustery weather (though she herself asserted\nthat the trouble had come of the _barin's_ manufacturing new-fangled\ncheeses and lacteal products in general), and, lastly, the steward\nhad grown so fat and lazy (as do all Russians who fall upon \"easy\ntimes\"), and permitted his dislike of Nikolai Petrovitch so to limit\nhis activities, that he had come to doing no more than bestowing an\noccasional prod upon a passing pig, or threatening some half-naked\nserf boy, while spending the rest of the time in bed. Again, such of\nthe peasants as had received allotments under the _obrok_ system had\nfailed to pay their dues, as well as applied themselves to stealing\ntimber to such an extent that, almost every night, the watchman had to\napprehend a culprit or two, as well as to impound horses which peasants\nhad turned out to graze in the meadows attached to the manor. For\nillicit grazing of this sort Nikolai Petrovitch had decreed forfeiture\nof the horses; but usually the matter ended in the animals being kept\nfor a day or two at the _barin's_ expense, and then restored to their\nowners. Lastly, the peasants had taken to quarrelling among themselves,\nthrough brothers conceiving the idea of demanding a share of each\nother's earnings, and through their wives suddenly finding themselves\nunable to get on in the same hut; wherefore feuds had arisen which\nhad caused whole households to spring to their feet as at a word of\ncommand, and to flock to the portico of the estate office, where,\nbreaking in upon the _barin's_ privacy (very often with bruised faces\nand drunken gait), they demanded justice and an immediate settlement,\nwhile female sobs and whimperings mingled with the curses of the male\nportion of the throng. Whenever this had happened Nikolai Petrovitch\nhad had to part the hostile factions from one another, and to shout\nhimself hoarse, even though he had known in advance that no equitable\ndecision was feasible. Finally, there had been a deficiency of hands\nfor the harvest, since a neighbouring _odnovorzty_[1] of benign aspect\nwho had undertaken taken to provide harvesters at two roubles per\n_desiatin_ had cheated without compunction, and supplied women workers\nwho also demanded extortionate wages. Meanwhile the grain had rotted\nin the fields, and, later on, the women had not got through the mowing\nbefore the Board of Overseers had begun to press for immediate payment\nof percentage dues and arrears.\n\n\"I can do nothing,\" would be Nikolai Petrovitch's despairing\nexclamation \"My principles forbid me either to contend with these\npeople or to send for the _stanovoi_[2] yet, without the power to\nthreaten punishment, one can make no headway with such folk.\"\n\n\"_Du calme, du calme_,\" Paul Petrovitch would advise. Then he would\ngrowl, frown, and twist his moustache.\n\nFrom these brawls Bazarov kept entirely aloof: nor, as a guest, was\nhe called upon to interfere in them, but was free, from the day of\nhis arrival, to apply himself solely to his frogs, infusoria, and\nchemical compositions. On the other hand, Arkady considered himself\nbound, if not to help his father, at all events to offer to help him;\nwherefore he listened to Nikolai's complaints with patience, and on\none occasion even tendered him advice (though not advice meant to\nbe taken, but advice designed to manifest the interest felt by him,\nArkady, in current affairs). As a matter of fact, estate-management\nwas not wholly distasteful to him, and he could find pleasure in\nthinking out agricultural problems; but his mind was filled with other\npreoccupations. For one thing, he discovered to his surprise that his\nthoughts were constantly turning in the direction of Nikolsk\u00f6e; and\nthough there had been a time when he would have shrugged his shoulders\nupon being told that he would ever come to find residence under the\nsame roof as Bazarov--least of all, when that roof was his father's--a\ndull affair, he found time hang heavy on his hands, and his attention\neasily stray elsewhere. So he tried the expedient of walking until\nthoroughly worn out, but even this did not help him; until eventually\nhe learnt, in conversation with his father, that recently some letters\nof great interest had been chanced upon--letters which Arkady's mother\nhad indited to the mother of Madame Odintsov. And from that moment\nonwards he never rested until he had induced Nikolai Petrovitch to\nre-discover the said letters, and to turn out, during the search, a\nscore of boxes and drawers. Then only, when the half-mouldy documents\nhad been dragged to light, did the young man feel easier in his soul,\nand bear himself as though now he saw before him the goal of his\nexistence.\n\n\"'I address the invitation to both of you,'\" he kept whispering to\nhimself. \"Yes, that is what she said. Damn it, I will go.\"\n\nBut next there would recur to his memory the recent visit and its cold\nreception; until once more he would be seized with his old timidity\nand awkwardness. In the end, however, the spirit of adventurous youth,\naided by a secret desire to try his luck, to test his strength unaided,\nand without a protector, contrived to win the day.\n\nTen days later, therefore, he invented a pretext, in the shape of a\ndesire to study the working of Sunday schools, to drive to the town,\nand thence to Nikolsk\u00f6e. As he drove, the manner in which he encouraged\nhis postilion communicated to his progress the character, rather,\nof a young officer's trip to fight his first duel, for diffidence,\nimpatience, and delight were well-nigh choking him.\n\n\"Above all things,\" he kept reflecting, \"I must not think too much of\nmyself.\" And though the postilion who had fallen to his lot was of the\ntype of rascal who pulls up at every tavern door, there hove in sight,\nbefore long, the familiar, high-pitched roof of the mansion.\n\n\"But what am I doing?\" now occurred to him the thought. \"Indeed, would\nit not be better to go back?\"\n\nUnfortunately, to the sound of the postilion's whistlings and\ntongue-clickings the _troika_ of horses trotted bravely forward, and\npresently the bridge thundered under the combined weight of the hooves\nand wheels. Ah, _there_ was the avenue of clipped firs! Yes, and\n_there_ was a glimpse of a pink dress amid some dark foliage! Yes, and\n_there_ a glimpse of a young face peering from the shade of a silken\nparasol! Yes, yes--it _was_ Katia! He had recognised her in an instant,\nas she him! Bidding the postilion pull up, Arkady leapt from the\ncarriage, and approached the maiden.\n\n\"So it is you?\" she exclaimed. And at the same moment a blush\noverspread her face. \"Let us go and look for my sister. She is in the\ngarden, and will be delighted to see you.\"\n\nSo she conducted him thither. How lucky that he had met her as he had\ndone! More pleased he could not have felt if she had been his own\nsister. Yes, things were indeed fortunate! Now there would have to be\nno butler, and no formal announcement of his arrival.\n\nOf Anna Sergievna he caught sight at a turn in the path. She had\nher back to him, but presently, on hearing the sound of approaching\nfootsteps, faced about.\n\nOnce more confusion seized Arkady in its grip. Yet no sooner had she\nspoken than he felt his courage return.\n\n\"How do you do?\" she said in her even, kindly way as she advanced to\nmeet him with a smile that was slightly tempered with the sun and wind.\n\"Where did you find him, Katia?\"\n\n\"I have brought with me something which you are unlikely to have been\nexpecting,\" he said. \"For I----\"\n\n\"But you have brought me yourself,\" she rejoined. \"And that is the best\nbringing of all.\"\n\n\n[1] A freeholder, a member of the class which, in the days of this\nstory, stood midway between the _pomiestchik_, or landowner, and the\n_Krestianin_, or serf.\n\n[2] Magistrate.\n\n\n\n\nXXIII\n\n\nAfter speeding Arkady on his way with satirical expressions of regret\n(as well as giving him to understand that the satirist laboured under\nno delusions as to the object of the young man's journey), Bazarov\nwithdrew into complete seclusion, since a perfect fever for work had\ncome upon him. Nor did he quarrel any longer with Paul Petrovitch,\nand the less so since the latter had now come to adopt an exclusively\naristocratic attitude, and to express his sentiments only in\nmonosyllables, not in words. Once, and once only, did he allow himself\nto engage in a controversy with Bazarov over the then current question\nof the rights of the _dvorian\u00e9_. But suddenly he checked himself, and\nsaid with an air of cold politeness:\n\n\"It is clear that we shall never understand one another. At all events\n_I_ have not the honour to understand _you_.\"\n\n\"True,\" agreed Bazarov. \"For a man may understand the precipitation\nof ether, and be _au fait_ with what is taking place in the sun, yet,\nconfront him with the fact that another man blows his nose differently\nfrom the manner in which he blows his own, and at once that man will\nbecome lost in perplexity.\"\n\nAt the same time, there were occasions when Paul Petrovitch requested\npermission to attend the other's experiments; and once he went so far\nas to apply his perfumed, clean-shaven features to the microscope, for\nthe purpose of observing how a transparent infusorium could swallow a\ngreenish-looking particle, and then masticate the same with fang-like\nprotuberances which grew in its throat. Still more frequently was\nNikolai Petrovitch present in Bazarov's room. Indeed, but for the\ncounter-distraction of estate-management, he would have spent his whole\ntime in the process of what he called \"self-improvement.\" Yet he never\nhampered the young naturalist: on the contrary, he would seat himself\nin a remote corner of the room, and, but for a guarded question or\ntwo, confine himself solely to silently and absorbedly watching the\nexperiments. Also, at meal times he always endeavoured to turn the\nconversation in the direction of physics or geology or chemistry, for\nthe reason that he divined in any other direction (that of industry,\nor, still more, that of politics) there lay a greater danger of\ncollisions, or, at all events, of mutual soreness. For rightly did\nhe divine that his brother's enmity towards Bazarov had by no means\nabated. And to this conclusion an incident which occurred at a juncture\nwhen cholera had just made its appearance in the neighbourhood, and\ncarried off two victims from Marino itself, lent additional colour.\nOne night Paul Petrovitch happened to be seized with a fainting fit,\nyet refused to apply to Bazarov for assistance; and when Bazarov, on\nmeeting him on the following day, inquired why such a course had not\nbeen adopted, Paul Petrovitch--still pale, but as carefully brushed and\ncombed as ever--retorted: \"Did not you yourself tell me that you have\nno belief in medicine?\"\n\nThus day followed day. Yet, though Bazarov devoted himself wholly to\nwork, there was one person in the house whom he did not hold at arm's\nlength, but was always willing to talk to. That person was Thenichka.\nMostly he encountered her in the early mornings, when she was walking\nin the garden or the courtyard; but never did he enter her room, nor\ndid she ever come to his door, save once, for the purpose of asking\nhim to help her with Mitia's bath. And she not only trusted Bazarov;\nshe also held him in no awe, and allowed herself more freedom in\nhis presence than she did in that of Nikolai Petrovitch himself.\nThe reason is difficult to determine. Perhaps it was the fact that\nunconsciously she detected in Bazarov none of the _dvorianin_ element,\nnone of that superiority which at once attracts and repels; the young\nNihilist, to her, was just a clever doctor, and no more. At all events,\nshe was so free from shyness in his presence that she would dandle her\nchild unabashed, and, on one occasion, when seized with a headache,\nwent so far as to accept at his hands a spoonful of medicine. True,\nin Nikolai Petrovitch's presence she seemed to shun Bazarov; but this\nwas done more out of a sense of decorum than through subtlety. As for\nPaul Petrovitch, she feared him as much as ever, for he had taken to\nwatching her with a keen, steady eye, and to making his appearance\nbehind her as though his figure, clad in its inevitable English\nsuit, and posed in its usual attitude of hands in trousers pockets,\nhad suddenly sprung from the floor. \"Whenever I see him I feel cold\nall over,\" once she complained to Duniasha; whereupon that maiden's\nthoughts reverted longingly to another \"unfeeling\" individual who had,\nall unwittingly, come to be \"the cruel tyrant\" of her heart.\n\nThenichka, therefore, liked Bazarov, and Bazarov liked Thenichka.\nIndeed, no sooner did he speak to her than his face would undergo a\nchange, and, assuming a bright, almost a good-humoured, expression,\nexchange its habitual superciliousness for something like playful\nsolicitude. Meanwhile she grew more beautiful daily. In the lives of\nyoung women there is a season when they begin to unfold and bloom\nlike the roses in summer: and to that period Thenichka had just come.\nEverything, even the July heat then prevalent, contributed to it.\nDressed in a gown of some light white material, she looked even lighter\nand whiter than it; and though she escaped actual sunburn, the heated\nair imparted to her cheeks and ears a faint tan, and, permeating her\nframe with gentle indolence, imbued her exquisite eyes with dreamy\nlanguor. No longer could she do any work; she could only let her hands\nsink upon her lap, and there remain. Seldom going even for a stroll,\nshe spent the most of her time in a state of gently querulous and\npanting, but not distasteful, inertia.\n\n\"You should go and bathe as often as you can,\" Nikolai Petrovitch said\nto her one day (he had had a large, canopied bathing-place constructed\nin one of the last few ponds on the estate).\n\n\"Ah!\" she gasped. \"Even to walk to the pond half-kills me: and to walk\nback from it half-kills me again. There is no shade in the garden, you\nsee.\"\n\n\"True,\" he agreed, wiping his forehead.\n\nAt seven o'clock one morning, when Bazarov was returning from a walk,\nhe encountered Thenichka in the midst of a lilac clump which, though\npast the season of flowering, was still green and leafy. As usual, she\nhad a white scarf thrown over her head, and beside the bench on which\nshe was sitting there was a bunch of red and white roses with the dew\nyet glistening on their petals. He bade her good morning.\n\n\"It is you, then, Evgenii Vasilitch!\" she exclaimed as she put aside a\ncorner of her scarf to look at him--a movement which bared her arm to\nthe elbow.\n\n\"What are you doing?\" he asked as he seated himself beside her. \"Is it\na nosegay you are making?\"\n\n\"Yes, for the breakfast table. Nikolai Petrovitch is so fond of such\nthings.\"\n\n\"But breakfast is not yet. What a waste of flowers!\"\n\n\"I know, but I gather them now because later the weather becomes too\nhot for walking. This is the only time when it is possible even to\nbreathe. The heat makes me faint, and I am afraid of falling ill with\nit.\"\n\n\"Mere fancy. Let me feel your pulse.\"\n\nHe took her hand in his, and found the pulse to be beating with such\nregularity that he did not trouble even to count its throbs.\n\n\"You will live to be a hundred,\" he said as he relinquished her wrist.\n\n\"God preserve me from that!\" exclaimed she.\n\n\"Why so? Surely you would like to live a long time?\"\n\n\"Yes--I should; but not for a hundred years. You see, my grandmother\nlived to be eighty-five, but suffered terribly. Long before she died\nshe had a constant cough, and was also blind and deaf and crooked, and\nhad become a burden to herself. What would be the use of a life like\nthat?\"\n\n\"You think that it is better to be young?\"\n\n\"I do. And why not?\"\n\n\"How is it better? Tell me that.\"\n\n\"How is it better? Oh, as long as one is young one can do what one\nwants to do--one can walk about, and carry things, and not be dependent\nupon other folk. Is not that the best way?\"\n\n\"I do not know. At all events _I_ care not whether I be young or old.\"\n\n\"What makes you say that? Surely you cannot mean it?\"\n\n\"No? Well, think of what my youth means to me. I am a lonely man, a man\nwithout home or--\"\n\n\"But all depends upon yourself.\"\n\n\"No, it does not. I only wish that some one would take pity upon my\nloneliness!\"\n\nShe glanced at him, but said nothing. After a pause she resumed:\n\n\"What is that book of yours?\"\n\n\"This? It is a learned, scholarly work.\"\n\n\"How you study! Do you never grow tired of it? By this time, I should\nthink, you must know everything.\"\n\n\"Indeed I do not.... But try reading a few lines of the book.\"\n\n\"I should never understand them. Is it a Russian book?\" (She took the\nheavily bound volume into her hands.)\n\n\"What a large book!\" she continued.\n\n\"Yes. Also, it is a Russian book.\"\n\n\"Nevertheless I should not be able to understand it.\n\n\"I do not want you to understand it. I merely want to be able to watch\nyou as you read. For when you read you twitch your little nose most\ncharmingly!\"\n\nShe began to read aloud a page \"on Creosote,\" but soon burst out\nlaughing, and replaced the book upon the bench, whence it slipped to\nthe ground.\n\n\"I love to see you laugh,\" said Bazarov.\n\n\"Say no more,\" she interrupted.\n\n\"Also, I love to hear you speak. Your voice is like the bubbling of a\nbrook.\"\n\nShe turned away her head, and fell to sorting her flowers. Presently\nshe resumed:\n\n\"Why do you love to hear me speak? You must have talked to many much\nfiner and cleverer ladies?\"\n\n\"I assure you, nevertheless, that all the I fine and clever ladies' in\nthe world are worth less than your little finger.\"\n\n\"Oh, come!\" And she crossed her hands.\n\nBazarov picked up the book.\n\n\"It is a work on medicine,\" he observed. \"Why did you throw it away?\"\n\n\"It is a work on medicine?\" she re-echoed, and turned to him again. \"Do\nyou know, ever since you gave me those capsules--you remember them, do\nyou not?--Mitia has slept splendidly! I can never sufficiently thank\nyou. You are indeed good!\"\n\n\"But the physician ought to be paid his fee,\" remarked he with a\nsmile. \"Doctors never do their work for nothing.\"\n\nUpon this she raised her eyes. They looked all the darker for the\nbrilliant glare which was beating upon the upper portion of her face.\nAs a matter of fact, she was trying to divine whether he was speaking\nin earnest or in jest.\n\n\"Of course I should be delighted to pay you!\" she said. \"But first I\nmust mention the matter to Nikolai Petrovitch.\"\n\n\"What?\" he exclaimed. \"You really think it is _money_ I want? No, I do\nnot require of you money.\"\n\n\"What, then?\" she queried.\n\n\"What? Well, guess.\"\n\n\"How can I guess?\"\n\n\"Then I must tell you. I want, I want--I want one of those roses.\"\n\nShe burst into a peal of laughter, and clapped her hands with delight\nat the request. Yet the laughter was accompanied with a certain sense\nof relief. Bazarov eyed her.\n\n\"Ah, you must excuse my laughing, Evgenii Vasilitch,\" she said (bending\nover the seat of the bench, she fumbled among the roses). \"Which sort\nshould you prefer? A red rose or a white one?\"\n\n\"A red one, and not too large.\"\n\n\"Then take this one,\" she said, sitting up again. Yet even as she spoke\nshe drew back her outstretched hand, and, biting her lips, glanced in\nthe direction of the entrance to the arbour, and listened intently.\n\n\"What is it?\" asked Bazarov. \"Do you hear Nikolai Petrovitch coming?\"\n\n\"No. Besides, every one has gone out to the fields. Nor do I fear any\none except Paul Petrovitch. I merely thought that, that----\"\n\n\"You thought what?\"\n\n\"That some one _might_ be coming this way. It seems I was wrong. Take\nthis rose.\"\n\nShe handed Bazarov the gift.\n\n\"_Why_ do you fear Paul Petrovitch?\" he asked.\n\n\"I do so because he frightens me--when I speak to him he returns me no\nanswer; he just stares at me in a meaning sort of way. You, too, do not\nlike him, I believe? It was with him that you had such a quarrel, was\nit not? What it was all about I do not know, but at least I know that\nyou worsted him like, like With a gesture she signified the manner in\nwhich she considered Bazarov to have routed Paul Petrovitch.\n\n\"And, had _he_ worsted _me_,\" he inquired, \"would you have taken my\npart?\"\n\n\"How could I? We should have agreed no better than you and he.\"\n\n\"You think so? Then let me tell you that a certain little hand could\ntwist me around its little finger.\"\n\n\"Whose hand is that?\"\n\n\"I expect you can guess. But smell this rose which you have just given\nme.\"\n\nShe bent forward in the direction of the flower, and as she did so her\nscarf slipped from her head to her shoulders, and revealed a mass of\ndark, soft, fluffy, glossy hair.\n\n\"Wait,\" said Bazarov. \"I, too, will smell the rose.\" And, reaching\nforward, he kissed her full on her parted lips.\n\nShe started back, and pressed her hands against his breast as though\nto repel him; but so weak was the act of repulsion that he found it\npossible to renew and to prolong his kiss.\n\nSuddenly there sounded from among the lilac bushes a dry cough, and\njust as Thenichka darted to the other end of the bench Paul Petrovitch\nappeared, bowed slightly to the pair, said with a sort of melancholy\nacidity in his tone: \"It is you, then?\" and turned on his heel and\ndeparted. The next moment Thenichka picked up her roses and rushed from\nthe arbour. As she passed Bazarov she whispered in his ear: \"That was\nindeed wrong of you, Evgenii Vasilitch!\" And the words voiced a note of\nreproach that was palpably genuine and unfeigned.\n\nInstantly Bazarov's thoughts recurred to another scene in which he\nhad recently taken part, and he became conscience-stricken, as also\ncontemptuous of himself, and vexed. He shook his head, congratulated\nhimself ironically on his folly, and departed to his room.\n\nAs for Paul Petrovitch, he left the garden and walked slowly into the\nforest. He remained there a considerable time; and, on returning to\nbreakfast, looked so dark of mien that Nikolai Petrovitch inquired\nanxiously whether he were not ill.\n\n\"As you know,\" replied the other quietly, \"I suffer habitually from\nbiliousness.\"\n\n\n\n\nXXIV\n\n\nTwo hours later he knocked at Bazarov's door.\n\n\"I feel that I must apologise for disturbing you in your pursuits,\" he\nsaid as he seated himself near the window and rested both hands upon\na fine ivory-headed cane which he had brought with him (as a rule he\ndid not carry one). \"But the fact is that circumstances compel me to\nrequest five minutes of your time.\"\n\n\"The _whole_ of my time is at your disposal,\" replied Bazarov, across\nwhose features, as Paul Petrovitch had crossed the threshold, there had\nflitted a curious expression.\n\n\"No; five minutes will be sufficient. I have come to ask you a simple\nquestion.\"\n\n\"And what might that question be?\"\n\n\"Listen. When first you came to stay in my brother's house, and I had\nnot yet been forced to deny myself the pleasure of conversing with you,\nit fell to my lot to hear you hold forth on many different subjects.\nBut, unless my memory deceives me, never once did the conversation\nbetween you and myself, or in my presence, happen to fall upon the\nsubject of the duel or single combat. Would you, therefore, mind\nputting yourself out to the extent of giving me the benefit of your\nviews on the subject mentioned?\"\n\nBazarov, who had risen to receive his visitor, now reseated himself\nupon the edge of the table, and folded his arms upon his breast.\n\n\"My views are as follows,\" he replied. \"From the theoretical\nstandpoint, the duel is a sheer absurdity. From the practical\nstandpoint, it is another matter altogether.\"\n\n\"You intend to convey (if I have understood you aright?) that,\napart from your theoretical views on the duel, you would not, in\npractice, allow yourself to be insulted without subsequently demanding\nsatisfaction?\"\n\n\"You have guessed my meaning precisely.\"\n\n\"Good! It is a view which I am indeed glad to hear you express, in that\nit delivers me from a dilemma.\"\n\n\"You mean, from a state of indecision?\"\n\n\"They are one and the same thing. I express myself in this manner to\nthe end that you may understand me. I am not one of your college rats.\nConsequently I repeat that through your words I am relieved of the\nnecessity of resorting to what would have been a painful expedient. To\nspeak plainly, I have made up my mind to fight you.\"\n\nBazarov raised his eyebrows a little.\n\n\"To fight me?\" he said.\n\n\"Yes, to fight you.\"\n\n\"And for what reason--if you do not mind telling me?\"\n\n\"For a reason which I might explain, but concerning which I prefer to\nremain silent. Suffice it for me to intimate that your presence offends\nme, that I detest and despise your person, and (should the foregoing be\ninsufficient) that I----\"\n\n\"Enough!\" interrupted Bazarov. His eyes had flashed even as Paul's had\ndone. \"Further explanations would be superfluous. You have presumed to\nwhet upon me your chivalrous spirit; wherefore, though I might have\nrefused it, I will afford you satisfaction to the top of your bent.\"\n\n\"I have to express to you my sincere obligation. From the first did\nI feel encouraged to hope that you would accept my challenge without\nconstraining me to resort to more forcible measures.\"\n\n\"In other words, and speaking without metaphor, to that cane?\" said\nBazarov in a tone of supreme indifference.\n\n\"Well, that is fair enough. Further insults are not needed--nor would\nyou have found the offering of them altogether free from danger.\nPray, therefore, remain a gentleman. It is as one that I accept your\nchallenge.\"\n\n\"Good!\" replied Paul Petrovitch; and he laid aside his cane. \"Next, a\nfew words on the subject of the conditions of our duel. First, pray be\nso good as to inform me whether or not you deem it necessary to resort\nto the formality of some such small difference of opinion as might\nserve as an ostensible excuse for my challenge?\"\n\n\"I think that unnecessary. Such things are best done without\nformalities of any kind.\"\n\n\"I agree--that is to say, I, like you, consider that to go into the\ntrue reasons for our antagonism would be inexpedient. Let us therefore\nallege to the world that we could not abide one another. What need\nwould there be to say more?\"\n\n\"What indeed?\" echoed Bazarov in a tone decidedly ironical.\n\n\"Also, with regard to the actual conditions of the duel. Inasmuch as we\nhave no seconds--for where could we find them?----\"\n\n\"Quite so. Where indeed?\"\n\n\"I have the honour to propose to you the following. Let us fight\nto-morrow morning--say, at six o'clock: the rendezvous to be behind the\ncopse, the weapons to be pistols, and the distance ten paces.\"\n\n\"Ten paces. Quite so! You and I abhor each other even at ten paces.\"\n\n\"Eight, then, if you wish?\"\n\n\"The same applies to eight.\"\n\n\"And the number of shots to be two apiece. Also, in case either of us\nshould fall, let each of us previously place in his pocket a letter\nlaying upon himself the entire blame for his demise.\"\n\n\"To that condition I wholly demur,\" said Bazarov.\n\n\"I think that you are straying into the pages of a French novel, and\naway from reality.\"\n\n\"Possibly I am. But, also, you will agree that to incur an unmerited\nsuspicion of murder is a prospect not pleasant to contemplate?\"\n\n\"I do. Yet still there remains another method of avoiding such an\nawkward imputation. That is to say, though we shall have no seconds, we\ncan have a witness.\"\n\n\"Whom precisely, if I might ask?\"\n\n\"Peter.\"\n\n\"Peter? What Peter?\"\n\n\"Peter the valet, a man who stands at the apex of contemporary culture,\nand could therefore play the r\u00f4le, and perform the functions, proper to\nsuch an occasion pre-eminently _comme il faut._\"\n\n\"I think that you are jesting, my good sir?\"\n\n\"No, I am not. If you will deign to give my proposal consideration you\nwill speedily arrive at the conviction that it is as simple as it is\ncharged with good sense. Schiller it would be impossible to hide in a\nbag, but I will undertake to prepare Peter for the part, and to bring\nhim to the rendezvous.\"\n\n\"Still you are pleased to jest,\" said Paul Petrovitch as he rose. \"But\nas you have so kindly met me, I have not the right to make further\nclaims upon your time. All is arranged, then? In passing, have you any\npistols?\"\n\n\"How should I have any pistols? I am not a man of war.\"\n\n\"Then perhaps you will allow me to offer you some of mine? Rest assured\nthat they have not been fired by me for five years.\"\n\n\"A very comforting assurance!\"\n\n\"Lastly,\" said Paul Petrovitch as he reached for his cane, \"it only\nremains for me to thank you, and to leave you to your pursuits. I have\nthe honour to bid you good-day.\"\n\n\"And I to say farewell until our pleasant meeting.\"\n\nWith which Bazarov escorted his visitor to the door.\n\nPaul Petrovitch gone, Bazarov stood awhile in thought. Then he\nexclaimed:\n\n\"Splendid indeed! Yet also unutterably stupid! What a comedy to play!\nTalk of educated dogs dancing on their hind legs!... However, I could\nnot have refused him, for, otherwise, he would have struck me and\n_then_\"--Bazarov turned pale, for his pride had been aroused--\"well,\n_then_ I should have strangled him like a kitten!\"\n\nHe returned to his microscope, but found his heart to be still\nbeating, and the coolness necessary to scientific observation to have\ndisappeared.\n\n\"I suppose he saw us this morning,\" he continued to himself. \"Yet\nsurely he is not doing this on his brother's behalf? For what is there\nin a kiss? No; something else is in the background. Bah! What if it\nshould be that he himself is in love with her? Yes, that is it. It is\nas clear as day. What a mess! Truly a horrible mess, however it be\nviewed! For first of all I am to have my brains blown out, and then I\nam to be made to leave this place! And there is Arkady to consider, and\nthat old heifer Nikolai Petrovitch. Awkward! Awkward indeed!\"\n\nHowever, the day dragged its slow length along. Thenichka remained\npractically non-existent (in other words, she kept to her room as\nclosely as a mouse to its hole), Nikolai Petrovitch walked about with\na careworn air (it had been reported to him that mildew had begun to\nattack the wheat), and Paul Petrovitch's mien of icy urbanity succeeded\nin damping the spirits of Prokofitch himself.\n\nPresently Bazarov sat down to write a letter to his father, but tore it\nup, and threw the pieces under the table.\n\n\"Should I be killed,\" he reflected, \"my parents will hear of it soon\nenough. But I shall _not_ be killed--I have yet far to wander about the\nworld.\"\n\nNext he ordered Peter to call him at dawn; and inasmuch as the order\nwas accompanied with a mention of important business, Peter jumped\nto the conclusion that it was Bazarov's intention to take him to St.\nPetersburg. Bazarov then retired to rest. Yet, late though he had done\nso, he was troubled with fantastic visions. Ever before him there\nflitted Madame Odintsov, who was also his mother. And ever behind her\nthere walked a black cat, which was also Thenichka. For his part, Paul\nPetrovitch figured as a forest which the dreamer was engaged to fight.\n\nAt length, when four o'clock arrived, Peter came to rouse him. Hastily\ndressing himself, he left the house with the valet. The morning was\nfine and fresh, and though a few wisps of cloud were trailing across\nthe pale-blue transparency of the zenith, a light dew had coated the\ngrass and foliage with drops, and was shining like silver on spiders'\nwebs. The steaming earth seemed still to be seeking to detain the\nroseate traces of dawn in her embrace; but presently every quarter of\nthe sky became lit up, and resounded again to the songs of larks.\n\nBazarov walked straight ahead until he reached the copse--then seated\nhimself at the shadowy edge of the trees, and explained to Peter the\nservices which he looked to the latter to perform; upon which the\n\"cultured\" menial came near to fainting, and was calmed only with\nan assurance that he would but have to stand at a distance, as a\nlooker-on, and that in no case would responsibility attach to his\nperson.\n\n\"And think,\" Bazarov concluded, \"in what an important r\u00f4le you are\nabout to figure!\"\n\nBut Peter, extending his hands deprecatingly, only turned up his eyes,\nbecame green in the face, and went and leant against a birch tree.\n\nThe copse was skirted by the road from Marino, and the light coating of\ndust bore no mark of having been disturbed since the previous evening,\nwhether by wheel or by foot. Involuntarily Bazarov kept glancing along\nthis road as, plucking and chewing stems of grass, he repeated again\nand again to himself: \"What a piece of folly!\" More than once, too,\nthe morning air made him shiver, and Peter gaze plaintively in his\ndirection; but Bazarov only laughed, for _he_ at least was no coward.\n\nAt length hoofs sounded along the road, and there came into sight from\nbehind the trees a peasant driving two horses with traces attached. As\nthe man passed Bazarov he looked at him inquisitively, but failed to\ndoff his cap; and this circumstance impressed Peter unfavourably, since\nthe valet considered it a bad omen.\n\n\"Like ourselves, that peasant has risen early,\" thought Bazarov. \"But\nwhereas _he_ has risen to work, _we_----!\"\n\n\"Some one else is coming, I believe,\" whispered Peter.\n\nBazarov raised his head, and saw Paul Petrovitch, in a light check\njacket and a pair of snow-white trousers, walking briskly along the\nroad. Under his arm was a green, baize-covered box.\n\n\"Pardon me for having kept you waiting,\" he said with a bow to Bazarov,\nand then one to Peter (for even to the latter he, for the nonce, seemed\nto accord something of the respect due to a second). \"As a matter of\nfact, I was loth to arouse my valet.\"\n\n\"I beg that you will not mention it,\" replied Bazarov. \"We ourselves\nhave only just arrived.\"\n\n\"So much the better!\" And Paul Petrovitch glanced about him. \"There\nwill be no one to see us or disturb us. Are you agreeable to\nproceeding?\"\n\n\"Quite.\"\n\n\"And I presume that you require no further explanations?\"\n\n\"None whatsoever.\"\n\n\"Then kindly load these.\" Paul Petrovitch took from the box a brace of\npistols.\n\n\"No. Do you load, while I measure the distance--my legs are longer\nthan yours.\" This last Bazarov added with a dry smile. \"Now, one, two,\nthree----\"\n\n\"I beg your pardon, sir,\" gasped Peter, who was trembling as with ague.\n\"I beg your pardon, but might I move further away?\"\n\n\"Four, five---- Certainly, my good fellow! Pray do so. You can go and\nstand behind that tree there, and stop your ears--provided that you\ndo not also stop your eyes. Lastly, should either Monsieur Kirsanov\nor myself fall, you are to run and pick up the fallen. Six, seven,\neight----\" Bazarov halted. \"That will do, I suppose?\" he added to Paul\nPetrovitch. \"Or would you prefer me to add another couple of paces?\"\n\n\"Do as you please,\" the other replied as he rammed home the second of\nthe two bullets.\n\n\"Then I will add those two paces.\" And Bazarov scratched a line in the\nsoil with his toe. \"Here is the mark. _Apropos_, how many paces is each\nof us to retire from our respective marks?\"\n\n\"Ten, I presume,\" said Paul Petrovitch as he proffered Bazarov a brace\nof pistols. \"Will you kindly make choice of these?\"\n\n\"I will. Nevertheless you will agree that our duel is singular, even to\nthe point of absurdity? For pray observe the countenance of our second!\"\n\n\"It is still your pleasure to jest,\" Paul Petrovitch responded coldly.\n\"Of the singularity of our contest I make no denial. I merely consider\nit my duty to warn you that I intend to right you in grim earnest. So,\n_\u00e0 bon entendeur, salut!_\"\n\n\"Yet, even though we intend to exterminate one another, why should we\nnot enjoy our jest, and thus combine _utile_ with _dulce_? You have\nspoken to me in French. I reply in Latin.\"\n\n\"I repeat that I intend to fight you in grim earnest,\" said Paul\nPetrovitch; with which he moved to his place, and Bazarov, after\ncounting ten paces from his mark, turned, and halted.\n\n\"Are you ready?\" inquired Paul Petrovitch.\n\n\"I am.\"\n\n\"Then engage.\"\n\nBazarov started to advance, and Paul Petrovitch did the same, with\nhis left hand thrust into his coat pocket, and his right gradually\nelevating the muzzle of his pistol.\n\n\"The fellow is aiming straight for my nose,\" thought Bazarov to\nhimself. \"And how the rascal is screwing up his eyes as he marches!\nThis is not a wholly pleasing sensation. I had better keep my eyes\nfixed upon his watch-chain.\"\n\nPast Bazarov's ear something suddenly whistled, while almost at the\nsame moment there came the sound of a report.\n\n\"I seemed to hear something, but no matter,\" was the thought which\nflashed through Bazarov's brain. Then he advanced another step, and,\nwithout aiming, pulled the trigger.\n\nAs he did so Paul Petrovitch gave a faint start, and clapped his hand\nto his thigh, down the white trouser-leg of which there began to\ntrickle a thin stream of blood.\n\nBazarov threw aside his pistol and approached his antagonist.\n\n\"Are you wounded?\" he inquired.\n\n\"Pray recall me to the mark,\" said Paul Petrovitch. \"You have the right\nso to do, and we are merely wasting time. The conditions of the contest\nallow of a second shot apiece.\"\n\n\"Pardon me, that can be deferred,\" said Bazarov, catching hold of Paul\nPetrovitch, who was beginning to turn pale in the face. \"I am no longer\na duellist, but a doctor, and must examine your wound. Peter! Here!\nWhere the devil has the man got to?\"\n\n\"This is sheer folly,\" gasped Paul Petrovitch. \"I need no help. Let\nus----\" Yet, even as he tried to twirl his moustache, his arm fell to\nhis side, his eyes closed, and he collapsed in a swoon.\n\n\"Something new!\" involuntarily cried Bazarov as he laid his antagonist\nupon the grass. \"A swoon! Let us see what is the matter with him.\"\n\nTaking out his pocket-handkerchief, he wiped away the blood, and probed\nthe neighbourhood of the wound.\n\n\"The bone is intact,\" he muttered. \"Yes, and the bullet has merely\npierced the flesh a little below the surface. Nothing but the _musculus\nvastus externus_ is so much as touched. In three weeks' time we shall\nhave him trotting about again. A swoon! Oh these men of nerves! What\nthin skins, to be sure!\"\n\n\"Is--is he dead?\" came in Peter's tremulous voice from behind.\n\nBazarov looked up.\n\n\"No,\" he said. \"Run for a little water, and he will outlive us both.\"\n\nUnfortunately the \"perfect servant\" did not understand what was said\nto him, but remained stock still. In fact, even when, the next moment,\nPaul Petrovitch opened his eyes Peter went on crossing himself and\nrepeating: \"He is dying!\"\n\n\"Monsieur Bazarov,\" the wounded man said with a twisted smile, \"you\nwere perfectly in the right when you said that the face of that man was\nthe face of a fool.\"\n\n\"It is so,\" agreed Bazarov. \"Damn you, will you fetch some water!\" (The\nlatter to the valet.)\n\n\"There is no need,\" put in Paul Petrovitch. \"It was only a passing\nvertigo. Kindly assist me to sit up. That is it. A scratch like this\nwill require only to be bandaged for me to walk home again. There will\nbe no necessity to have the _drozhki_ sent. For that matter, the duel\nneed not be renewed unless you wish it. At least to-day you have acted\nlike a gentleman. Kindly note that I have said so.\"\n\n\"To the past we have no need to refer,\" said Bazarov. \"And, as regards\nthe future, it calls for equally little remark, seeing that I intend\nto leave here at once. Allow me to bind your leg. The wound is not\ndangerous, but one of a nature which will make it as well to have the\nblood staunched. But first I must restore that stuck pig to life.\"\n\nShaking Peter vigorously by the collar, he dispatched him in search of\nthe _drozhki._\n\n\"But see that you do not alarm my brother,\" was Paul Petrovitch's\ninjunction also to the man. \"You are not to breathe a word of what has\nhappened.\"\n\nPeter set off at full speed. During the time that he was hastening for\nthe _drozhki_, the two antagonists sat silently side by side on the\nground, while Paul Petrovitch tried his best not to look at Bazarov,\nfor the reason that he did not feel inclined to become reconciled with\nhim, while at the same time he felt ashamed alike of his impulsiveness,\nhis failure, and the scheme which had had this ending, though he\nrealised that it might have been worse.\n\n\"At least will the fellow swagger here no more,\" he thought to himself\nby way of consolation. \"And, for that, much thanks!\"\n\nThe silence was a heavy, awkward silence, for neither of the pair felt\ncomfortable--each of them recognised that the other had taken his\nmeasure. To friends, such a recognition may be very agreeable, but to\nfoes it is far from welcome--least of all, when neither explanations\nnor a parting are feasible.\n\n\"I hope that I have not bound your leg too tightly?\" said Bazarov at\nlast.\n\n\"Oh no,\" replied Paul Petrovitch. \"As a matter of fact, it is doing\nsplendidly.\" After a pause he added: \"But we cannot deceive my brother.\nHow would it be if we were to tell him that we fell out over politics?\"\n\n\"Capital!\" agreed Bazarov. \"Tell him, for instance, that I started\ncursing Anglomaniacs.\"\n\n\"A good idea! But what can that man be thinking of us? I cannot\nimagine.\" The speaker pointed to the same peasant who, shortly before\nthe duel, had driven a pair of loose horses past Bazarov, and was\nnow shuffling homewards, while doffing his cap at the sight of the\ngentlemen.\n\n\"Who can say?\" replied Bazarov. \"Probably he is thinking of nothing at\nall. As Madame Radcliffe[1] frequently reminds us, the Russian _muzhik_\nis an unknown quantity. Does _any_ one understand him? He does not even\nunderstand himself.\"\n\n\"There you go again!\" began Paul Petrovitch, but suddenly broke off to\nsay in a still louder tone: \"See what that fool Peter has done! Here\ncomes my brother himself!\"\n\nSure enough, on turning his head, Bazarov saw Nikolai Petrovitch's pale\nface peering from the _drozhki._ Nor had the vehicle come to a halt\nbefore Nikolai had sprung from the step, and rushed towards his brother.\n\n\"What is this?\" he cried in agitated accents. \"Evgenii Vasilitch, I beg\nof you to tell me what has happened.\"\n\n\"Nothing has happened,\" replied Paul Petrovitch in Bazarov's stead.\n\"You are disturbing yourself to no purpose. I had a small quarrel with\nMonsieur Bazarov, and have paid a penalty as small.\"\n\n\"But whence did it arise? For God's sake tell me!\"\n\n\"What is there to say? It arose from the fact that Monsieur Bazarov\nspoke in disrespectful terms of Sir Robert Peel. I would hasten to add\nthat, throughout, I alone was at fault, and that Monsieur Bazarov bore\nhimself admirably--I being the challenger.\"\n\n\"But look at the blood!\"\n\n\"Pshaw! Did you suppose my veins to run with water? As a matter of\nfact, the blood-letting will do me good. Is not that so, doctor? Help\nme to mount the _drozhki_, and away with melancholy! By to-morrow I\nshall be recovered. Splendid! That is the way to do it. Right away,\ncoachman!\"\n\nWhen on the point of starting homewards in the wake of the _drozhki_,\nNikolai Petrovitch perceived Bazarov to be for remaining behind.\n\n\"Evgenii Vasilitch,\" he said, \"I would beg of you to attend my brother\nuntil a doctor can be procured from the town.\"\n\nBazarov nodded in silence.\n\nAn hour later Paul Petrovitch was reposing in bed with his leg neatly\nand artistically bandaged. The whole house was in a turmoil, Thenichka\ngreatly upset, and Nikolai able to do nothing but wring his hands. The\nsick man, on the contrary, laughed and jested, especially with Bazarov,\nand, to meet the occasion, had donned a fine linen shirt, an elegant\nmorning jacket, and a Turkish fez. Lastly, he forbade any one to close\nthe shutters, and kept venting humorous protests against the necessity\nof abstaining from food.\n\nTowards nightfall, however, fever supervened, and his head began to\nache; with the result that when the doctor arrived from the town\n(Nikolai Petrovitch had disobeyed his brother in this respect, and\nBazarov also had consented to his doing so, in that, after paying the\npatient a single visit, and that a very brief one, and being put to\nthe mortification of having to avoid Thenichka on two occasions when\nhe met her, he had felt that he preferred to spend the rest of the day\nin loneliness, bitterness, and rancour)--when the doctor arrived from\nthe town he advised a cooling draught, but at the same time confirmed\nBazarov's opinion that no danger was to be apprehended. In passing, it\nmay also be mentioned that, on being informed by Nikolai Petrovitch\nthat Paul Petrovitch's wound had been self-inflicted through an\naccident, the said doctor replied \"H'm!\"; to which, on receiving into\nhis hand a fee of twenty-five roubles, he added that of course things\nof the kind often occurred.\n\nNo one in the house, that night, retired to bed, or even undressed,\nbut at intervals Nikolai Petrovitch would tiptoe into his brother's\nroom, and as silently withdraw. At intervals, too, Paul Petrovitch\nwould awake from a doze, sigh faintly, and say to Nikolai either\n\"_Couchez-vous_\" or \"Please give me a drink.\" But once it happened that\nNikolai sent the invalid a glass of lemonade by the hand of Thenichka;\nand this time Paul Petrovitch scanned her long and searchingly before\ndraining the tumbler to the dregs. Towards morning the fever increased\na little, and a trace of lightheadedness made its appearance which\nfor a while caused the patient only to utter disconnected words.\nBut suddenly he opened his eyes, and, on seeing his brother bending\nsolicitously over the bed, murmured:\n\n\"Nikolai, do not you think that Thenichka slightly resembles Nelly?\"\n\n\"What Nelly, Paul? Who is Nelly?\"\n\n\"How can you ask? The Princess R., of course. In the upper portion of\nthe face especially Thenichka resembles her. _C'est de la m\u00eame famille_.\"\n\nNikolai Petrovitch made no reply. He could only remain lost in wonder\nthat bygone fancies could so survive in the human consciousness.\n\n\"That _this_ should have cropped up again!\" he reflected.\n\nOn another occasion Paul Petrovitch muttered as he clasped his hands\nbehind his head: \"How I love this idle existence!\" And again, a few\nminutes later, he whispered: \"I will not allow a single rascal to touch\nme!\"\n\nNikolai Petrovitch sighed. To whom the words referred he had not a\nnotion.\n\nAt eight o'clock next morning Bazarov entered Nikolai's room. His stock\nof insects, birds, and frogs had either been packed up or liberated.\n\nRising to meet him, Nikolai said:\n\n\"So you have come to say good-bye?\"\n\n\"I have.\"\n\n\"I understand your feelings, and I commend them. I know that my poor\nbrother alone was to blame, and is now paying the penalty. Also, I\ngather from what he says that your position was such that you could not\npossibly have acted otherwise than as you did--that for you to have\navoided this duel would have been impossible. That being so, we must\nattribute the mischance to the--er--standing antagonism of your views\"\n(here Nikolai Petrovitch tripped over his words a little). \"My brother\nis one of the old school, a man of hot temper and great persistency.\nConsequently we have God to thank that things have turned out no worse.\nFinally I may say that every possible precaution against publicity has\nbeen taken.\"\n\n\"Quite so,\" said Bazarov carelessly. \"But I will leave my address with\nyou, in case of anything occurring.\"\n\n\"I hope that nothing _will_ occur. Indeed, my one regret is that your\nstay in my house should have--should have terminated in such a fashion.\nAnd I am the more grieved in that Arkady---\"\n\n\"I expect to be seeing him very soon,\" interrupted Bazarov, whom\n\"explanations\" or \"speeches\" of any kind always roused to fever pitch.\n\"On the other hand, should I _not_ do so, pray convey to him my\ngreetings and my regrets.\"\n\n\"I will,\" said Nikolai Petrovitch with a bow; but even before he had\nfinished Bazarov had left the room.\n\nPaul Petrovitch, too, as soon as he heard that Bazarov was on the point\nof departing, expressed a desire to see him, and to shake hands with\nhim. Yet Bazarov remained as cold as ice, for well he knew that Paul\nPetrovitch's only aim was to make a show of \"magnanimity,\" while to\nThenichka he did not say good-bye at all--he merely exchanged with her\na glance as she peeped from one of the windows. Her face looked to him\ncareworn.\n\n\"Before long she will either trip or elope,\" he reflected.\n\nOn the other hand, Peter was so moved at the prospect of parting\nwith his patron that he wept on the latter's shoulder until his\ntransports were cooled with the question: \"Surely your eyes are not\nmade of water?\" while Duniasha's emotion was such that she had to take\nrefuge in a thicket. Meanwhile the cause of all this grief mounted\nthe travelling-cart, and lit a cigar; and even when he had travelled\nfour versts, and reached a spot where a turn in the road brought\nthe Kirsanov farm into line with the new manor-house, he merely\nexpectorated some tobacco juice, and muttered, as he wrapped himself\ncloser in his cloak: \"The cursed tomnoddies!\"\n\nThenceforth Paul Petrovitch began to mend, but still was ordered to\nkeep his bed for another week. What he called his \"imprisonment\"\nhe bore with very fair patience, although he remained fussy in the\nmatter of his toilet, and constantly had himself sprinkled with\neau-de-Cologne. Meanwhile Nikolai Petrovitch read aloud to him the\nnewspapers, and Thenichka served him with soup, lemonade, scrambled\neggs, and tea. Yet she never entered the room without feeling a\nmysterious nervousness come over her. Paul Petrovitch's unexpected\nbehaviour had frightened every one in the house, but her it had\nfrightened most of all. Only old Prokofitch seemed undismayed at the\noccurrence, and kept asserting that, in his day, \"the gentry used to\nbore holes in one another right enough, but only the gentry. Jackanapes\nlike that Bazarov would have been ducked in the gutter for their pains.\"\n\nThenichka felt little pricking of conscience, but there were times when\nthe thought of the true cause of the quarrel rendered her at least\nuneasy, and the more so because Paul Petrovitch's way of looking at\nher was now so strange that, even when she turned her back to him, she\ncould still feel his eyes upon her. In combination, therefore, her\nworries led to her growing thinner, and also (as often happens in such\ncircumstances) to her adding to her beauty.\n\nAt length, one morning, Paul Petrovitch felt so much better that he\nleft his bed, and removed to the sofa; while Nikolai Petrovitch, after\nseeing that he had all he wanted, betook himself to the farm. Also,\nit fell to Thenichka's lot to take the invalid a cup of tea; and when\nshe had placed it on the table, she was about to withdraw, when Paul\nPetrovitch requested her to remain.\n\n\"Why should you hurry away?\" he said. \"Is it that you have other things\nto do?\"\n\n\"No--yes. That is to say, I have to go and pour out tea for the\nservants.\"\n\n\"Duniasha can do that. Surely you will stay awhile with a sick man who\nhas something of great importance to say to you?\"\n\nSilently she seated herself on the edge of a chair.\n\n\"Listen,\" he continued, as he tugged at his moustache.\n\n\"For some time past I have been wanting to ask you why you are so\nafraid of me?\"\n\n\"Afraid of you?\"\n\n\"Yes; for you never look at me. In fact, one would think that your\nconscience was uneasy.\"\n\nHer face reddened, but she looked Paul Petrovitch straight in the eyes.\nSomehow his aspect struck her as peculiar, and her heart began to throb.\n\n\"Is your conscience clear?\" he asked.\n\n\"Yes, Why should it not be?\" she responded in a whisper.\n\n\"I do not know. Certainly I can recall no one against whom you can have\ncommitted a fault. Against me? It is scarcely probable. Against others\nin this house? That is as improbable. Against my brother? But him you\nlove, do you not?\"\n\n\"I do.\"\n\n\"With your whole heart and soul?\"\n\n\"With my whole heart and soul.\"\n\n\"Really and truly, Thenichka?\" (never before had he addressed her\nthus). \"Look me in the eyes. To lie is a terrible sin. You know that,\nof course?\"\n\n\"But I am _not_ lying, Paul Petrovitch. Did I not love Nikolai\nPetrovitch, I should not want to live.\"\n\n\"And you would exchange him for no one else?\"\n\n\"_Whom_ should I exchange him for?\"\n\n\"I do not know. Surely not for the gentlemen who has just left us?\"\n\nThenichka rose to her feet.\n\n\"Why should you torment me in this way?\" she cried. \"What have I done\nthat you should speak to me so?\"\n\n\"Thenichka,\" came the mournful reply, \"I speak to you in this manner\nfor the reason that I saw----\"\n\n\"You saw what?\"\n\n\"I saw _you_--in the lilac arbour.\"\n\nShe blushed to her ears, to the very roots of her hair.\n\n\"But how was I to blame?\" at length she contrived to say.\n\nPaul Petrovitch raised himself on the sofa.\n\n\"You swear, do you, that you were _not_ to blame?\" he said. \"That you\nwere not in the slightest degree to blame? Not at all?\"\n\n\"I love Nikolai Petrovitch,\" came the reply, delivered with sudden\nenergy and a rising sob, \"and never shall I love any other man. As\nfor what you saw, before the Throne of Judgment I swear that I am\ninnocent, that I have always been so, and that I would rather die than\nbe suspected of having deceived Nikolai Petrovitch, my benefactor.\"\n\nHer voice failed her. Then, behold! she felt Paul seize and press\nher hand! Turning her head, she looked down at him--and stood almost\npetrified. For his face was even paler than usual, his eyes were\nglistening, and--most surprising thing of all!--a great tear was\ntrickling down his cheek!\n\n\"Thenichka,\" he whispered in a voice which hardly seemed his own, \"I\nbeg of you always to love, and never to cease loving, my brother. He\nis such a good, kind fellow as has not his equal in the world. Never\ndesert him for another; never listen to any tales which you may hear of\nhim, but reflect how terrible it would be for him to love and not to be\nloved! Yes, think well, Thenichka, before ever you forsake him.\"\n\nThenichka's amazement caused her eyes almost to start from her\nhead, and her nervousness completely to vanish. Judge, also, of her\nsurprise when, though he did not draw her to himself, nor kiss her,\nPaul Petrovitch raised her hand to his lips, and then burst into a\nconvulsive fit of sobbing!\n\n\"God in Heaven!\" she thought to herself. \"What if this should make him\nhave another fainting fit?\"\n\nMeanwhile, in that one moment Paul Petrovitch was living over again a\npast phase of his ruined life.\n\nPresently hurried footsteps were heard causing the staircase to creak;\nand just as Paul pushed Thenichka away from him and replaced his head\nupon the pillow, the door opened, and Nikolai Petrovitch--fresh, ruddy,\nand smiling--entered with little Mitia. The latter, equally fresh and\nruddy, was leaping in Nikolai's arms, and pressing his tiny, naked feet\nagainst the buttons of his father's rural smock.\n\nRunning to father and child, Thenichka threw her arms around both\nalike, and sank her head upon the former's shoulder. This caused him to\nhalt in amazement, for never before had the bashful, reserved Thenichka\nshown him any endearment in the presence of a third person.\n\n\"What is the matter?\" he exclaimed. Then he glanced at Paul, handed\nMitia to Thenichka, and, approaching the bedside, inquired if his\nbrother were worse.\n\nPaul's face was buried in his handkerchief, but he replied:\n\n\"Oh dear no. Not at all. If anything, I am better--yes, very much\nbetter.\"\n\n\"Nevertheless you have been over-hasty in removing to the sofa,\" said\nNikolai Petrovitch; after which he turned to ask Thenichka why she was\nleaving the room, but she departed abruptly, and closed the door behind\nher.\n\n\"I had come to show you my little rascal,\" Nikolai continued. \"He had\nbeen pining for a sight of his uncle. But she has carried him away for\nsome reason. What is the matter? Has something occurred?\"\n\n\"My brother,\" replied Paul Petrovitch--and as he uttered the words\nNikolai Petrovitch gave a start, and felt ill at ease, he knew not why.\n\"My brother, pray give me your word of honour that you will fulfil the\nrequest which I am going to make.\"\n\n\"What request, Paul? I beg of you to continue.\"\n\n\"A request of the first importance. Upon it, I believe, your entire\nhappiness depends. Also, what I am going to say represents the fruit of\nmuch thought. My brother, the request is that you will do your duty,\nthe duty of a good and honourable man. In other words, I beseech you to\nput an end to this scandal and bad example, which is unworthy of you,\nunworthy of a man who is the best of souls.\"\n\n\"To what do you refer, Paul?\"\n\n\"To this. You ought to _marry_ Thenichka. She loves you, and is the\nmother of your child.\"\n\nStepping back, Nikolai Petrovitch clasped his hands together.\n\n\"Do _you_ say this?\" he exclaimed. \"Do _you_ say this--_you_ whom I\nhave always understood to be opposed to such unions? Do _you_ say this?\nSurely you know that solely out of respect for yourself have I hitherto\nrefrained from doing what rightfully you call my duty?\"\n\n\"Wrongfully, then, have you respected me,\" said Paul Petrovitch with a\nsad smile. \"In fact, almost I am beginning to think that Bazarov was\nright when he accused me of only feigning the aristocratic instinct.\nFor it is not enough for you and me to trouble ourselves about worldly\nmatters alone. We are old men past our prime, who ought to lay aside\nall pettinesses, and to fulfil strictly our obligations. Nor forget\nthat, should we thus act, we shall receive an added measure of\nhappiness as our reward.\"\n\nNikolai Petrovitch flung himself upon his brother, and embraced him\nagain and again.\n\n\"You have opened my eyes,\" he cried. \"When I described you as the best\nman in the world I was not wrong: and now I perceive your wisdom to be\nequal to your magnanimity.\"\n\n\"Quieter, quieter!\" advised Paul. \"Do not further inflame the leg of an\nold fool who, at fifty, has fought a duel like a young ensign. Then the\nmatter is settled, and Thenichka is to become my _belle-soeur_?\"\n\n\"Yes, my dearest Paul. But what will Arkady say?\"\n\n\"Arkady? He will be delighted. True, marriage does not come within his\npurview or principles, but at least his sense of social equality will\nbe tickled. And, in the nineteenth century, what does caste matter?\"\n\n\"Paul, Paul, let me embrace you once more. You need not be afraid.\nI will do it very carefully.\" And the two brothers flung their arms\naround one another.\n\n\"Well?\" continued Paul Petrovitch. \"What think you? Shall we tell her\nat once?\"\n\n\"No, we need not be in too much of a hurry,\" replied Nikolai\nPetrovitch. \"As a matter of fact, you have been having a talk with her,\nhave you not?\"\n\n\"I have been having a talk with her? _Quelle id\u00e9e!_\"\n\n\"However, your first business is to recover. Thenichka will not run\naway, and in the meanwhile the affair must be carefully considered.\"\n\n\"Then you have decided upon it?\"\n\n\"Certainly I have! And I thank you with all my heart. But I must\nleave you for a while now, for you ought to have some rest, and any\nexcitement is bad for you. Matters can be discussed later. Go to sleep,\ndearest of brothers, and may God restore you to health!\"\n\n\"Why did he thank _me_?\" thought Paul Petrovitch to himself after\nNikolai had gone.\" Does not the affair depend upon him alone, seeing\nthat, after the marriage, I myself shall have to depart elsewhere--to\nDresden or to Florence, and to abide there until I die?\"\n\nHe bathed his forehead with eau-de-Cologne, and then closed his eyes.\nAs he lay with his handsome, refined head resting on the pillow, he\nlooked, in the clear light of the sun, like a corpse.\n\n\n[1] Ann Radcliffe, _n\u00e9e_ Ward (1764-1823), an English novelist who\nwrote _The Mysteries of Udolpho_ and other tales, and travelled\nextensively.\n\n\n\n\nXXV\n\n\nIn the shade of a tall ash tree in the garden at Nikolsk\u00f6e Katia\nand Arkady were seated on a bench. Beside them, on the ground, lay\nFifi--his lengthy body twisted into the curve known to sporting folk\nas \"the hare's crouch.\" Neither from Arkady nor from Katia was a word\nproceeding. Arkady was holding in his hands a half-opened book, and she\nwas picking a few crumbs from a basket, and throwing them to a small\nfamily of sparrows which, with the timid temerity of their tribe, were\nchirping and hopping at her very feet. A faint breeze was stirring\nthe leaves of the ash tree, and dappling Fifi's tawny back and the\ndark line of the pathway with a number of wavering circles of pale\ngolden light; but Arkady and Katia were wholly in shade, save that an\noccasional streak glanced upon, and gleamed in, her hair. Just for the\nreason that the pair were silent and side by side was there present\nto their consciousness a _camaraderie_ which, while causing neither\nto have the other definitely in mind, pleased each with the sense of\nthe other's propinquity. The expression of both is changed since last\nwe saw them. Arkady's face wears a staider air, and Katia looks more\nanimated and less retiring.\n\nAt length, however, Arkady spoke.\n\n\"Do you not think,\" he said, \"that our Russian term _yasen_ is\nparticularly suitable to the ash tree? For no other tree cleaves the\nair with such airy brightness.\"(1) Katia looked up.\n\n\"I agree,\" she replied, while Arkady proudly reflected: \"At all events\n_she_ does not reprove me for talking in 'beautiful language.'\"\n\n\"By the way,\" Katia continued with a glance at the book in his hands,\n\"I cannot say that I always approve of Heine. I like him neither when\nhe is laughing nor when he is in tears--I like him only when he is\nmeditative and languid.\"\n\n\"Well, I like him when he is laughing,\" Arkady remarked.\n\n\"Then still there survives in you a trace of your old satirical\ntendency. Still your reformation needs to be completed.\"\n\n\"Indeed?\" thought Arkady. \"My satirical tendency? Oh, that Bazarov\ncould have heard that!\"\n\nWhile aloud he said:\n\n\"Who is 'we'? Yourself?\"\n\n\"Oh dear no! My sister, and Porfiri Platonitch, with whom you no longer\nquarrel, and my aunt, whom, three days ago, you escorted to church.\"\n\n\"I did so only because I could not refuse. And as regards Anna\nSergievna, kindly remember that, in many things, she agrees with\nBazarov.\"\n\n\"Yes, she used to be greatly under his influence, and so did you.\"\n\n\"And so did I? Then am I now emancipated from that influence?\"\n\nKatia returned no reply.\n\n\"I know that you never liked him,\" Arkady continued.\n\n\"Did I not? It was not for me to judge him.\"\n\n\"Never do I hear that reply without declining to believe it. There is\nnot a person living whom _all_ of us have not the right to judge. A\ndisclaimer of that kind always represents an excuse.\"\n\n\"To tell the truth, I disliked him less than I felt him to be a\nstranger to me--as complete a one as I to him--or you either, for that\nmatter.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"I mean that--well, how can I express it? That, whereas he was a wild\nbird, you and I are tame ones.\"\n\n\"_I_ am a tame one?\"\n\nKatia nodded assent. Arkady scratched his ear.\n\n\"Look here,\" he said. \"I may tell you that that constitutes, in\nessence, an insult.\"\n\n\"Why so? Do you _want_ to be a wild bird?\"\n\n\"Not necessarily a wild one, but at least one strong and energetic.\"\n\n\"You need wish no such thing. Your friend was both, yet he would rather\nhave been otherwise.\n\n\"H'm! You believe that he used to exercise a considerable influence\nover Anna Sergievna?\"\n\n\"Yes. But no one can hold a rein over her for long.\" Katia added this\nlast _sotto voce._\n\n\"What makes you think that?\"\n\n\"The fact that she is very proud--rather, that she values her\nindependence.\"\n\n\"Who does not?\" queried Arkady, while there flashed through his mind\nthe thought: \"Why this mention of her?\" Curiously enough, the same\nthought occurred to Katia too. But this was not so curious as might\nhave been supposed, seeing that when young people meet in frequent and\namicable converse, identical thoughts are apt to enter their brains.\n\nArkady smiled, edged nearer to Katia, and said in a whisper: \"Confess\nthat you are a little afraid of her.\"\n\n\"Of whom?\"\n\n\"Of _her_\" repeated Arkady meaningly.\n\n\"_Are you_ afraid of her?\" countered Katia.\n\n\"I am. Please note that I believe you to be the same.\"\n\nKatia raised a menacing finger.\n\n\"I am surprised at you!\" she exclaimed. \"Never at any time has my\nsister been better disposed towards you than she is now. She likes you\nconsiderably more than when you first came.\"\n\n\"Really?\"\n\n\"Yes. And have you not noticed it? You ought to be pleased at the\nnotion.\"\n\nArkady reflected.\n\n\"How I have contrived to win Anna Sergievna's good graces I do not\nknow,\" at length he said. \"Surely it cannot be because I brought her\nthose letters which were written by your mother?\"\n\n\"It is, though, and because of other reasons as well--reasons which I\nwill forbear to mention.\"\n\n\"Why will you?\"\n\n\"Because I will.\"\n\n\"Oh, I know your faculty for obstinacy.\"\n\n\"It is one which I possess.\"\n\n\"Also, your faculty for observing things.\"\n\nKatia glanced at him. Then she inquired:\n\n\"Why lose your temper? What are you thinking of?\"\n\n\"This: that I cannot understand how you come to possess those powers\nof observation which undoubtedly are yours. I understand it the less\nbecause you are so nervous and distrustful and shy of everybody and----\"\n\n\"It is because I have lived such a lonely life. A life of that kind\nleads one to reflect in spite of oneself. Am I shy of _every_ one,\nthough?\"\n\nArkady bestowed upon her an appreciative glance.\n\n\"Never mind,\" he said. \"At all events it is not often that people in\nyour position--I mean, people of your wealth--possess such a gift. To\nthem, as to the Tsars, truth penetrates hardly.\"\n\n\"But I am _not_ wealthy.\"\n\nArkady failed at first to follow her meaning, but reflected: \"Certainly\nthe property belongs to her sister, not to her.\" Nor was the thought\nwholly unpleasing--so little so that presently he added:\n\n\"You said that very prettily.\"\n\n\"I said what?\"\n\n\"That you are not wealthy. You said it so simply, so without any\nfalse shame, so without the least _arri\u00e8re pens\u00e9e. Apropos_, the\nconsciousness of the ordinary person who both knows and confesses that\nhe or she is poor always seems to me to contain more than the mere\nwords imply--it harbours also a touch of vanity.\"\n\n\"I have, thanks to my sister, had no experience of poverty. And as\nfor my possessions, I mentioned them only because the words came of\nthemselves to my lips.\"\n\n\"Quite so. Yet confess that you too harbour a grain of the vanity to\nwhich I have alluded.\"\n\n\"Give me an example of my doing so.\"\n\n\"An example? Well, may I ask why you have not married a rich man?\"\n\n\"Were I to love such a one very much, I----But no man of that sort has\ncome my way: wherefore I have made no such marriage.\"\n\n\"There, now!\" cried Arkady. \"But why should you not do so in the\nfuture?\"\n\n\"Because even the poets deprecate _m\u00e9salliances._\"\n\n\"You mean that you wish either to rule or----?\"\n\n\"Oh no! What good would that be? On the contrary, I am prepared to be\nruled, even though I believe that inequality in any form works badly. A\nunion of self-respect with submission--that is what I best understand,\nthat is what spells true happiness. A mere subordinate existence\nis--well, something which I do not fancy.\"\n\n\"'Something which I do not fancy,'\" commented Arkady. \"Yes, you are of\nthe same blood as Anna Sergievna: you are as independent as she, and\nyou are even more secretive. In fact, however deep-rooted and sacred\na stock of sentiments you might hold, you would never, of your own\naccord, give them utterance.\"\n\n\"Of course! How could you suppose anything else?\"\n\n\"Also, you are clever, and have a measure of character equal to, if not\ngreater than, hers.\"\n\n\"I dislike being compared with my sister. You seem to have forgotten\nthat she is both 'beautiful' and 'intellectual' and---- Moreover, you,\nabove all people, ought not to say anything to her disparagement, and\nstill less to say it seriously.\"\n\n\"Why '_you_, above all people'? Do you think that I am jesting?\"\n\n\"I am certain of it.\"\n\n\"Indeed? But what if I were to say that I really mean my words? What if\nI were to say that, if anything, I have under-expressed what is in my\nmind?\"\n\n\"I fail to follow you.\"\n\n\"Do you? Your quickness of perception has been overrated.\"\n\n\"Why has it?\"\n\nAverting his head, Arkady returned no reply, while Katia fell to\nsearching for the last crumbs in her basket, and throwing them to the\nsparrows. Unfortunately, the throw of her arm proved too strong, and\nthe birds flew away without even touching the food offered them.\n\n\"Katia,\" said Arkady, \"it may be that you look upon these things as\nmatters of no moment. Kindly note, therefore, that neither for your\nsister nor for any other person would I exchange Mademoiselle Katerina\nSergievna.\"\n\nRising, he walked away as though in sudden alarm at having allowed the\nwords to escape his lips. Meanwhile Katia, with her hands resting upon\nthe basket and her head bent, gazed after him. Gradually there crept\ninto her cheeks a rosy tint; and though her lips were not smiling, and\nher dark eyes contained a hint of perplexity, there lurked also in her\nexpression another unexpressed feeling.\n\n\"Are you alone?\" said Anna Sergievna's voice from behind her. \"I\nthought that Arkady came with you into the garden?\"\n\nKatia slowly raised her eyes to her sister (tastefully, and even\nshowily, dressed, the latter was standing on the path, and engaged in\nstirring Fin's ears with the point of an open parasol), and as slowly\nreplied:\n\n\"Yes--I am alone.\"\n\n\"So I see,\" commented Madame with a smile. \"He has gone indoors, I\nsuppose?\"\n\n\"Probably.\"\n\n\"And you have been reading with him?\"\n\n\"I have.\"\n\nAnna Sergievna took Katia under the chin, and raised her face towards\nher own.\n\n\"You have not quarrelled, I hope?\" she said.\n\n\"Oh no,\" said Katia, and quietly put away her sister's hand.\n\n\"What solemn replies! Well, I came here to propose a walk, since he is\nalways asking me to go one. But, to pass to another subject, some shoes\nhave arrived for you from the town, so _you_ had better go and try them\non. Only yesterday I was noticing how shabby your old ones are. In\ngeneral, you do not take sufficient pains in such matters, for you have\ncharming feet, and also not ugly hands, even though a trifle too large.\nYou ought to take care of your feet. When you are here you do not do so\nsufficiently.\"\n\nMadame passed onwards with a light rustle of her handsome gown, while\nKatia rose from the bench, and, taking the volume of Heine, departed in\nanother direction--though _not_ to try on the boots.\n\n\"'You have charming feet,'\" she repeated to herself as she tripped up\nthe sun-baked steps of the terrace. \"'You have charming feet.' Well,\nbefore long some one shall be at them.\"\n\nConfusion then overcame her, and she took the remaining steps at a\nbound.\n\nMeanwhile Arkady made for his room. As he was passing through the hall\nhe was overtaken by the butler, and informed that Monsieur Bazarov was\nawaiting him above.\n\n\"Evgenii Vasilitch?\" exclaimed Arkady in a tone very much as of alarm.\n\"Has he been here long?\"\n\n\"A few minutes only. He instructed me not to announce him to Madame but\nto take him straight to your room.\"\n\n\"I hope that nothing unfortunate has occurred at home,\" reflected\nArkady as he ran up the stairs and opened the door of the bedroom. But\nthe first sight of Bazarov's face reassured him, even though a more\nexperienced eye might have detected in the features of the unlooked-for\nguest certain signs that inward turmoil underlay their usual rigidity.\nClad in a dust cloak and a travelling cap, he was seated on the\nwindow-sill, and did not rise even when, rushing towards him with\nexclamations of astonishment, and fussing to and fro like a man who\nbelieves himself to be overjoyed, as well as desires other people to\nbelieve it, Arkady cried:\n\n\"What a surprise! What has brought you here? Surely everything at home\nis well, and all are in good health?\"\n\n\"Everything at your home is well,\" said Bazarov; \"but all are not in\ngood health. However, if your brains are not hopelessly wandering,\nfirst tell them to bring me some _kvass_, and then sit down and listen\nto my few but, I hope, well-chosen words.\"\n\nThis quieted Arkady, and upon that Bazarov told him of the duel with\nPaul Petrovitch. The recital finished, Arkady stood amazed, as well as\ndistressed. But this he did not think it necessary to state--he merely\ninquired whether his uncle's wound were really a harmless one, and, on\nreceiving the reply that it was of a nature uninteresting from every\nbut the medical point of view, forced a smile. Yet all the while he\nfelt secretly hurt, and also secretly ashamed. This Bazarov seemed to\ndivine.\n\n\"See,\" he said, \"what comes of consorting with feudal folk! Should\none's lot be cast among them, inevitably one gets drawn into their\nknightly tourneys. Being on my way to my parents' place, I have turned\naside to But no; I will not be guilty of a foolish and useless lie. The\nreal reason why I have turned aside is that--oh, the devil only knows\nwhy! Times there are when a man ought to take himself by the scruff of\nthe neck, and uproot himself like a radish from a garden border. That\nis what _I_ did when I was last here. But, since, a longing has come\nupon me to take just another peep at all that I then forsook--to view\nonce more the border where I used to grow.\"\n\n\"By the words 'all that I then forsook' I hope that you do not mean\nmyself as well?\" cried Arkady anxiously. \"Do not say that you intend to\nsever me also from your friendship?\"\n\nBazarov looked at him. He did so fixedly, almost sharply.\n\n\"Would the eventuality distress you?\" he inquired. \"Rather, it is you\nwho have forsaken me, O verdant and transparent soul. _Inter alia_, I\nhope that your affair with Anna Sergievna is progressing?\"\n\n\"My 'affair with Anna Sergievna'?\"\n\n\"For her sake, was it not, you came hither from the town? Ah, tender\nyoung chicken of mine, what about those Sunday Schools? Come, come!\nDo not tell me that you are not in love with her. Or have you at last\nlearnt to be secretive?\"\n\n\"Always I have been frank with you, as you know; wherefore pray believe\nme when I say--I call God to witness that it is true--that your\nsurmises are mistaken.\"\n\n\"Truly a new song!\" remarked Bazarov _sotto voce._\n\n\"But do not disturb yourself: it is all one to me. Certainly, a\nRomanticist would have said: 'Our roads are beginning to diverge'; but\nI say no more than that clearly we have no further use for one another.\"\n\n\"Oh, Evgenii!\"\n\n\"Dear lad, it is no misfortune. At all times is something in the world\nfinding out that it has no use for something else. So we must say\ngood-bye. Ever since I arrived in this place I have been feeling as\nuncomfortable as a Governor's lady when she hears a work of Gogol's\nread aloud. In fact, I did not order my horses to be unharnessed.\"\n\n\"But you cannot act like this!\"\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\n\"Because, apart from my own feelings, such a speedy departure would be\nthe height of rudeness to Anna Sergievna. I know that she would like to\nsee you.\"\n\n\"No, she would not.\"\n\n\"I am positive that she would. Why pretend like this? Are you going to\nsay that it is not for her sake alone that you are here?\"\n\n\"You have grounds for that surmise, yet I say that you are wrong.\"\n\nBut Arkady proved to be right, for Anna Sergievna really desired to see\nBazarov, and, through the butler, sent him word to that effect. After\ntidying his costume, therefore, and tucking his new great-coat under\nhis arm (in readiness to depart as soon as the interview should be\nconcluded), he went downstairs, and was received, not in the room where\nhe had unexpectedly disclosed his passion, but in the drawing-room.\nAnna Sergievna's manner, as she offered him the tips of her fingers,\nwas pleasant enough, yet her face betrayed involuntary tension.\n\n\"To begin with,\" Bazarov hastened to say, \"allow me to reassure you.\nYou see before you a corpse which has long returned to its senses, and\nis also not destitute of hope that others have forgotten its folly. I\nam unlikely to see you again for an extended period, but, though (as\nyou know) I am not given to sentiment, I feel that I should like to\nbear away with me the thought that my image still fills your mind with\naversion.\"\n\nShe caught at her breath like a person who has just arrived at the\nsummit of a lofty mountain. Then her face lightened into a smile, and,\noffering Bazarov her hand a second time, she allowed it to respond to\nthe pressure of his.\n\n\"When sorrow is asleep, do not wake it,\" she said. \"And the less so\nsince my conscience convicts me, if not of coquetry on that occasion,\nat all events of something else. One word more. Let us be friends\nagain. For it was all a dream, was it not? And who remembers dreams?\"\n\n\"Who indeed? And love--well, love is a mere empirical sentiment.\"\n\n\"I am glad to hear you say so.\"\n\nThus Anna Sergievna, and thus Bazarov. And both conceived themselves to\nbe speaking the truth. But was it the truth?--at all events, the whole\ntruth? The speakers themselves did not know, and therefore the author\ndoes not. Nevertheless both the man and the woman framed their words to\ncreate an atmosphere of mutual confidence.\n\nNext Anna Sergievna asked Bazarov how he had spent his time at the\nKirsanovs'; and though he came within an ace of telling her of the duel\nwith Paul Petrovitch, he checked himself in time, and replied that he\nhad been engaged in work.\n\n\"And I,\" she said, \"have been, for some unknown reason, out of humour,\nand meditating going abroad; but the fit is passing now (thanks to the\narrival of your friend Arkady Nikolaievitch), and already I find myself\nrelapsing into my old rut, and resuming my true r\u00f4le.\"\n\n\"And what is your true r\u00f4le?\"\n\n\"The r\u00f4le of acting as aunt or preceptress or mother--call it what you\nlike--to my sister. In passing, I wonder if you are aware that once\nupon a time I did not altogether understand your close friendship with\nArkady Nikolaievitch? Somehow he seemed too insignificant for you. But\nnow, I know him better, and have convinced myself that in his head\nthere is a brain. Above all things, he is young, young--not like you\nand myself, Evgenii Vasilitch.\"\n\n\"But he is still shy in your presence?\" queried Bazarov.\n\n\"He\" began Anna Sergievna; then, checking herself, continued: \"No; he\nis gaining confidence, and has taken to talking to me quite freely;\nwhereas once upon a time, though I did not seek his company, he used\nto flee whenever I came near him. By the way, he is great friends with\nKatia.\"\n\nSomehow this irritated Bazarov.\n\n\"Never can a woman forbear dissembling,\" was his reflection. Aloud he\nsaid with a frigid smile: \"Then you say that he used to flee from you?\nBut surely it cannot be a secret that formerly he cherished for you\n_une grande passion?\"_\n\n\"What? He too?\"\n\n\"Yes, he too,\" affirmed Bazarov with a nod. \"But I think that you knew\nthat? It was not a piece of news that I have just told you?\"\n\nHer eyes became fixed upon the floor.\n\n\"I believe you to be wrong,\" she observed.\n\n\"So do not I. But perhaps I ought not to have mentioned it?\" To himself\nhe added: \"And perhaps you will not, in future, play the hypocrite with\nme.\"\n\n\"Why should you not have mentioned it?\" she queried. \"As a matter\nof fact, I believe you to be attaching importance to a mere passing\nimpression, and shall soon think that you have a tendency to\nexaggerate.\"\n\n\"Suppose we talk of something else?\" he suggested.\n\n\"For what reason?\"\n\nHowever, of her own accord she diverted the conversation into another\nchannel. True, she had assured him, and she herself believed, that\neverything was buried in the past; yet she felt ill at ease, and\nconscious that, even while jesting or exchanging the merest of\n_bagatelles,_ she had weighing upon her a nervous oppression. In fact,\nit was akin to the case of passengers afloat. Though such folk will\nlaugh and talk with the same apparent indifference as on land, let but\nthe machinery stop, or the least sign of anything unusual appear, and\nat once every face will display that peculiar expression of anxiety\nwhich comes only of constant knowledge of ever-present danger.\n\nOf similar sort was Anna Sergievna's interview with Bazarov; nor was\nit prolonged, in that soon she began to feel so absent-minded, and to\nanswer with such vagueness, that she proposed a move to the hall, where\nthere were found Katia and the Princess.\n\n\"And where is Arkady Nikolaievitch?\" inquired the hostess; and, on\nbeing told that he had not been seen for over an hour, she sent\nmessengers to summon him. But this proved a lengthy task, seeing that\nhe had withdrawn to the remotest corner of the garden, and, sitting\nwith chin upon hands, was plunged in thought. Those thoughts were\nimportant and profound, but not sad; and though he knew that Anna\nSergievna was alone with Bazarov, he felt none of his old jealousy,\nbut, rather, gazed before him with quiet cheerfulness--with an air as\nthough something had pleased and surprised him, and led him to arrive\nat a certain decision.\n\n\n[1] _ Yasen_ is derived from the adjective _yasni_, meaning clear or\nbright.\n\n\n\n\nXXVI\n\n\nAlthough the late Monsieur Odintsov had disliked \"innovations,\" he\nhad not been opposed to the indulgence of \"a certain play of refined\ntaste,\" and had erected, in a space between the hothouses and the lake,\na building modelled in the style of a Greek temple, but consisting\nof undeniable Russian bricks. Also, he had caused to be inserted in\nthe massive rear wall of this temple or gallery six niches for six\nstatues which were designed to represent Solitude, Silence, Thought,\nMelancholy, Modesty, and Sensibility, and which he had purposed to\nimport from abroad; but only one of these, the statue of the Goddess\nof Silence, with a finger to her lips, had actually been delivered and\nerected; and even of that the household underlings had knocked off the\nnose on the very day of the statue's arrival. True, a neighbouring\nsculptor had offered to furnish the goddess with a nose \"twice as good\nas the last one,\" but Odintsov had none the less ordered her removal to\na corner of the millhouse, where for several years past she had acted\nas a source of superstitious awe to the peasant women of the district.\nLikewise, the front wall of the temple had become so overgrown with\nbushes that only the capitals of the supporting columns remained\nvisible above the mass of verdure, and even at midday the interior\nof the building was cool and pleasant; and though Anna Sergievna had\nnever really liked the place since the day when she had discovered an\nadder there, Katia paid it frequent visits, and, seating herself on\na great stone bench which was fixed under one of the niches, would\nread or work, or surrender herself to the influence of that perfect\nrestfulness which, known, probably, to every one, comes of a silent,\nhalf-unconscious contemplation of the great waves of life as they\nbreak for ever around and against us.\n\nOn the morning after Bazarov's arrival Katia was in her usual position\non the bench, and beside her was Arkady--he having specially asked her\nto accompany him thither.\n\nThough an hour was still wanting to luncheon time, the dew and the\nfreshness of the morning had already given place to the sultriness\nand the aridity of noontide. Arkady's face yet bore the expression\nof yesterday, but Katia's features were stamped with one, rather, of\ndepression. This was because after breakfast her sister had called\nher into the boudoir, and to some of those blandishments which always\nalarmed the girl had added a word of advice that Katia should observe\nmore caution in her converse with Arkady, and, above all things, avoid\nsuch solitary _t\u00eate-\u00e0-t\u00eates_ with him as appeared to have aroused\nthe attention of the household in general, and of the Princess in\nparticular. Since the previous evening Anna Sergievna had been out\nof humour; and inasmuch as Katia's conscience was not wholly clear\nof responsibility in the matter, she had intimated, when yielding to\nArkady's request, that it must be for the last time.\n\n\"Katia,\" he began with a sort of easy uneasiness, \"since the day when I\nhad the good fortune to reside under the same roof as yourself I have\ntalked to you on many different subjects. But one particular question\nhas for me a paramount importance: nor upon that question have I yet\ntouched. Yesterday you said that during my stay here I have undergone\na process of reformation\"--he neither sought nor avoided Katia's\neye--\"and, to be frank, such a reformation has, in part at least, come\nabout. Better than any one else do you know that this is so--you to\nwhom, above all others, that remaking is due.\"\n\n\"To me?\" she re-echoed.\n\n\"Yes, to you,\" Arkady repeated. \"No longer am I the presumptuous lad\nwho came here a short while ago: not for nothing have I attained my\ntwenty-third year. And though I still wish to be of use in life, though\nI still wish to consecrate the whole of my faculties to the service of\nTruth, I no longer seek my ideals where I was wont to do--they appear\nto me to stand much nearer home. Hitherto I have been in ignorance of\nmyself, hitherto I have set myself tasks beyond my powers; but now,\nthrough a certain feeling which is within me, my eyes have become\nopened. By the way, the manner in which I express myself may be lacking\nin clarity, yet I venture to hope that I have made myself understood?\"\n\nKatia said nothing; but she ceased to look at the speaker.\n\n\"In my opinion,\" he went on in a tone of rising emotion, while in\na birch tree overhead a chaffinch started pouring forth a flood of\nunstudied song, \"in my opinion, it is the duty of an honourable man to\nbe frank with those who, with those who--in short, with those who stand\nnearest to him in life. Consequently I, I am minded to--to---\"\n\nHere Arkady's eloquence failed him. He stumbled and stuttered and\nhad to pause for a moment. Meanwhile Katia's eyes remained lowered.\nOne would have thought that she did not in the least understand this\npreamble, but was expecting to hear something quite of a different\nnature.\n\n\"That I shall surprise you I know in advance,\" continued Arkady, once\nmore spurring his faculties. \"And that surprise will be the greater\nwhen I tell you that the feeling to which I have alluded concerns, to a\ncertain extent--yes, to a certain extent, yourself. For yesterday, you\nwill remember, you imputed to me a lack of gravity \"--he was speaking\nmuch like a man who, having blundered into a bog, feels that at each\nstep he sinks deeper and deeper, yet struggles on in the hope of\neventually extricating himself--\"and such a reproach is all too often\nlevelled against, all too often falls upon, young people who have\nceased to deserve it. Were I but possessed of more self-confidence\"\n(\"God help me! God help me!\" he thought despairingly, but Katia did not\neven turn her head)--\"had I but the right to hope that----\"\n\n\"Did I but feel sure that you really mean what you say,\" broke in, at\nthis moment, the clear accents of Anna Sergievna.\n\nArkady became dumb, and Katia turned pale; for along a little path\nwhich skirted the bushes screening the temple there were advancing\nBazarov and Madame! Katia and Arkady could not actually see the pair,\nyet they could hear every word uttered, and even catch the sound of\ntheir breathing, and the rustle of Anna Sergievna's dress. Advancing a\nfew more steps, the couple halted, and remained standing in front of\nthe building.\n\n\"It is like this,\" Anna Sergievna continued. \"You and I have blundered\ninto an error. That is to say, while neither of us is in the heyday of\nyouth--I so least of the two--and both of us have lived our fives and\nare weary, we are also (for I need not stand on ceremony) individuals\nof intellect. Consequently, though, at first, we interested one\nanother, and felt our mutual curiosity aroused, it happened that\nsubsequently----\"\n\n\"That subsequently I grew stale in your eyes,\" hazarded Bazarov.\n\n\"Oh no! That that was not the cause of the situation you are well\naware. But, whatever the cause, you and I have not a _compelling need_\nof one another. Therein lies the point. In other words, both of us have\nin us--how shall I express it?--both of us are too mutually _akin._ We\nwere slow to grasp that fact. Now, Arkady---\"\n\n\"Have you a 'compelling need'--of him?\" put in Bazarov.\n\n\"For shame, Evgenii Vasilitch! You yourself have averred that he is\nnot wholly indifferent to me; and I too have long suspected that he\ncherishes for me at least a measure of admiration. As we are on the\nsubject, I will not attempt to conceal from you that of late the fact\nthat I am old enough to be his aunt has not prevented me from devoting\nto him more of my thoughts than I used to do. In his fresh young\nsentimentality there is a certain charm.\"\n\n\"The term 'fascination' comes handier in such cases,\" said Bazarov in\nthe deep, quiet tone which, with him, always signified sarcasm. \"As a\nmatter of fact, I found Arkady secretive yesterday--he made but the\nscantiest of references either to you or your sister. That constitutes\nan important symptom.\"\n\n\"Katia and he are brother and sister to one another,\" said Madame.\n\"Indeed I am pleased to see it--though perhaps I ought not to connive\nat so much familiarity.\"\n\n\"I presume that the element speaking in you is the sister?\" drawled\nBazarov.\n\n\"Of course! But need we stand here? Let us move on. We hold curious\nconversations, do we not? Indeed, to think of all the things which I\nnow say to you! Yet I still fear you a little, even though I trust you\nas being, at heart, a good man.\"\n\n\"I am far from good; and you only call me so because I have lost all\nsignificance in your eyes. Ill boots it to weave chaplets for the head\nof a corpse.\"\n\n\"Evgenii Vasilitch, we cannot always command ourselves,\" came the sound\nof Anna Sergievna's next words; but the next moment the wind soughed,\nthe leaves rustled, and the rest of what she was saying was carried\naway into the distance. Nothing beyond it save (after a pause) \"You are\nfree, are you not?\" on the part of Bazarov could be distinguished.\nThen the sound of their footsteps died away, and once more complete\nsilence reigned.\n\nTurning to Katia, Arkady saw that she was sitting as before, but with\nher head more bent.\n\n\"Katerina Sergievna,\" he said tremulously, and with his hands clasped,\n\"I shall love you always, and beyond recall; nor shall I ever love\nanother woman. This is what I have been trying to say to you this\nmorning, in the hope that I might ascertain your views, and then beg\nfor your hand. I am not a rich man, but I would make any sacrifice for\nyour sake. Come, then! Will you answer me? Will you trust me? Surely\nyou do not think that I am speaking out of frivolity? Recall the past\nfew days: may you not rest assured now that my remaining self (you know\nwhat I mean) is gone for ever? Come, look at me--look at me and speak\nbut a word, a single word. I love you, I love you! Do not refuse to\nbelieve that I mean what I say.\"\n\nGravely, yet with a radiant look in her eyes, Katia raised her head,\nand, after a moment's thought, said with the trace of a smile: \"_Yes._\"\n\nArkady leapt up.\n\n\"'Yes'? You have said 'Yes,' Katia! But what do mean by that word? Do\nyou mean that you believe in my love, or do you mean that----? No, no;\nI dare not finish the sentence.\"\n\nKatia repeated only the word \"Yes,\" but this time she left no room for\nmisunderstanding. Arkady seized her large, but not unshapely, hands in\nhis, and, panting with rapture, strained her to his breast. He could\nscarcely stand upon his feet--he could only keep repeating again and\nagain: \"Katia! Katia!\" Meanwhile she shed a few innocent tears at which\nshe smiled as they fell. The man who has not seen such tears in the\neyes of his beloved does not know the height of happiness to which,\nwith mingled joy and gratitude and modesty, a woman can attain.\n\nNext morning Anna Sergievna sent for Bazarov to her boudoir; and when\nhe arrived she, with a forced smile, handed him a folded sheet of\nnotepaper. That sheet represented a letter from Arkady, a letter in\nwhich he begged for her sister's hand.\n\nBazarov skimmed the epistle--then scarcely could forbear venting the\nrancour which blazed for a moment in his breast.\n\n\"It is as I said, you see,\" he commented. \"Only yesterday you were\ntelling me that his feeling for Katerina Sergievna was that of a\nbrother for a sister! And what are you going to do?\"\n\n\"What would you advise me to do?\" she said, still smiling.\n\n\"I presume\"--he also was smiling, although he was feeling as wholly out\nof spirits, as little inclined towards gaiety, as she was--\"I presume\nthat we have no choice but to bestow our blessing upon the young\ncouple. In every respect it would be a good match, for his father has\na nice little property, Arkady is the only son, and the father is too\neasy-going to be likely to raise any difficulty.\"\n\nMadame Odintsov rose and paced the room for a moment or two--her face\nalternately flushing and turning pale.\n\n\"So that is what you think?\" she said. \"Well, I too see no impediment.\nIndeed, the affair rejoices me both for Katia's sake and for--yes, for\nhis. But first I must await his father's consent; and for that purpose\nI will send Arkady himself to interview Nikolai Petrovitch. So I was\nright yesterday, was I not? I was right when I said that you and I are\nbecome elderly? How did I fail to foresee this? I am indeed surprised\nat it!\"\n\nAgain she smiled, but, in the very act of smiting, turned away.\n\n\"Our young folk are indeed cunning,\" remarked Bazarov. After a pause he\nadded:\n\n\"Good-bye now. I hope that the affair may develop Well. From a distance\nI, too, shall rejoice.\"\n\nShe turned and faced him.\n\n\"Need you really go?\" she asked. \"Why not stay a little longer? Pray\nstay, for I find talking to you a stimulant--it is like walking on the\nedge of a precipice: at first one is afraid, then one gathers courage.\nDo not go.\"\n\n\"I thank you for the proposal, as also for your flattering estimate of\nmy conversational powers,\" said Bazarov. \"Nevertheless, I have tarried\noverlong in a sphere which is alien to my personality. Only for a while\ncan flying fish support themselves in the air. Then they relapse into\ntheir natural element. Allow me to flop back into mine.\"\n\nYet a bitter laugh was twisting his pale features. She saw it, and felt\nsorry for him.\n\n\"The man still loves me,\" was her thought, and she extended a\nsympathetic hand.\n\nHe understood her, however.\n\n\"No, no!\" he exclaimed as he withdrew a step or two. \"Though poor, I\nhave never yet accepted aims. Good-bye, and may your lot always be\nhappy.\"\n\n\"Yet we shall meet again,\" she replied with an involuntary gesture. \"Of\nthat I am certain.\"\n\n\"Anything may occur in this world,\" he remarked--then bowed and was\ngone.\n\nThat afternoon he said to Arkady as he knelt down to pack his trunk:\n\n\"I hear that you are going to make a nest for yourself? And why should\nyou not? It is an excellent course to take. But for you to dissemble\nis useless, and I had scarcely expected that you would do so. Has the\npreoccupation of it all deprived you of your tongue?\"\n\n\"When I left you at Marino I had no thought of this,\" said Arkady. \"You\nare the dissembler, though, are you not? For when you say 'It is an\nexcellent course to take,' you dissemble, as well as waste your time,\nseeing that I am well aware of your views on marriage.\"\n\n\"Merely my way of expressing myself. You see what I am doing at this\nmoment. In my trunk is a vacant space. I am packing it with straw.\nAnd the same with life's trunk. To avoid leaving empty spaces therein\nwe pad the interstices. You need not be offended. You cannot fail\nto remember what I really think of Katerina Sergievna. While some\nmaidens earn cheap reputations by merely smiling at right moments, your\n_inamorata_ can show more--indeed, so much more that soon you will be\n(and very properly) under her thumb.\"\n\nSlapping down the lid of the trunk, Bazarov rose from the floor.\n\n\"Now, farewell,\" he said. \"No, I will not deceive you: we are parting\nfor ever, and you know it. In my opinion you have acted wisely,\nfor you were not meant to live the hard, bitter, reckless life of\nNihilism--you lack at once the necessary coolness and the necessary\nvenom. But this is not to say that in you there is not a due measure of\nyouthful spirit. What I mean is that that asset alone is not sufficient\nfor the work. The _dvorianin_ is powerless to progress beyond either\nwell-bred effervescence or well-bred humility: and both sentiments\nare futile. For example, you have not yet been blooded, yet already\nyou think yourself a man: whereas the two chief conditions of our\nexistence are battle and bloodshed. Yes, the dust from our heels hurts\nyour eyes, and the grime on our bodies makes you feel dirty. In other\nwords, although you derive a certain gratification from indulging in\nself-criticism, and think no small beer of yourself, you have failed\nto grow to our stature. To us such things are vanities. Tools' of an\naltogether different kind are what we need for the task. Consequently\nI repeat that, though a fine young fellow enough, you are also just a\nlittle-minded, so-called 'liberal-minded' _baritch_[1]--what my father\ncalls a 'product of evolution.'\"\n\n\"Evgenii,\" was Arkady's sad reply, \"we are parting for ever, yet this\nis all that you have to say to me!\"\n\nBazarov scratched his head.\n\n\"Something else I could say, Arkady,\" he replied. \"But I will not say\nthat something--it would savour too much of Romanticism. Get married\nas soon as you can, line your nest, and beget plenty of offspring. Nor\nwill those offspring be altogether fools, seeing that they will be born\nin due season, and not when you and I were.... My horses are ready and\nI must depart. Of the rest of the household I have taken leave already.\nShall we embrace once more, eh?\"\n\nThe tears gushed in torrents from Arkady's eyes as he flung himself\nupon his old friend and mentor.\n\n\"Ah, youth, youth!\" commented Bazarov. \"See what comes of being young!\nBut before long, I know, Katerina Sergievna will have set things right.\nYes, she will console you.\"\n\nWith a last good-bye he mounted the travelling cart, and, in the act of\ndoing so, pointed to a pair of jackdaws which were sitting perched upon\nthe stable roof.\n\n\"See!\" he cried. \"_There's_ an instructive lesson for you!\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\" queried Arkady.\n\n\"What?\" was Bazarov's ejaculation. \"Are you so ignorant of, or so\nforgetful of, natural history as not to know that the jackdaw is the\nmost respected of family birds? Mark the good example before you.\nFarewell, se\u00f1or!\"\n\nAnd with a clatter the cart started on its way.\n\nNor was Bazarov mistaken, for, even before nightfall, Arkady, deep\nin conversation with Katia, had completely forgotten his vanished\ninstructor. Moreover, already the young fellow was beginning to play\nsecond fiddle to his _fianc\u00e9e_: which circumstance the girl, on\nrealising, in no way felt surprised at. So it was arranged that on the\nfollowing day he should depart for Marino to interview his father;\nand in the meanwhile, Anna Sergievna, having no desire to hamper the\nyoung couple, merely observed such a show of propriety as involved\nher not leaving them together for long, but at the same time keeping\nat a distance the Princess, who, since the tidings of the impending\nunion, had been in a state of lachrymose rancour. For herself, Anna\nSergievna had at first feared that the spectacle of the young people's\nhappiness would prove too much for her; but now the contrary proved to\nbe the case, and she not only failed to feel hurt at the spectacle,\nbut even found that it interested her and eventually softened her--a\nconsummation which brought both relief and regret.\n\n\"Bazarov was right,\" she reflected. \"It was mere curiosity, mere love\nof ease, mere egoism, mere----\"\n\n\"Children, is love an empirical sentiment?\" once she asked of Arkady\nand Katia: but neither of the pair understood her meaning. Moreover,\nthey were fighting a little shy of her, since they could not altogether\nforget the conversation which they had involuntarily overheard; but in\ntime Anna Sergievna succeeded in overcoming also this timidity, and\nfound the task the more easy to perform in that she had succeeded also\nin overcoming her disappointment.\n\n\n[1] A small squire.\n\n\n\n\nXXVII\n\n\nThe old Bazarovs' delight at their son's return was the greater in\nthat the event was so unexpected. To such an extent did Anna Vlasievna\nfuss and flounce about the house that Vasili Ivanitch likened her to a\nhen partridge (no doubt the short tail of her blouse _did_ impart to\nher rather a bird-like aspect); while, as regards Vasili himself, he\ngrunted, and sucked the amber mouthpiece of his pipe, and, grasping the\nshank, inverted the bowl as though to make sure that it was secure,\nand, finally, parted his capacious lips, and gave vent to a noiseless\nchuckle.\n\n\"I am going to spend with you six whole weeks,\" said Bazarov. \"But I\ndesire to work, and therefore must not be disturbed.\"\n\n\"Before we will disturb you, you shall forget what my face looks like,\"\nreplied Vasili Ivanitch.\n\nAnd he kept his word; for, after allotting his son the study, he not\nonly remained completely out of sight, but even prevented his wife from\nmanifesting the least sign of tenderness.\n\n\"When Evgenii last visited us,\" he said to her, \"you and I proved a\nlittle wearisome; so this time we must be more discreet.\"\n\nAnna Vlasievna agreed, much as she lost by the arrangement, seeing that\nnow she beheld her son only at meal times, and feared, even then, to\nspeak to him.\n\n\"Eniushenka,\" she would begin--then, before he had had time to raise\nhis eyes, pluck nervously at the strings of her cap, and whisper: \"Oh\nno; it was nothing,\" and address herself, instead, to Vasili Ivanitch;\nsaying, for instance (with cheek on hand as usual): \"My dear, which\nwould our darling Eniusha prefer for dinner--cabbage soup or beef with\nhorse-radish?\" And when Vasili Ivanitch would reply: \"Why should you\nnot ask him yourself?\" she would exclaim: \"Oh no, for that might vex\nhim.\"\n\nBut eventually Bazarov ceased to closet himself, in that there came an\nabatement of the work fever, and to it succeeded fits of depression,\n_ennui_, and an inordinate restlessness. In his every movement there\nbegan to loom a strange discontent, from his gait there disappeared\nits old firm, active self-confidence, and, ceasing to indulge in\nsolitary rambles, he took to cultivating society, to attending tea in\nthe drawing-room, to pacing the kitchen garden, and to joining Vasili\nIvanitch in a silent smoking of pipes. Nay, on one occasion he even\npaid Father Alexis a visit!\n\nAt first the new order of things rejoiced Vasili Ivanitch's heart: but\nthat joy proved short-lived.\n\n\"Though I could not say why, Eniusha makes me anxious,\" he confided to\nhis spouse. \"Not that he is discontented or ill-tempered--such things\nwould not have mattered: rather, it is that he is sad and brooding,\nand never opens his lips. Would that he would curse you and me, for\ninstance! Also, he is thinner; nor do I like the colour of his face.\"\n\n\"O God!\" whispered the old woman. \"Yet I may not even put my arms\naround his neck!\"\n\nFrom that time onwards Vasili Ivanitch began to make cautious attempts\nto question Bazarov concerning his work, his health, and his friend\nArkady; but always Bazarov returned reluctant, indifferent replies, and\nonce, when his father was for introducing the foregoing topics, said\nirritably:\n\n\"Why are you for ever tiptoeing around me? Your present manner is even\nworse than your former one.\"\n\n\"There, there--I did not mean anything,\" was poor Vasili Ivanitch's\nreply.\n\nPolitical allusions proved equally fruitless. For instance, when Vasili\nIvanitch was seeking to engage his son's interest on the score of the\nimpending emancipation of the serfs and progress in general, the other\nmuttered carelessly:\n\n\"Yesterday, when passing through the courtyard, I heard some peasant\nlads singing, not one of the good old songs, but I The age of truth is\ncoming in, when hearts shall glow with love.' There's progress for you!\"\n\nOccasionally Bazarov would repair to the village, and, in his usual\nbantering fashion, enter into conversation with some peasant.\n\n\"Well,\" he said to a _muzhik_, \"pray expound to me your views on life.\nFor they tell me that in you lie the whole strength and the whole\nfuture of Russia--that you are going to begin a new epoch in our\nhistory, and to give us both a real language and new laws.\"\n\nThe peasant made no reply at the moment. Then he said:\n\n\"We might do all that if first we had a new chapel here.\"\n\n\"Tell me something, though, about the world in general,\" Bazarov\ninterrupted. \"The world stands on three fishes, does it not?\"\n\n\"It does that, _batiushka_,\" the peasant replied with the quiet,\ngood-humoured sweetness of the patriarchal age. \"But above it stands\nthe will of the masters. The _bar\u00e9_ are our fathers, and the harder the\n_barin_ drives, the better for the _muzhik_.\"\n\nShrugging his shoulders contemptuously at this statement, Bazarov\nturned away, while the peasant slunk off homewards.\n\n\"What did he say?\" asked a sullen-looking, middle-aged peasant who\nhad been standing at the door of his hut during the course of the\nforegoing colloquy. \"Was he talking of arrears of taxes?\"\n\n\"Of arrears of taxes!\" retorted the first peasant, his tone now\ncontaining not a trace of its late patriarchal sweetness, but, rather,\na note of purely dry contempt. \"He was chattering just for chattering's\nsake--he likes to hear his own tongue wag. Do not all of us know what a\n_barin_ and the likes of him are good for?\"\n\n\"Aye,\" agreed the second peasant; whereafter, with much nodding of\ncaps and gesticulating of fists, they fell to discussing their own\naffairs and requirements. So alas for Bazarov's scornful shrug of the\nshoulders! And alas for that knowledge of the way in which the peasant\nshould be talked to whereof the young Nihilist had made such boast when\ndisputing with Paul Petrovitch! In fact, never had it dawned upon the\nmind of the self-confident Bazarov that, in the eyes of the _muzhik_,\nhe was no better than a pease-pudding.\n\nHowever, he succeeded in discovering for himself an occupation. This\nwas when, in bandaging a peasant's leg, Vasili Ivanitch's hands shook\na little through senility, and his son hastened to his assistance: and\nfrom that time forth Bazarov acted as Vasili Ivanitch's partner, even\nthough he maintained unabated his ridicule both of the remedies which\nhe himself advised and of the father who hastened to put them into\npractice. Yet in no way did his son's raillery annoy Vasili Ivanitch:\nrather, it heartened the old man. Smoking his pipe, and drawing his\ndirty overall in to his waist with both thumbs, he would listen\ndelightedly to the scoffer, and chuckle, and show his blackened teeth\nthe more in proportion as the sallies contained a greater measure of\nvenom. Nay, stupid or simply senseless as many of these witticisms\nwere, he would frequently catch them up, and repeat them. To take one\ninstance, he, for several days in succession, kept assuring every one\nin the village and in the town that \"we call this the nine o'clock\noffice\"--the sole basis being the fact that once, on learning of his\n(Vasili Ivanitch's) habit of attending Matins, Bazarov had made use of\nthe phrase in question.\n\n\"Thank God, Evgenii has ceased to mope,\" he confided in a whisper to\nhis wife. \"In fact, you should have heard him rating me to-day!\"\n\nAlso, the thought that he had such an assistant in his labours filled\nthe old man with pride.\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" he would say as he handed some peasant woman in a man's\njacket a phial of medicinal water or a pot of cold cream, \"you ought\ndaily to thank God that my son happens to be staying with me, since\notherwise you could not possibly have been treated according to the\nlatest and most scientific methods. Do you understand? I say that even\nNapoleon, the Emperor of the French, has not at his disposal a better\nphysician than my son.\"\n\nAnd the peasant woman (who had come, it may be, to complain of \"a\nlifting with the gripes\"--an expression which probably she herself\ncould not have explained) would bow, then proffer the three or four\neggs which would be tied up in a corner of her neckcloth.\n\nAlso, when Bazarov extracted a tooth from the jaw of a travelling\npedlar, Vasili Ivanitch could not allow even the very ordinary\ncharacter of the tooth to prevent him from preserving it as a rarity,\nand showing it to Father Alexis.\n\n\"See what a fang!\" he said. \"And to think of the strength which Evgenii\nmust possess! He lifted the pedlar clean from the ground! It was like\nuprooting an oak tree!\"\n\n\"Splendid!\" was Father Alexis' comment--he knew not what else to say,\nnor, for that matter, how else to get rid of the enthusiastic veteran.\n\nLastly, there was an occasion when a peasant from a neighbouring\nvillage brought his brother to be treated. Suffering from typhus,\nthe patient was lying face downwards on the straw in the cart, and\nhad reached the last stage, since already his body was covered with\nspots of a hectic nature, and he had long lost consciousness. To an\nexpression of regret that resort had not sooner been had to medical\naid, Vasili Ivanitch could add no more than an intimation that no\nhope was left: nor was he wrong, seeing that even before the peasant\nsucceeded in conveying his brother back to the village, the sick man\nhad breathed his last.\n\nThree days later Bazarov entered his father's room with an inquiry for\nsome hell-stone.\n\n\"I have some,\" said Vasili Ivanitch; \"but what do you want it for?\"\n\n\"For the cauterisation of a wound.\"\n\n\"A wound on whom?\"\n\n\"A wound on myself.\"\n\n\"On yourself? Let me see the place. Where is it?\"\n\n\"There--on that finger. To-day I went to the village whence they\nbrought the typhus patient the other day; and though they tried to\nconceal the body, I succeeded in discovering it. Not for a long time\nhad I had a chance of doing that sort of work.\"\n\n\"Yes?\"\n\n\"And the sequel was that I cut myself, and, on repairing to the\ndistrict physician, found that he did not possess what I wanted.\"\n\nVasili Ivanitch went white to the lips. Hurrying, without a word, into\nhis study, he returned thence with some hell-stone. Bazarov was for\ncarrying it away forthwith.\n\n\"No, no!\" cried Vasili Ivanitch. \"For God's sake allow me to see to\nthis in person.\"\n\nBazarov smiled.\n\n\"You are indeed a keen practitioner,\" he commented.\n\n\"Do not jest, I beg of you. Show me the finger. No, it is not a large\nwound. Am I hurting it at all?\"\n\n\"Not in the least. Have no fear. You can press it harder still if you\nlike.\"\n\nVasili Ivanitch paused.\n\n\"Do you not think,\" he said, \"that it would be better to cauterise the\nfinger with an iron?\"\n\n\"No, I do not. Moreover, that ought, in any case, to have been done\nsooner; whereas by now even the hell-stone is unlikely to prove\neffectual, seeing that, as you know, once absorbed into the system, the\ngerm renders all remedies too late.\"\n\n\"How 'too late'?\" gasped Vasili Ivanitch.\n\n\"What I say. Four hours have elapsed since the injury.\"\n\nVasili Ivanitch gave the wound a further cauterisation. \"So the\ndistrict physician had no hell-stone?\" he queried.\n\n\"None.\"\n\n\"God in heaven! To think of that man calling himself a doctor, yet\nbeing without such an indispensable remedy!\"\n\n\"You should have seen his lancets!\" remarked Bazarov. Then he left the\nroom.\n\nThroughout that evening and the next few days Vasili Ivanitch kept\nmaking every possible excuse to enter his son's room; and though he\nnever actually referred to the wound--he even strove to confine his\nconversation to purely extraneous subjects--his observation of his\nson remained so persistent, his solicitude so marked, that at length\nBazarov, losing patience, bade him begone. Of course Vasili Ivanitch\npromised not to repeat the intrusion; and as a matter of fact he\nkept this promise the more religiously in that Arina Vlasievna (who\nhad had the matter carefully concealed from her) was beginning to\nscent something in the wind, and to press for reasons why, during\nthe previous night, her husband had never once closed his eyes.\nAccordingly, for the next two days Vasili Ivanitch faithfully observed\nthe undertaking he had given; and that although the covert observation\nof his son's looks which he maintained showed them to be growing by\nno means to his liking: but on the third day, during dinner, Vasili\nIvanitch could bear it no more, for Bazarov was sitting with his eyes\nlowered and his plate empty.\n\n\"You are eating nothing, Evgenii?\" he said with his face composed to\nexpress absolute indifference. \"In my opinion, the dinner is well\ncooked.\"\n\n\"The only reason why I am eating nothing,\" replied Bazarov, \"is that I\nam not hungry.\"\n\n\"You have no appetite?\" the old man queried timidly. \"Also, is--is your\nhead aching at all?\"\n\n\"Yes. Why should it not ache?\"\n\nArina Vlasievna began to prick up her ears.\n\n\"Do not be angry, Evgenii,\" Vasili Ivanitch continued, \"b-but might I\nfeel your pulse and examine you?\"\n\nBazarov looked at him.\n\n\"You need not feel my pulse,\" he said. \"Without that, I can tell that I\nhave a touch of fever.\"\n\n\"You feel shivery, eh?\"\n\n\"Yes. I think I will go and lie down. Pray make me a little lime-juice\ntea, for I seem to have caught a chill.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Arina Vlasievna put in, \"I heard you coughing last night.\"\n\n\"But it is only a chill,\" added Bazarov, and left the room.\n\nSo Arina Vlasievna set to work to make the lime-juice tea, and Vasili\nIvanitch went into an adjoining room and tore his hair.\n\nBazarov did not get up again that day, but passed the night in a state\nof heavy coma. At one o'clock he opened his eyes with an effort, and,\non seeing his father's pale face in the lamp-light, bade him depart.\nAt once the other excused himself for the intrusion, but nevertheless\nreturned on tiptoe, and, concealing himself behind the open doors of\na cupboard, remained there to watch his son. Nor did Arina Vlasievna\ngo to bed, but at intervals set the study door ajar, in order that she\nmight \"see how our Eniusha was sleeping\" and look at Vasili Ivanitch:\nfor though nothing of the latter was to be discerned except a bowed,\nmotionless back, even that much afforded her a little comfort.\n\nIn the morning Bazarov attempted to rise, but his head swam, and blood\ngushed from his nose, so he desisted from the attempt. In silence\nVasili Ivanitch tended him, and Arina Vlasievna came to ask him how he\nfelt. He replied \"Better,\" then turned his face to the wall. Instantly\nVasili Ivanitch fell to gesticulating violently at his wife with both\nhands: which proceeding proved so far successful that, by dint of\nbiting her lips, Arina Vlasievna contrived to force back the tears,\nand leave the room. Of a sudden everything in the house had seemed to\nturn dark. Everywhere faces looked drawn, and everywhere there was to\nbe observed a curious stillness of which one cause, among others, was\nthe fact that there had hastily been removed from the courtyard of the\nvillage a vociferous cock which no reasoning had been able to convince\nof the necessity of silence.\n\nSo Bazarov continued lying with his face to the wall. Once or\ntwice Vasili Ivanitch essayed a tentative question or two, but the\nattempt only wearied Bazarov, and the old man at length subsided\ninto an armchair, and sat nervously twitching his fingers. Next,\nVasili repaired to the garden for a few minutes, and looked, as he\nstood there, like a statue which has been struck with immeasurable\nastonishment (never at any time was the expression of surprise absent\nfrom his features); whereafter he returned to his son's room, in the\nhope of evading questions on the part of his wife, but she took him by\nthe hand, and grimly, almost threateningly asked: \"What is the matter\nwith our Eniusha?\" and when Vasili strove to pull himself together, and\nto force a smile, there issued, to his horror, not a smile at all, but\na sort of irresponsible laugh.\n\nEarlier in the morning he had sent for a doctor to assist him;\nwherefore he now considered that it would be well to advise his son of\nthe fact, lest Bazarov should lose his temper on discovering the fact\nin question for himself.\n\nVasili Ivanitch explained the situation, and then Bazarov turned\nhimself about on the sofa, gazed at his father for a moment or two, and\nasked to be given something to drink. Vasili Ivanitch handed him some\nwater, and seized the opportunity also to feel his son's forehead. It\nseemed to be on fire.\n\n\"My father,\" said Bazarov in a hoarse, dragging voice, \"I fear that my\ncourse is run. The infection has caught me, and in a few days you will\nbe laying me in my grave.\"\n\nSome one might have thrust Vasili Ivanitch violently backwards, so\nsharply did he stagger.\n\n\"Evgenii,\" he gasped, \"why say that? God have you in his keeping! It is\nmerely that you have caught a chill.\"\n\n\"Come, come!\" interrupted Bazarov, but in the same dragging tone as\nbefore. \"It is useless to talk like that to a doctor. All the signs of\ninfection are present. That you know for yourself.\"\n\n\"But--but where are the signs of--of infection?\"\n\n\"Look at these. What do they mean?\"\n\nAnd Bazarov pulled up the sleeve of his shirt. What he showed his\nfather was a number of red, angry-looking patches that were coming into\nview.\n\nVasili Ivanitch started and turned cold with fear. At length he\ncontrived to stammer out:\n\n\"Yet--even supposing that, that there should be anything in the nature\nof infection----\"\n\n\"Of py\u00e6mia, you mean,\" the son prompted.\n\n\"Anything in the nature of epidemic infec----\"\n\n\"Of py\u00e6mia, I repeat,\" grimly, insistently corrected Bazarov. \"Have you\nforgotten your textbooks?\"\n\n\"Yes--well, have it your own way. But we will cure you, all the same.\"\n\n\"Fiddlesticks! But, apart from that question, I had scarcely looked to\ndie so soon. To be frank, I think it hard upon me. And now you and my\nmother must fall back upon the fund of religious strength which lies\nwithin you. The hour to put it to the test has arrived.\" He drank some\nmore water. \"One particular request I desire to make while my brain is\nyet clear, for, by to-morrow, or the day after, it will, as you know,\nhave failed, and even now I am not sure whether I am expressing myself\nsensibly, seeing that, as I was lying here just now, I seemed to see\na pack of red dogs leaping around me, and yourself making a point at\nme as a dog does at a partridge. Yes, it was like being drunk. Can you\nunderstand what I say?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, Evgenii; you are talking quite sensibly.\"\n\n\"Very well. Now, I believe that you have sent for a doctor; and if the\nfact will give you any comfort, I too shall be pleased. But also I beg\nthat you will send word to, to----\"\n\n\"To Arkady Nikolaievitch?\" the old man suggested.\n\n\"To whom? To Arkady Nikolaievitch?\" re-echoed Bazarov bewilderedly.\n\"Oh, you mean that young cockerel of ours? No, no--do not disturb him,\nfor he has just joined the company of the jackdaws. You need not be\nsurprised at these words--they do not mean that delirium is setting in;\nthey are merely a metaphor. Well, it is to Madame Odintsov, the lady\nlandowner of this neighbourhood, that I desire a messenger to be sent.\nI suppose you have heard of her?\" (Vasili Ivanitch nodded assent.)\n\"All that the messenger need say is that Evgenii Vasilitch sends his\ncompliments, and is dying. Will you do this?\"\n\n\"Of course I will, Evgenii! But why think that you are going to die?\nCome, come! Were such a thing to happen, where would be the justice of\nthe world?\"\n\n\"I could not say. I only know that I desire the messenger to be sent.\"\n\n\"He shall start at once, and I myself will write the letter.\"\n\n\"No, no: that will not be necessary. Merely let the messenger deliver\nmy greeting. That, and nothing more. Now I will return to my red dogs.\nHow curious it is that, though I strive to concentrate my thoughts upon\ndeath, there results from them nothing--I see before me only a great\nblur!\"\n\nAnd he turned his face wearily to the wall, while Vasili Ivanitch left\nthe room, ascended to the bedroom above, and fell upon his knees before\nthe sacred _ikons_.\n\n\"Pray, Arina, pray!\" he moaned. \"Our son is dying!\"\n\nOn the doctor arriving, the latter proved to be the district physician\nwho had failed to produce hell-stone when required. After an\nexamination of the patient he prescribed a watching course, and also\nadded a few words as to a possible recovery.\n\n\"Have you ever known people in my condition _not_ set out for the\nElysian Fields?\" asked Bazarov sharply as he caught hold of the leg\nof a table which stood beside his sofa, and shook it until the table\nactually altered its position. \"See my strength!\" he continued. \"All\nof it is still there, yet I must go hence! To think that, whereas an\nold man has lost touch with life, I should----! Ah, however much you\nmay deny death, it never will deny _you_.... I hear some one weeping.\nWho is it?\" There was a pause. \"Is it my mother? Poor soul! No one will\nbe left for her to stuff with her marvellous _borstchi_.[1] And you,\nVasili Ivanitch--are you too whimpering? Come, come! If Christianity\ncannot help you, try to become a Stoic philosopher. You have often\nenough boasted of being one.\"\n\n\"Aye, a fine philosopher I, to be sure!\" sobbed poor old Vasili with\nthe tears hopping down his cheeks.\n\nThereafter Bazarov grew hourly worse, for the disease was taking the\nrapid course inevitable under the circumstances. Yet his powers of\nmemory were unimpaired, and he understood everything that was said to\nhim, for as yet he was making a brave fight to retain his faculties.\n\n\"No, I must not let my senses fail,\" he kept whispering to himself as\nhe clenched his fists. \"But oh, the folly of it all!\" And then he would\nrepeat to himself, over and over again, some such formula as \"Eight and\nten--what do they make?\"\n\nMeanwhile Vasili Ivanitch wandered about in a state bordering upon\ndistraction--proposing first one remedy, and then another, and\nconstantly covering up his son's feet.\n\n\"Suppose we wrap him in an ice-sheet?\" he suggested once in a tone of\nagony. \"How, too, about an emetic, or a mustard plaster on his stomach,\nor a little bloodletting?\"\n\nBut to each and all of these remedies the doctor (whom Vasili Ivanitch\nhad begged to remain in the house) demurred. Likewise the doctor drank\nthe patient's lemonade, and then requested to be given a pipe and\n\"something warm and strengthening\"--to wit, a glassful of _vodka_.\nMeanwhile Arina Vlasievna sat on a chair by the door, and only at\nintervals retired to pray. It seemed that a few days earlier she had\nlet fall, and broken, a toilet mirror, and that all her life long\nshe had looked upon such an occurrence as an evil omen. With her, in\nsilence, sat Anfisushka; while, as for Timotheitch, he had departed\nwith the message to Madame Odintsov.\n\nThat night Bazarov did not improve, for he was racked with high fever;\nbut as morning approached, the fever grew a little easier, and after\nhe had asked Arina Vlasievna to perform his toilet, and had kissed her\nhand, he managed to swallow a little tea: which circumstance caused\nVasili Ivanitch to pluck up courage, and to exclaim:\n\n\"Thank God, the crisis has both come and gone!\"\n\n\"Do not be too sure of that,\" rejoined Bazarov. \"For what does the\nterm 'crisis' signify? Some one once invented it, shouted 'Crisis!'\nand congratulated himself ever after. Extraordinary how the human\nrace continues to attach credence to mere words! For example, tell a\nman that he is a fool, yet refrain from assaulting him, and he will\nbe downcast; but tell him that he is a man of wisdom, yet give him no\nmoney, and he will be overjoyed.\"\n\nSo reminiscent of Bazarov's former sallies was this little speech that\nVasili Ivanitch's heart fairly overflowed.\n\n\"Bravo!\" he cried, clapping his hands in dumb show. \"Well said!\"\n\nBazarov smiled a sad smile.\n\n\"Then you think,\" said he, \"that the 'crisis' is either approaching or\nretiring?\"\n\n\"I know that you are better. That I can see for myself. And the fact\nrejoices me.\"\n\n\"Well, it is not always a bad thing to rejoice. But have you sent word\nto, to--to _her_? You know whom I mean?\"\n\n\"Of course I have, Evgenii.\"\n\nThe improvement did not long continue, for to it there succeeded\nattacks of pain. Vasili Ivanitch sat by the bed: and as he did so it\nseemed as though something in particular were worrying the old man.\nSeveral times he tried to speak, and each time he failed. But at length\nhe contrived to gasp out:\n\n\"Evgenii! Son! My dearest son! My own beloved son!\"\n\nEven Bazarov could not remain wholly indifferent to such an unwonted\nappeal. Turning his head a little, and making an evident effort to\nshake off the unconsciousness that was weighing him down, he murmured:\n\n\"What is it, my father?\"\n\n\"This, Evgenii.\" And all of a sudden the old man fell upon his knees\nbeside the bed. \"Evgenii, you are better now, and with God's help will\nrecover; but do, in any case, seize this hour to comfort me and your\nmother by fulfilling all the duties of a Christian. Yes, though to say\nthis is painful for me, how much more terribly would it hurt me if--if\nthis chance were to pass for ever, Evgenii! Think, oh think of what----\"\n\nThe old man could say no more, while over the son's face and closed\neyes there passed a curious expression. A pause followed. Then Bazarov\nsaid:\n\n\"To comfort you, I will not altogether refuse your request; but, since\nyou yourself have said that I am better, surely there can be no need\nfor hurry?\"\n\n\"Yes, you _are_ better, Evgenii--you _are_ better; but who can say what\nmay lie in the dispensation of God? Whereas, once this duty shall have\nbeen fulfilled----\"\n\n\"Yet I will wait a little,\" interrupted Bazarov. \"This much, however, I\nwill concede: that, should you prove to be wrong in your surmise as to\nmy recovery, I will allow the Last Sacrament to be administered.\"\n\n\"And, Evgenii, I beg of you to----\"\n\n\"I will wait a little, I repeat. And now let me go to sleep. Do not\ndisturb me.\"\n\nAnd he replaced his head in its former position, while the old man rose\nfrom his knees, reseated himself in the chair, rested his chin upon his\nhands, and fell to biting his fingers.\n\nPresently Vasili's ear caught the rumble of a light carriage--the sound\nwhich is always so distinguishable in a quiet country spot. Nearer and\nnearer came the sound of the wheels; nearer and nearer came the hard\nbreathing of horses. Springing from his chair, he rushed to the window.\nInto the courtyard of the mansion there was turning a two-seated,\nfour-horsed buggy! Without stopping to think what this could mean, he\ndarted forward to the front door, where, transported with joy, he was\njust in time to see a liveried footman open the door of the vehicle,\nand assist thence a lady in a black cloak, with a veil of the same hue.\n\n\"I am Madame Odintsov,\" she said. \"Is Evgenii Vasilitch still alive? I\npresume you are his father? I have brought with me a doctor.\"\n\nEven as she spoke the doctor in question--a German-looking little\nindividual in spectacles--descended in a slow and dignified manner from\nthe buggy.\n\n\"O angel of mercy!\" cried Vasili Ivanitch as, seizing her hand, he\npressed it convulsively to his lips. \"Yes, our Evgenii is still alive!\nAnd now he will be saved! Wife! Wife! There is an angel come to us from\nHeaven!\"\n\n\"What?\" responded the old woman with a gasp as she came running out\nof the hall. So lost in bewilderment was she that, falling at Anna\nSergievna's feet, she actually began madly to kiss the hem of the\nvisitor's cloak.\n\n\"Come, come!\" Madame exclaimed. \"What does all this mean?\"\n\nBut Arina Vlasievna was deaf to everything, and Vasili Ivanitch too\ncould only continue repeating:\n\n\"There is an angel come to us from Heaven! There is an angel come to us\nfrom Heaven! There is an angel come to us from Heaven!\"\n\n\"_Wo ist der Kranke_? (Where is the patient)?\" asked the doctor with a\ntouch of impatience.\n\nThis restored Vasili Ivanitch to his senses.\n\n\"Come this way, come this way,\" he said. \"Yes, pray follow me,\n_Werthester Herr Kollega_\" (titles based upon the strength of bygone\nmemories).\n\nFor answer the German exclaimed \"Eh?\", and pulled a not very gracious\nsmirk.\n\nVasili Ivanitch led the way to the study.\n\n\"Here is the doctor brought by Madame Anna Sergievna Odintsov,\" he said\nas he bent over his son.\n\n\"She herself too is here.\"\n\nBazarov opened his eyes with a start.\n\n\"What do you say?\" he asked.\n\n\"I say that Madame Anna Sergievna Odintsov is here, and that she has\nbrought with her this good doctor.\"\n\nBazarov peered around.\n\n\"Where is Anna Sergievna?\" he murmured. \"Do you say that she is here?\nThen I wish to see her.\"\n\n\"You shall see her, Evgenii; but first of all I must have a chat with\nthis gentleman, and tell him the story of your illness: for Sidor\nSidorovitch\" (that was the name of the district physician) \"has gone\nhome, and a short consultation must be held.\"\n\nBazarov eyed the German.\n\n\"All right,\" he said. \"Hold your consultation as soon as you like.\nOnly, do not speak in Latin, for I know the meaning of the words _Jam\nmoritur.\"_\n\n\"_Der Herr scheint des Deutschen m\u00e4chtig zu sein_,\" the newly-arrived\ndisciple of \u00c6sculapius remarked to Vasili Ivanitch.\n\n\"_Ich habe_----\" the old man began; then added: \"But perhaps we had\nbetter speak in Russian, my dear sir?\"\n\nAnd the consultation followed.\n\nHalf an hour later Vasili Ivanitch conducted Anna Sergievna into the\nstudy. As the doctor passed out he whispered to her that recovery was\nhopeless.\n\nShe glanced at Bazarov, and halted as though petrified, so striking was\nthe bloodshot, deathlike face, with the dim eyes turned so yearningly\nin her direction. Nevertheless her feeling was one merely of chill,\noppressive terror, while at the same moment there flashed through her\nbrain the thought that, if she had loved him, no such feeling could now\nhave been present.\n\n\"I thank you,\" he said with an effort. \"I had not expected this, and\nyou have done a kind act in coming. So we meet once more, even as you\nforetold!\"\n\n\"Has not Madame Anna Sergievna indeed been kind?\" put in Vasili\nIvanitch.\n\n\"Father, pray leave us,\" said Bazarov. \"I know, Anna Sergievna, that\nyou will excuse him. For at such a time as this----\" And he nodded\ntowards his weak, prostrate form.\n\nVasili Ivanitch left the room.\n\n\"A second time I thank you,\" continued Bazarov. \"To have acted so is\nworthy of the Tsars. For they say that even the Sovereign visits a\ndeathbed when requested.\"\n\n\"Evgenii Vasilitch, I hope that----\"\n\n\"Let us speak plainly. My course is run. I am under the wheel, and\nwe need not think of the future. Yet how curious it is that to each\nindividual human being death, old though it is as an institution,\ncomes as a novelty!... Nevertheless, it shall not make me quail: and\nthen there will fall the curtain, and then--well, then they will write\n_Fuit_.\" There followed a feeble gesture. \"But what did I want to\nsay to you? That I have loved you? There was a time when the phrase\n'I love' had for me no meaning; and now it will have less than ever,\nseeing that love is a form, and that my particular embodiment of it is\nfast lapsing towards dissolution. It Ah, how perfect you are! You stand\nthere as beautiful as---\"\n\nThere passed over Anna Sergievna an involuntary shudder.\n\n\"Nay,\" he said. You need not be afraid. \"But will you not sit down?\nSeat yourself near me, but not too near, for my malady is infectious.\"\n\nShe crossed the room with a rapid step, and seated herself beside the\nsofa on which he was lying.\n\n\"O woman of kind heart!\" he whispered. \"And to think that you are\nbeside me once more! To think that you, so pure and fresh and young,\nare in this sorry room! Well, good-bye, and may you live long, and\nenjoy your time while you may. Of all things in this world long life is\nthe most desirable: yet you can see for yourself what an ugly spectacle\nI, a half-crushed, but still wriggling, worm, am now become. There was\na time when I used to say: 'I will do many things in life, and refuse\nto die before I have completed those tasks, for I am a giant': but now\nI have indeed a giant's task in hand--the task of dying as though death\nwere nothing to me.... No matter. I am not going to put my tail between\nmy legs.\"\n\nHe broke off, and groped for his tumbler. She handed it him without\ndrawing off her glove. Her breath was coming in jerks.\n\n\"It will not be long before you will have forgotten me,\" he went on.\n\"For a dead mortal is no companion for a living one. I daresay that my\nfather will tell you what a man is being lost to Russia; but that is\nall rubbish. Nevertheless, do not undeceive him, for he is old, old.\nRather, comfort him as you would comfort a child, and also be kind to\nmy mother. Two such mortals as them you will not find in all _your_\ngreat world--no, not though you search for them with a candle by\ndaylight.... Russia needs me, indeed! Evidently she does _not_ need me.\nWhom, then, does she need? She needs shoemakers, tailors, butchers....\nWhat does a butcher sell? He sells meat, does he not?... I think that I\nam wandering--I seem to see before me a forest....\"\n\nHe pressed his hand to his forehead, and Anna Sergievna bent over him.\n\n\"Evgenii Vasilitch,\" she said, \"I am here.\"\n\nWith a combined movement he took her hand and raised himself a little.\n\n\"Good-bye,\" he said with a sudden spasm of energy and a last flash\nof his eyes. \"Good-bye.... I kissed you that time, did I not, when,\nwhen----?... Ah, breathe now upon the expiring lamp, that it may go out\nin peace.\"\n\nShe pressed her lips gently to his forehead.\n\n\"Enough,\" he murmured as he sank back upon the pillow. \"Now let there\ncome--darkness.\"\n\nShe left the room quietly.\n\n\"Well?\" whispered Vasili Ivanitch.\n\n\"He has gone to sleep,\" she replied in a voice that was scarcely\naudible.\n\nBut Bazarov was not fated to go to sleep. Rather, as night approached\nhe sank into a state of coma, and, on the following day, expired.\nFather Alexis performed over him the last rites of religion, and at\nthe moment when Extreme Unction was being administered, and the holy\noil touched his breast, one of the dying man's eyelids raised itself,\nand over the face there seemed to flit something like an expression\nof distaste at the sight of the priest in his vestments, the smoking\ncenser, and the candles before the _ikon._\n\nFinally, when Bazarov's last breath had been drawn, and there had\narisen in the house the sound of \"the general lamentation,\" something\nakin to frenzy came upon Vasili Ivanitch.\n\n\"I declare that I protest!\" he cried with his face blazing and\nquivering with fury, and his fist beating the air as in menace of some\none. \"I declare that I protest, that I protest, that I protest!\"\n\nUpon that old Arina Vlasievna, suffused in tears, laid her arms around\nhis neck, and the two sank forward upon the floor. Said Anfisushka\nlater, when relating the story in the servants' quarters: \"There they\nknelt together--side by side, their heads drooping like those of two\nsheep at midday.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAh, but in time the heat of noontide passes, and to it there succeed\nnightfall and dusk, with a return to the quiet fold where for the weary\nand the heavy-laden there waits sleep, sweet sleep.\n\n\n[1] Roast beef with horse-radish.\n\n\n\n\nXXVIII\n\n\nSince that time six months have passed, and there has fallen upon the\ncountry a \"white\" winter--a winter of clear, keen, motionless frosts,\nof deep, crackling snow, of pink-rimed trees, of pale-emerald heavens,\nof smoke-capped chimneys, of puffs of vapour from momentarily opened\ndoors, of faces fresh and hard-bitten, of horses galloping headlong\nto thaw their frozen limbs. It is now the close of a January day,\nand the increasing chill of evening is nipping the still air in an\never-tightening vice as the sun sinks downward into a sea of red.\n\nBut in the windows of Marino there are lights burning, and Prokofitch,\nvested in a black tail-coat, a pair of white gloves, and a peculiar\natmosphere of solemnity, is laying the table with seven covers. This\nis because a week ago there were solemnised in the tiny church of\nthe parish--solemnised quietly, almost without a witness--two sets\nof nuptials: the nuptials of Arkady and Katia and those of Nikolai\nPetrovitch and Thenichka. And to-day Nikolai Petrovitch is offering his\nbrother a farewell dinner, for the reason that Paul is on the point of\ndeparting for Moscow, whither Anna Sergievna has already removed after\nbestowing upon the younger of the two couples a handsome dowry.\n\nAt three o'clock precisely the company gathers around the board.\nMitia too is present with his _niania_ (in nurse's cap), while Paul\nPetrovitch is seated between Katia and Thenichka, and the bridegrooms\nare ranged one on either side of their newly-wedded spouses. A change\nhas taken place in our old acquaintances since last we saw them--they\nhave improved, as regards the younger ones, both in appearance and in\nsedateness of demeanour. Only Paul Petrovitch looks thinner; though\nthe circumstance imparts, if anything, an added touch of refinement and\n\"grand-seignorishness\" to his always expressive features. Thenichka,\nin particular, is a different person from what she was. Clad in a\nbrand-new silken gown, and wearing a broad velvet band over her hair\nand a necklace around her throat, she holds herself with an immovable\ndignity, yet also with an immovable deference towards her surroundings.\nAnd meanwhile she smiles, as much as to say: \"Pardon me, but _I_ am not\nresponsible for this\"; while the others respond with similar smiles,\nas though they too would be glad to excuse themselves for their share\nin the proceedings. Yet the fact that on every one present sits a\ntouch of gravity and embarrassment becomes the company no less than\ndo their other characteristics. Everywhere, too, there is to be seen\nsuch an anxious solicitude for mutual wants that the company could seem\nunanimously to be playing some simple-minded comedy; and though, of\nthe guests, the quietest is Katia, it is plain, from her confidence of\nbearing, that, as a daughter-in-law, she has found favour in the eyes\nof Nikaiai Petrovitch.\n\nAt length the meal comes to an end, and Nikolai, rising and grasping a\nwine-glass, addresses Paul Petrovitch:\n\n\"Dearest brother, you are about to leave us. Yes, you are about to\nleave us. But not for long must you be absent, since I, for one, could\nnever express to you how much I, how much I--that is to say, how much\nwe But, to tell you the truth, I am not good at making a speech.\nArkady, to you I depute the task.\"\n\n\"But I am not ready, Papa.\"\n\n\"Neither am I. However, Paul, I embrace you, and wish you every joy,\nand beg of you to return to us soon.\"\n\nWhereupon Paul Petrovitch exchanges greetings all round (not excluding\nlittle Mitia), and, in particular, kisses Thenichka's hand (which she\nhas not learnt to offer in the right way), drinks a twice-filled glass\nto the company at large, and says with a profound sigh: \"May you all\nbe happy, my friends! Farewell![1]\" And though the English terminal\nflourish passes unnoticed, every one is touched with the benediction\nwhich has preceded it.\n\n\"Yes, and I drink to the memory of Bazarov,\" whispers Katia to her\nhusband as she clinks glasses with him: but though, in response, he\nsqueezes her hand, he decides not to propose the toast in public.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAnd here, apparently, there ought to follow the word _Finis_; but since\nsome of my readers may care to know how each of the characters in the\nbook is faring at the present day, I will satisfy that curiosity.\n\nTo take Anna Sergievna first, she has married--not for love, nor yet\nout of a sense of duty--a rising young statesman who is an intelligent\nlegislator, a severely practical thinker, a man of strong will and\neloquence, and a lover with a temperament as cold as ice. Nevertheless\nthe pair reside on amicable terms, and may, in time, attain to\nhappiness--nay, even to love.\n\nAs for the Princess, she is dead, and her memory perished with her.\n\nThe Kirsanovs, father and son, are settled at Marino, and appear to be\nrighting their industrial affairs, in that Arkady has developed into a\ncapable manager, and the estate now brings in a fair income. Nikolai\nPetrovitch, too, is constant in his endeavours to make peace on the\nproperty, and, riding systematically round it, delivers long speeches\nin the belief that only need the peasantry be \"reasoned with\"--that is\nto say, plied with the same words over and over again--for the _muzhik_\ngradually to become a tractable animal. Yet Nikolai earns the approval\nneither of the educated gentry, who speak with affected jauntiness of\nthe coming \"'mancipation\"[2] (they invariably give the syllable \"an\" a\nnasal inflection), nor of those uneducated landowners who roundly curse\nwhat they term \"that ----'_mun_cipation.\" In other words, for both\nclasses Nikolai Petrovitch is too \"mild.\"\n\nKaterina Sergievna has had a son born to her, and named him Kolia;\nMitia is now a big, active, volubly lisping boy; and Thenichka (rather,\nTheodosia Nikolaievna) adores her daughter-in-law only less than her\nhusband and Mitia. In fact, that adoration reaches the point that,\nshould Katia sit down to the piano, Thenichka cannot leave her though\nthe playing continue all day.\n\nThen a word concerning Peter the valet. As much a lump of mingled\nstupidity and conceit as ever, he still pronounces his e's as u's, but\nhas taken unto himself a wife, and, with her, a respectable dowry. The\ndaughter of a market gardener of the neighbouring town, she had already\nrefused two eligible _partis_ solely on the ground that they did not\npossess watches! But Peter possesses not only a watch, but also a pair\nof patent leather pumps.\n\nAgain, any day on the Br\u00fchl Terrace, in Dresden, you may meet, between\ntwo and four o'clock in the afternoon (the fashionable hour for a\npromenade), a man of about fifty. Grey-headed, and afflicted with gout,\nyet still handsome, he is elegantly dressed, and stamped with that air\nof good breeding which comes only of long association with elevated\nstrata of society. That man is Paul Petrovitch. Having left Moscow for\nforeign parts for his health's sake, he has settled in Dresden for\nthe reason that there he possesses the largest number of English and\nnomad-Russian acquaintances. Towards the former he bears himself with\nsimplicity, and almost with modesty, but with a touch of _hauteur_;\nand, in return, the English look upon him as a trifle tedious, but\nrespect him on the score of his being \"quite a gentleman.\" In the\npresence of the Russian element, however, Paul Petrovitch is more\nfree and easy--he gives rein unstintedly to his sarcasm, and rallies\nboth his compatriots and himself. Yet from _him_ such things come\npleasantly, and with a gay _insouciance,_ and in a becoming manner;\nwhile, in addition, he holds Slavophil views--views which (as we all\nknow) invariably induce the great world to rate their holder a person\n_tr\u00e8s distingu\u00e9_. True, never by any chance does Paul read a Russian\nbook; yet by way of compensation, there stands on his writing-table\na silver ash-tray shaped like a _muzhik's_ clog. Moreover, from some\nof our Russian tourists he receives considerable attention when they\nhappen to be passing through the town; and even our old friend Matvei\nIlyitch Koliazin, on finding himself \"in temporary opposition,\" has\npaid him a visit while _en route_ to Bohemia for a course of the\nwaters. In fact, the only persons who show Paul no deference at all are\nthe native Germans, whose society he does not greatly cultivate. Yet\neven they agree that, in the matter of obtaining tickets for the Court\nChapel or the theatre and so forth, none is so clever, so dexterous, as\n\"der Herr Baron von Kirsanov.\" In fact, always does he do \"the right\nthing\" so far as he is able; and even yet he can create some stir,\nowing to the fact that he has once, and to good purpose, been a social\nlion. Yet life presses upon him not a little heavily--more heavily\nthan he himself is aware. Merely need one look at him as, huddled\nagainst the aisle wall of the Russian church, he sits plunged in\nthought, with his lips bitterly compressed, and continues sitting there\nuntil, remembering his surroundings, he makes, almost imperceptibly,\nthe sign of the cross. In similar fashion, Madame Kukshin has gone\nabroad--in her case, to Heidelberg, where she is engaged in studying,\nnot natural science, but architecture--a branch wherein she has,\naccording to herself, \"discovered several new laws.\" Also, still she\nis hail-fellow-well-met with students, more especially with some of\nthose Russian physicists and chemists who swarm in Heidelberg, and who,\nthough at first flabbergasting the simple-minded German professors with\nthe moderation of their views, subsequently proceed to flabbergast\nthose professors with the wholeheartedness of their sloth. In fact, it\nis of two or three of those chemistry students who, though unable to\ndistinguish even oxygen from azote, are yet charged to the brim with\nconceit and the spirit of \"denial,\" that Madame Kukshin's circle is\nchiefly composed.\n\nSimilarly, friend Sitnikov is preparing to become a great man. For\nwhich purpose he is flaunting it in St. Petersburg, and (to quote\nhis own expression) \"carrying on the work of the late Bazarov.\"\nTrue, rumour declares that some one has recently given him a second\nthrashing; as also that he (Sitnikov) has declined to face the\nmusic--rather, that he has preferred to hint in an obscure article in\nan equally obscure newspaper that his assailant is the coward; but to\nthis report Sitnikov merely attaches the epithet \"ironical.\" For the\nrest, his father continues to send him remittances, while his wife\naccounts him equally a _litt\u00e9rateur_ and a fool.\n\nLastly, in a remote corner of Russia there lies a little country\ncemetery. Like most cemeteries of the kind, it is depressing of aspect.\nOver its fences dense masses of weed have grown, its drab wooden\ncrosses are rickety and turning mouldy under their blistered, painted\ncanopies, its stone paths have lost their alignment, and look as though\nsome one has displaced them from below, its two or three ragged trees\ndiffuse only the scantiest of shade, and sheep wander unhindered over\nits tombs. But among those tombs there lies a grave which no man\nmolests and no animal tramples upon: only the birds perch upon it and\nsing as evening falls. For around that grave stands an iron railing,\nand at its head and foot are planted two young fir trees. It is the\ngrave of Evgenii Vasilitch Bazarov. Occasionally from the neighbouring\nmanor-house there come two aged and decrepit folk, a man and his wife.\nSupporting one another with a step which ever grows heavier, they\napproach the railing, sink upon their knees, and weep long, bitter\ntears as they gaze at the dumb headstone where their son lies sleeping.\nThen they exchange a word or two, dust the stone with assiduous care,\nlay upon it a sprig of fir, and offer a last petition. Yet even then\nthey can scarce bear to tear themselves from the spot where they can\ndraw nearest to their son, and to their memories of him.\n\nBut are those tears, those prayers, all fruitless? Is that love, that\nhallowed, selfless love, of theirs to be wholly unavailing? No, no,\nand a thousand times no! For, though the heart which lies within that\ntomb may have been passionate and wild and erring, the flowers which\nbloom in that spot contemplate us with eyes of naught but peace and\ninnocence, and speak to us of naught but the eternal, mighty calm of\n\"unheeding\" nature, as an image of the Eternal Reconciliation, and of\nthe Life which shall have no End.\n\n\n[1] In the text this word is given in English.\n\n[2] _i.e._ the emancipation of the serfs, which was carried out in 1861.","title":"Fathers and Sons","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":79718}