Fathers and children

"j'JSiti.

THE LIBRARY

OF

THE UNIVERSITY

OF CALIFORNIA

LOS ANGELES

/

c^..<:t ^ /^/^

IVAN TURGENIEFF

Volume VI

FATHERS AND
CHILDREN

Digitized by tine Internet Arciiive

in 2007 witii funding from

IVIicrosoft Corporation

littp://www.arcliive.org/details/fatherscliildrenOOturgiala

THE NOVELS AND STORIES OF
IVAN TimCENIEFF

FATHERS AND
CHILDREN -fr •«■

TRANSLATED FROM THE RUSSIAN BY
ISABEL F. HAPGOOD

NEW YORK

CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS

1903

She cast a glance at Bazdroff.
From a drawing by S. IV AN OW SKI.

THE NOVELS AND STOKIES OF
IVAN TURGENIEFF

FATHERS AND
CHILDREN ♦ •«•

TRANSLATED FROM THE RUSSIAN BY
ISABEL F. HAPGOOD

NEW YORK

CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS

1903

Copyright, 1903, by
Charles Scrirner's Sods

Ho3

PREFACE

" Fathers and Children " first appeared in
1862, the first instahnent being printed in the
February (or March) number of the Russian
Messenger. It was an important event, not only
in Russian literature, but also in the personal
life of its author. Its success transcended every-
thing which had ever been achieved in the Rus-
sian literary world, but its contents served to
evoke prolonged and passionate discussion, and,
still more, bitter personal recrimination. Turge-
nieff was assailed from all quarters and on every
point of his romance, beginning with the word
" nihilist," which many persons (especially for-
eigners) still believe to have been of his devising.
As a matter of fact, however, Nadezhdin ^ had ap-
plied the epithet to the poet Pushkin in 1829 as
well as to Polevoy and other representatives of
hterary romanticism, and Turgenieff merely
adopted it in Order to characterise the new social
type which he was introducing. The " Fathers "
were displeased with their portraits, while the
" Children " showered down upon the author
sharp reproaches, and called the man whom they

^ Nadezhdin, a many-sided savant and critic. Polevoy, a promi-
nent journalist. — Thansiatob.

721.8C7

PREFACE

had so lately been revering as the destroyer of
serfdom, " a traitor to the cause of freedom."
The Russian students at Heidelberg, of whom
there were many at that period, even decided
to call Turgenieff to account, and demand from
him an explanation as to the meaning and aim of
his romance. TurgeniefF accepted the chal-
lenge, journeyed expressly from Baden-Baden
to Heidelberg, and furnished the explanation
in the presence of a throng of his accusers — the
explanation being approximately the same as
that which he afterward printed. All these, and
many other unpleasantnesses, produced such an
oppressive effect upon TurgeniefF that he began
seriously to meditate withdrawing from his lit-
erary career. This desire to abandon literature
is painfully expressed in the lyrical fragment,
"It is Enough!" (1864).

The situation was well summed up in an arti-
cle, dating from 1862, by N. N. Strakhoff:^
" When the romance * Fathers and Children *
made its appearance, people suddenly attacked it
with feverish and persistent questions : * Whom
does it praise? Whom does ^t condemn? Which
of the characters is a model for imitation? What
sort of a romance is it — progressive or retro-
grade? * And on this theme innumerable discus-
sions arose. The matter was carried to the point

^ A well-known Russian philosophical writer — ^a delightful man,
for whose acquaintance in Russia I was indebted to Count L. N.
Tolstoy. — Teanslatob.

vi

PREFACE

of particulars, to the pettiest details : * Ba-
zarofF drinks champagne!' — ' Bazaroff plays
cards!' — 'Bazaroff is negligent in his dress!'
* What is the meaning of it? ' people asked in
perplexity. 'Ought he to do so, or ought he
not?* Each person settled the question in his
own way, but every body regarded it as indis-
pensable to deduce a moral and jot it down at
the end of an enigmatical fable. But the decis-
ions thus arrived at turned out absolutely incon-
gruous. Some think that * Fathers and Chil-
dren ' is a satire on the young generation, that
all the author's sympathies are on the side of the
fathers. Others say that it is the fathers who are
ridiculed and discredited in the romance, while
the rising generation, on the contrary, is extolled.
Some think that Bazaroff himself is to blame for
his unfortunate relations to the people with whom
he comes in contact ; others assert that, on the con-
trary, those people are responsible for Bazaroff
finding life difficult. . . In spite of all this, the
romance is being eagerly read and is arousing
more interest, one may venture to say, than any
work of Turgenieff up to this time."

Let us now turn to what Turgenieff himself
has to say about his book. In a letter to Y. P.
Polonsky (the poet), dated " Paris, January 24
(O. S.), 1862," he says: " My novel has been de-
spatched to the Russian Messenger and will
probably appear in the February number.— I

vii

PREFACE

expect to be well reviled, but I am pretty indif-
ferent on that score." F. M. Dostoievsky, the
great author, and A. N. MaikoiF, the noted poet,
delighted him by thoroughly understanding his
novel, as he tells them in letters dated in March of
that year. But most interesting is his letter of
April 14-26 to K. K. Slutchevsky,* who had
written to him concerning the bad impression
which " Fathers and Children " had made on the
students at Heidelberg University:

" I am very anxious that there should be no misunder-
standing as to my intentions," he writes. " I answer
point by point.

" 1. Your first reproach reminds me of the one made
to Gogol and others, because good people do not re-
produce themselves in bad descendants. — But BazarofF,
nevertheless, crushes all the other characters in the ro-
mance. . . . The qualities ascribed to him are not ac-
cidental. I wished to make him a tragic personage —
there was no place for tenderness there. He is honest,
upright, and a democrat to the very tips of his finger-
nails. But you find no good sides in him. ' Stoff und
Kraft ' he recommends precisely because it is a popular,
that is to say, a futile book; the duel with Pavel Petro-
vitch is introduced precisely for the purpose of demon-
strating, at a glance, the triviality of elegantly-noble
chivalry, which is set forth in an almost exaggeratedly-

1 Slutch^vsky, a well-known poet. After retiring from the g^uards
he went abroad and studied at various universities, including that of
Heidelberg, there winning his degree of Ph. D. On his return to
Russia he served in the Ministry of the Interior, and in 1891 was the
editor-in-chief of the Oovemmental Messenger.— TRAvauLTon.

viii

PREFACE

comic manner ; and he could not get out of it, for P^vel
Petrovitch would have thrashed him. — Bazaroff, in my
opinion, constantly defeats Pavel Petrovitch, and not
the other way about; and if he calls himself a nihilist,
the word must be read: a revolutionist.

" 2. What you have said about Arkady, about the
rehabilitation of the fathers, and so forth, merely
proves — pardon me! — that I have not been under-
stood. My whole novel is directed against the nobility
as the leading class. Look more closely at the characters
of Nikolai Petrovitch, Pavel Petrovitch, and Arkady —
weakness and languor and limitedness. The aesthetic
sense made me select precisely good representatives of
the nobility, in order that I might the more surely prove
my point: if the cream is bad, what about the milk.? It
would be coarse — le pont aux dnes — and not true to
nature to take officials, generals, thieves, and so forth.
All the genuine repudiators whom I have known —
without exception (Byelinsky, Bakunin, Hertzen, Do-
broliuboff, SpyeshnefF,^ and so forth) — sprang from
comparatively kind and honourable parents, and therein
is contained a great thought : this removes from the
actors, from the repudiators, every shadow of personal
wrath, of personal irritation. They go their own way
simply because they are more sensitive to the demands

^ ByeUnsky, the most noted of Russian critics. Bakunin, a noted
revolutionist, debarred from returning to Russia. Hertzen, who
wrote under the name of " Iskander," a famous publicist and revolu-
tionist. DobrolidboiF, the most famous of the early Russian critics,
after Byelinsky. Spyeshneff, one of the most famous men connected
with the Petrashdvsky conspiracy . He was banished to Siberia, where,
later on, he filled governmental positions, and was the editor-in-chief
of the Irkutsk Governmental News. Ogaryoff, a well-known poet,
and writer on positivism and economical subjects. Stoljfpin, a writer,
1818-1893. Esakoff, an artist and academician. — Translator.

ix

PREFACE

of popular life. — Young Count S. is wrong when he
says that persons like Nikolai Petr6vitch and Pavel
Petrovitch are our grandfathers: Nikolai Petrovitch is
I myself, OgaryofF and thousands of others; Pavel Pe-
trovitch is Stolypin, EsakofF, Bosset, — also our con-
temporaries. They are the best of the nobles — and
precisely for that reason were chosen by me for the
purpose of proving their insolvency. To depict on
the one hand bribe-takers, on the other an ideal young
man — let others draw that picture. ... I wanted more
than that. — In one place I made BazarofF say to
Arkady (I excluded it on account of the censure),
to that same Arkady in whom your Heidelberg com-
rades descry the most successful type, ' Thy father is
an honest fellow ; but even were he the very worst sort of
a bribe-taker, thou wouldst nevertheless have gone no
further than well-bred submission or ebullition, be-
cause thou art a noble.*

** 8. O Lord ! Madame Kukshin, that caricature, is,
in your opinion, the Tnost successful of all! — To that
there is no answer. — Madame Odintzoff falls in love
just as little with Arkady as with Bazaroff, — how is
it that you do not see that? She, also, is a represen-
tative of our idle, dreamy, curious, and epicurean noble
ladies — our gentlewomen. Countess Salyas has under-
stood that personage with perfect clearness. She would
like first to stroke the fur of the wolf (Bazaroff), if
only he would not bite — then the curls of the little boy
— and to go on lying, well washed, on velvet.

" 4. Bazaroff *s death (which Countess Salyas calls
heroic and then criticises) was intended, according to
my calculations, to apply the final trait to his tragic
figure. But your young men think it is accidental!

X

PREFACE

" I will conclude with the following remark : If the
reader does not fall in love with Bazaroff, with all his
roughness, heartlessness, pitiless aridity and harshness,
— if the reader does not fall in love with him, I re-
peat,— I am to blame, and have not attained my aim.
But I would not grow syrupy, to use his words, al-
though thereby I should, in all probability, have in-
stantly won all the young people to my side. I did not
wish to make a bid for popularity by concessions of
that sort. It is better to lose the battle (and, appar-
ently, I have lost it) than to win it by a trick. I had
conceived a great, grim, wild figure, half grown out
of the soil, powerful, malicious, honest, and yet doomed
to destruction because, nevertheless, it is still standing
at the outer doors of the future — I had conceived of a
sort of strange pendant to the Pugatchyoffs,^ and so
forth — but my youthful contemporaries say to me, shak-
ing their heads the while : ' Thou hast made a mistake,
niy good fellow, and hast even insulted us; thy Ar-
kady has turned out better — thou wert wrong not to
take still more pains with him.' All that is left for
me to do is, as in the gipsy song, * Doff my cap and
bow full low.' So far, only the two persons who have
understood Bazaroff, — that is to say, have understood
my intentions — are Dostoievsky and V. P. Botkin.^ I
shall try to send you a copy of my novel, and now,
basta on this subject. ...

" I shall not be passing through Heidelberg, but I
should like to take a look at the young Russians there.
Give them my regards, although they consider me be-

1 Pugatchyoff, the leader of an extensive rebellion in Eastern
Russia, under Katherine II. — Translator.

2 Bdtkin, a writer on art and foreign literature. — Translator.

xi

PREFACE

hind the times. Tell them, that I beg them to wait a
little while longer before they pronounce a final verdict.
You may show this letter to whomsoever you please.

In 1868 TurgeniefF, in his " Literary Remi-
niscences," gave the following succinct history of
his famous novel from its inception :

" I was taking sea-baths at Ventnor, a small town on
the Isle of Wight in the month of August, 1860, when
there occurred to me the first idea of ' Fathers and
Children,' of that novel thanks to which the young gen-
eration of Russians has ceased — and, apparently forever
— to entertain a favourable opinion of me. More than
once have I heard it said, and read in critical articles,
that in my work I ' start from an idea,' or ' impose an
idea.' Some have lauded me for this; others, on the
contrary, have upbraided me. For my part, I must
confess that I have never attempted to ' create an
image ' unless I had as my point of departure not
an idea, but a living person, which was gradually al-
loyed by the application of befitting elements. As I
do not possess a large share of independent inventive
power, I have always required a given soil whereon I
might firmly set my feet. This is exactly what took
place, also, in the case of ' Fathers and Children ' : at
the foundation of the principal figure, Bazaroff, lay a
personality which had greatly impressed me — that of a
young country physician. (He died not long before
1860.) In that remarkable man was incarnated — in my
eyes — that principle, as yet barely conceived, and stiU
floating, which afterward received the appellation of

xii

PREFACE

nihilism. The impression made upon me by that per-
sonality was extremely strong, and, at the same time,
not quite clear; at first, I could not fully account for
it to myself — and with strained attention I listened and
watched everything which surrounded me, as though de-
sirous of verifying the correctness of my own percep-
tions. I was perplexed by the following fact: in not a
single production of our literature did I encounter so
much as a hint of that which I seemed to feel everywhere
about me; I was involuntarily assailed by doubts as to
whether I were not pursuing a phantom.

" I remember that with me on the Isle of Wight there
dwelt a Russian man gifted with extremely delicate
taste and remarkable sensitiveness for that which the
late ApoUon GrigoriefF called the ' emanations ' of the
epoch. I imparted to him the thoughts which were en-
grossing me — and with dumb amazement listened to the
following remark : ' Why, I think thou hast already
presented a similar type .... in Rudin, hast thou
not ? ' I held my peace : what was there to be said .'*
Are Rudin and Bazaroff one and the same type.''

" These words had such an effect on me that for the
space of several weeks I avoided all meditation on the
work which I had undertaken; but, on returning to
Paris, I began on it again — the fable had gradually
assumed concrete form in my mind. During the win-
ter I wrote the first chapters, but finished the novel in
Russia, in the country, in July. In the autumn I read
it over with several friends, made changes here and
there, amplified it, and in March, 1862, ' Fathers and
Children ' made its appearance in the Russian Mes-
senger.

" I will not enlarge upon the impression produced

xiii

PREFACE

by that novel; I will say only that when I returned to
Petersburg, on the very day of the famous burning of the
Apraxin Bazaar,^ the word ' nihilist ' had already been
caught up by thousands of voices, and the first ex-
clamation which broke from the lips of the first acquaint-
ance whom I met on the Nevsky (Prospekt) was:
' Just see what your nihilists are doing ! They are
burning Petersburg ! ' I then experienced impressions
of a varied but all of an equally painful nature. I
noticed coldness, verging on indignation, in many per-
sons near and sympathetic to me: I received congrat-
ulations, almost kisses, from persons of the opposite
camp to me, from my enemies. This disconcerted me
. . . . grieved me; but my conscience did not reproach
me; I knew well that I had borne myself honourably,
and not only without prejudice but even with sym-
pathetic interest, toward the type which I had set forth ; ^
I had too much respect for the profession of artist, of
literary man, to act against my conscience in such a
matter. The word ' respect ' is even not quite appro-
priate here. I simply could not work otherwise, I did not
know how; and, moreover, there was not reason for
so doing. My critics called my novel a ' pamphlet,'
they alluded to ' irritated,' * wounded ' self-love ; but
why should I write a pamphlet against Dobroliuboff,
whom I had hardly ever seen, but whom I valued highly
both as a man and as a talented writer? However

^ A huge market of lower-class shops not far from the Imperial
Bank, the AnftchkoiF palace, and so forth. — Translator.

2 I permit myself to quote the following extract from my diary :
" June 30, Sunday. An hour and a half ago I finished ray romance
at last. ... I do not know what success it will have. The Contempo-
rary, in all probability, will drench me with scorn for BazdrofF, and
* * will not believe that during the entire time of writing I was not
involuntarily aiming at him "

xiv

PREFACE

modest may have been my opinion of my own gifts, I
nevertheless always have considered and do consider the
composition of a pamphlet, of a ' lampoon,' as beneath
it, unworthy of it. As for the ' wounded ' self-love —
I will remark merely, that DobroliubofF's article about
my last production before * Fathers and Children * —
about ' On the Eve ' (and he had a right to regard
himself as the representative of public opinion) — that
that article, which appeared in 1861, is filled with the
warmest, or, speaking as my conscience dictates, with
the most undeserved praises. But the critics felt bound
to represent me as an offended pamphletist : ' leur siege
etait fait.' . . .

" The critics, in general, have a far from accurate
conception of what takes place in an author's soul, of
what, precisely, constitutes his joy and sorrow, his
aspirations, his success and failure .... they will not
believe that an author's highest happiness is to set forth
the truth, the reality of life, powerfully and accurately,
even when that truth does not coincide with his own
sympathies. I permit myself to cite a small instance.
I am a radical, incorrigible advocate of Western meth-
ods, and have never concealed that fact in the slightest
degree, and do not conceal it; nevertheless, in spite of
that, I set forth with special satisfaction — in the person
of Panshin (in 'A Nobleman's Nest') — all the comical
and trivial sides of Westernism; I made the Slavyano-
phil Lavretzky ' defeat him on every point.' Why did
I do it, — I, who regard the Slavyanophil doctrine as
false and sterile.'' Because, in the given case, 'precisely
in that manner, in my opinion, was life ordered, and
I wished, first of all, to be sincere and truthful. In de-
lineating the figure of Bazaroff, I excluded from the

XV

PREFACE

circle of his sympathies everything artistic, I endowed
him with harshness and an unceremonious tone, not out
of an absurd desire to offend the young genera-
tion ( ! ! !) ^ but simply in consequence of my observa-
tions had nothing to do with the matter; but probably
him. * This life has moulded itself in this way,' expe-
rience said to me again — erroneously, it may be, but, I
repeat it, conscientiously; there was no occasion for
subtilising on my part — and I was obliged to depict his
figure in precisely that manner. My personal inclina-
tions had nothing to do with the matter; but probably
many of my readers will be surprised if I tell them that,
with the exception of his views on art, I share almost
all his convictions. Yet people assert that I side with
the * Fathers *...!, who in the figure of Pavel
Kirsanoff have even sinned against artistic truth and
have laid on the colours too thickly, carried his defects
to the point of caricature, made him ridiculous !

" The whole cause of the misunderstanding, the whole
* trouble ' as the saying is, consisted in this — that the
Bazaroff type which I presented had not yet succeeded
in passing through the gradual phases, through which
literary types generally do pass. There did not fall
to his lot — as to the lot of Onyegin and Petchorin ^ — the
epoch of idealisation, of sympathetic exaltation. At

1 Among the many proofs of my " malice toward youth," one critic
adduced the fact that I had made Bazdroff lose to Father Alexy^i at
cards. "As much as to say, that he does not know how sufficiently
to wound and humiliate him! He does not even know how to play
cards! " No doubt, if I had made Bazaroff win, the same critic would
have triumphantly exclaimed : " Is n't it perfectly plain ?— The author
wants to have it understood that Bazfiroff is a card-sharper! "

2 Evg^ny Onydgin, the hero of Pushkin's poem of the same title.
Petchdrin, the hero of L^rmontoff's famous novel, "A Hero of Our
Times. ' ' — Translator.

xvi

PREFACE

the very moment of the new man's — BazarofPs — ap-
pearance, the author bore himself critically .... ob-
jectively— toward him. This bewildered, and — who
knows? — therein lay, possibly, if not a mistake, an in-
justice. The BazarofF type had, at all events, as much
right to idealisation as the types which had preceded it.

" I have just said that the author's relations to the
person set forth have bewildered the reader. The reader
always feels awkward, he is easily seized with perplex-
ity, even vexation, if the author behaves with the char-
acter depicted as with a living being, that is to say,
perceives and sets forth his bad and his good sides,
and most of all, if he does not display manifest sym-
pathy or antipathy to his own offspring. The reader
is ready to wax angry; he is forced to proceed along a
path which has not hitherto been sketched out, and
make the road at his own expense. * What do I care
about toiling ! ' the thought involuntarily springs up
in him : — * books exist for diversion, not to make one
cudgel his brains ; and how much would it have cost
the author to say, what I am to think about such and
such a person — what he thinks of the person himself? '
— And if the author's relations to that person are still
more indefinite, if the author himself does not know
whether he likes or dislikes the character presented (as
it happened in the case of my relations to Bazaroff, for
that ' involuntary attraction ' to which I alluded in my
diary is not love) — then things are indeed in a bad way!
The reader is ready to attribute to the author imaginary
sympathies, or imaginary antipathies, if only for the
sake of extricating himself from the disagreeable ' in-
definiteness.'

" * Neither Fathers nor Children,' — said a witty lady
xvii

PREFACE

to me, after reading my book: — 'that is the proper
title for your novel — and you yourself are a nihilist.'
A similar opinion was pronounced, with still greater
force, on the appearance of ' Smoke.' I shall not un-
dertake to retort; perhaps that lady spoke the truth.
In the matter of writing, every one (I judge by myself)
does not that which he wishes, but that which he is able
— and to the degree of his ability. I assume that lit-
erary productions should be judged en gros, and, while
rigorously demanding conscientiousness from the au-
thor, the public must contemplate the remainder of
his activity — I will not say with indifference, but with
composure. But, with the fullest desire to please my
critics, I cannot admit that I am guilty of lack of con-
scientiousness.

" In conection with ' Fathers and Children ' I have
made a very curious collection of letters and other
documents. A comparison of them is not devoid of
interest. At the time when some people are accusing
me of insulting the rising generation, of being behind
the times, of insanity, and informing me that ' they are
burning my photographs with a laugh of scorn,' —
others, on the contrary, indignantly upbraid me with
cringing slavishly before that same rising generation.
* You crawl at Bazaroff's feet ! ' exclaims one corre-
spondent— * you merely pretend to condemn him ; in
reality, you fawn on him and await, as a gracious fa-
vour, one of his careless smiles!' — I remember that one
critic, in powerful and eloquent phrases, levelled straight
at my head, represented me and Mr. Katkoff ^ in the
light of a couple of conspirators, plotting in the si-

^ The editor of the Russian Messenger, in which the book first
appeared. — Tr a nslatoe.

xviii

PREFACE

lence of an isolated study their revolting machinations,
their calumnies of young Russian forces. The picture
was extremely effective ! As a matter of fact, this is
the way that * conspiracy ' came about. When Mr.
KatkofF received from me the manuscript of * Fathers
and Children,' — of whose contents he had not even an
approximate knowledge, — he was puzzled. The type
of BazarofF seemed to him * almost an apotheosis of
" The CONTEMPORARY," ' and I should not have
been surprised if he had declined to insert my novel in his
journal. * Et voild comme on ecrit Vhistoire! ' one
might exclaim at this point . . . but is it permissable
to magnify such petty things by such a resounding
name.'*

" On the other hand, I understand the causes of wrath
which my book aroused in a certain party. They are
not without foundation, and I accept — without false
resignation — a portion of the reproaches which have
fallen upon me. The word ' nihilist ' which I launched
was used at the time by many persons who were only
waiting for a chance, a pretext, in order to put a stop
to the movement which had seized upon Russian society.
Not with a view to upbraid, not with the object of
insulting, did I employ that word, but as an exact and
fitting expression of a historical fact which had pre-
sented itself; it was converted into a weapon of denun-
ciation, of irrevocable condemnation, — almost into a
brand of disgrace. Several sad events, which occurred
at that epoch, afforded still further aliment to the
suspicion which had been engendered — and, as though
in confirmation of the wide-spread apprehensions, jus-
tified the efforts and labours of our * saviours of the
fatherland ' . . . . for * saviours of the fatherland '

xix

PREFACE

made their appearance among us in Russia also, at that
period. Public opinion, still so ill-defijied among us,
rushed in a receding wave. . . . But a shadow lay on
my name. I am not deceiving myself; I know that that
shadow will not depart from my name. But other peo-
ple also — people before whom I am too profoundly con-
scious of my insignificance — have uttered the grand
words: * Perissent nos noms; pourvu que la chose pub-
lique soit sauvee! ' In imitation of them I also may
console myself with the thought of the good I have
done. That thought outweighs the unpleasantness of
unmerited abuse. But, as a matter of fact, what does
it matter? Who, after the expiration of twenty or
thirty years, will remember all those tempests in a glass
of water — and my name — with or without a shadow? "

I. F. H.

XX

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

(1861)

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

WELL, Piotr? Is anything to be seen yet? "
inquired a gentleman a little over forty
years of age, in a dusty coat and checked trou-
sers, on May 20th, 1859, as he emerged hatless
upon the low porch of a posting-station on the
* * * highway, of his servant, a chubby-faced
young fellow, with whitish down on his chin, and
small, dull eyes.

The servant, whose every characteristic — the
turquoise ear-ring in his ear, and his pomaded,
party-coloured hair, and the urbane movements
of his body, — everything, in a word, — betrayed a
man of the newest, perfected generation, gazed
condescendingly along the road, and replied:
" Nothing at all, sir, is to be seen."

" Is nothing to be seen? " repeated the gentle-
man.

" Nothing is to be seen," replied the servant,
for the second time.

His master sighed, and seated himself on the
bench. Let us make the reader acquainted with
him, while he sits there, with his feet tucked up
under him, and gazing thoughtfully around him.

3

FATHERS AND CHILDREN .

His name is Nikolai Petrovitch Kirsanoff. At
a distance of fifteen versts ^ from the posting-sta-
tion, he has a fine estate of two hundred souls, or —
as he is in the habit of expressing it since he por-
tioned off to the peasants their land and set up
a " farm "—of two thousand desyatinas ^ of land.
His father, a fighting general of 1812, able to
read and write only indifferently, coarse, but not
vicious, a Russian man, had toiled hard for a live-
lihood all his life, had commanded first a brigade,
then a division, and had lived uninterruptedly in
the rural districts, where, by virtue of his rank,
he had played a fairly prominent part. Nikolai
Petrovitch had been born in the south of Russia,
like his elder brother Pavel, of whom we shall
speak hereafter, and had been reared, up to his
fourteenth year, at home, surrounded by cheap
tutors, free-and-easy but obsequious adjutants,
and other regimental and staff officers. His mo-
ther, from the family of the Kolyazins, called
Agathe as a young girl, and as Madame the wife
of the General, Agafoklea Kuzminishna Kirsa-
noff, belonged to the category of " master ful-
commanderesses,"— wore sumptuous caps and
rustling silken gowns, went up first to kiss the
cross in church, talked loudly and much, admitted
her children to kiss her hand every morning, made
the sign of the cross in blessing over them at night,

* Ten miles. — Thanslatob.
■ A desyatina equals 2.70 acres. — Trakslatoi.

4k

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

—in a word, led an enjoyable life. In his quality
of son of a general, Nikolai Petrovitch, although
he not only was not distinguished for courage, but
had even earned the nickname of a little coward,
was forced, hke his brother Pavel, to enter the
military service ; but he broke his leg the very day
that the news of his appointment arrived, and,
after lying in bed for two months, remained a
*' limpy " for the rest of his hfe. His father gave
up all hope of him, and allowed him to enter the
civil service. He took him to Petersburg, as soon
as he was eighteen, and placed him in the uni-
versity. His brother, by the way, graduated into
the Guards as an officer, just about that time.
The young men began to live together, in one set
of lodgings, under the remote supervision of a
grand-uncle on their mother's side, Ilya Kolyazin,
an important official. Their father went back to
his division and to his spouse, and only occasion-
ally sent to his sons big quarto sheets of grey pa-
per, scrawled over in a bold, clerkly script. At
the end of these quarto sheets, carefully encircled
by " curly -cues," flaunted the words: " Piotr
Kirsanoff, Major-General." In 1835 Nikolai Pe-
trovitch graduated from the university with the
degree of candidate, and, in that same year. Gen-
eral Kirsanoff, having been put on the retired list
for an unsuccessful review, arrived in Petersburg
with his wife, with the intention of living there.
He was on the point of hiring a house near the

5

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

Tauris Garden,^ and joining the English Club,
when he suddenly died of apoplexy. Agaf oklea
Kuznunishna speedily followed him: she could not
get accustomed to the dull life of the capital; the
grief of her position on the retired list worried her
to death. In the meantime, Nikolai Petrovitch
had succeeded, already during the hfetime of his
parents, and to their no small chagrin, in f aUing
in love with the daughter of an official named
Prepolovensky, the former landlord of his lodg-
ings, a pretty and, it was said, a well-educated
young girl : she read the serious articles, under the
department labelled " Science," in the news-
papers. He married her, as soon as the period
of mourning was over, and quitting the Ministry
of the Imperial Appanages, where he had been
entered through the influence of his father, he en-
joyed felicity with his Masha, first in a villa near
the Forestry Institute, then in town, in a tiny and
pretty apartment with a clean staircase and a
rather cold drawing-room, and, at last, in the coun-
try, where he definitively settled down, and where
a son, Arkady, was shortly born to him. The hus-
band and wife lived very well and quietly: they
were hardly ever separated— they read together,
played four-handed pieces together on the piano,

^ The Tauris Garden, part of which is open to the public in summer,
lies in a good residential quarter of the town, attached to the Tauris
Palace. The latter was built in 1783 by the Empress Katharine II.
for Prince Paty6mkin, after his conquest of the Crimea. It was soon
bought back, at Fatydmkin's death, by the Crown.— TaAxsLAToa.

6

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

sang duets; she planted flowers, and supervised
the poultry-yard; he went hunting on rare occa-
sions, and occupied himself with the farming ; and
Arkady grew, and grew — also well and quietly.
In the year '47, KirsanofF's wife died. He hardly
survived this blow, and his hair turned grey in the
course of a few weeks: he contemplated going
abroad, for the purpose of diverting his mind . . .

buttheyear '48 arrived at this juncture

willy-nilly, he returned to the country, and after
a rather prolonged season of inactivity he under-
took agricultural reforms. In the year 1855, he
took his son to the university : he spent three win-
ters with him in Petersburg, going out hardly at
all, and endeavouring to strike up acquaintance
with Arkady's youthful comrades. He was un-
able to come for the last winter,— and here we be-
hold him, in May of the year 1859, already com-
pletely grey, plump, and rather stooping: he is
awaiting his son, who, like himself in years gone
by, has graduated with the degree of candidate.
The servant, out of a sense of decorum, and
possibly also because he did not wish to remain
under his master's eye, stepped under the gate-
arch and lighted his pipe. Nikolai Petrovitch
hung his head, and began to stare at the decrepit
steps of the porch ; a large, piebald chicken stalked
pompously past him, with a sturdy thud of its
big, yellow feet; a bespattered cat stared at him
in hostile wise, as she crouched primly on the rail-

7

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

ing. The sun was burning hot: from the half-
dark anteroom of the posting-station an odour of
warm rye bread was wafted. Our Nikolai Petr6-
vitch fell into a reverie : " Son . . . candidate ....
Arkasha . . . ." kept incessantly circling through
his brain ; he made an effort to think of something
else, and again reverted to the same thoughts. He
called to mind his dead wife. ..." She did not
live to see this day! " he whispered mournfully.
.... A fat, dark-blue pigeon flew down into the
road, and hastily betook itself to the puddle be-
side the well, to drink. Nikolai Petrovitch began
to stare at it, but his ear already caught the
rumble of approaching wheels.

" I think they are coming, sir," announced the
servant, popping out from under the gate.

Nikolai Petrovitch sprang to his feet, and
strained his eyes along the road. A tarantas
made its appearance, drawn by a troika of post-
ing-horses: in the tarantas there was a gleam of
the band of a student's cap, the familiar outline
of a beloved face.

" Arkasha! Arkasha I " shouted Kirsdnoff, and

started on a run, flourishing his anns A

few moments later, his lips were glued to the
beardless, dusty, and sunburnt cheek of the young
candidate.

8

II

" Let me shake myself, papa,"— said Arkady, in
a voice that was rather hoarse from the journey,
but ringing and youthful, cheerily responding to
his father's caresses,—" I am daubing thee aU
over."

" Never mind, never mind," Nikolai Petrovitch
repeated again and again, with a smile of emotion,
and he administered a couple of blows with his
hand on the collar of his son's cloak and on his
own overcoat.—" Let me look at thee, let me look
at thee," he added, stepping ojff , but immediately
strode toward the posting-station with hasty
steps, reiterating: "Here, come along, come
along, and let us have horses as speedily as
possible."

Nikoldi Petrovitch appeared to be far more
agitated than his son: it was as though he were
somewhat bewildered, as though he were intimi-
dated. Arkady stopped him.

" Papa," he said, " allow me to introduce to
thee my good friend Bazaroff, of whom I have
so often written to thee. He has been so amiable
as to consent to pay us a visit."

9

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

Nikolai Petrovitch wheeled swiftly round, and
stepping up to a man of lofty stature, in a long
peasant's overcoat with tassels, who had only just
alighted from the tarantas, he warmly shook the
bare, red hand which the man did not immediately
offer him.

" I am heartily glad," he began, — *' and grate-
ful to you for your kind intention to visit us: I
hope . . . Permit me to inquire your name and
patronymic? "

" Evgeny Vasilitch," — replied Bazaroff, in a
languid but manly voice, and turning down the
collar of the peasant coat, he displayed his entire
face to Nikolai Petrovitch. Long and thin, with
a broad forehead, a nose which was flat at the top
and pointed at the tip, with large, greenish eyes,
and pendent sidewhiskers of a sandy hue, it was
rendered animated by a calm smile, and expressed
self-confidence and cleverness.

" I trust, my dearest Evgeny Vasilitch, that
you will not be bored with us," — went on Nikolai
Petrovitch.

Bazaroff 's thin lips moved slightly; but he
made no reply, and merely Hfted his cap. His
dark-blond hair, long and thick, did not conceal
the huge protuberances of his ample skull.

" Well, what are we to do, Arkady? " — ^began
Nikolai Petrovitch, again turning to his son.—
" Shall we have the horses put to at once? Or do
you wish to rest? "

10

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

" We will rest at home, papa; give orders to
have the horses put to."

" Immediately, immediately," assented his
father. — " Hey, there, Piotr, dost thou hear?
Look lively there, my good brother; see to things."

Piotr, who, in his quality of improved domestic,
had not kissed his young master's hand, but had
merely bowed to him from a distance, again van-
ished inside the gate.

" I am here with a calash, but there are three
horses for thy tarantas," said Nikolai Petrovitch
hastily, while Arkady was drinking water out of
an iron dipper brought by the keeper of the post-
ing-station, and Bazaroff lighted his pipe and
stepped up to the postiHon, who was unharnessing
his horses. — " The calash has only two seats, and
I do not know how thy friend . . . ."

" He will drive in the tarantas," — interrupted
Arkady, in an undertone. — " Please do not stand
on ceremony with him. He 's a splendid young
fellow, so simple, — thou wilt see."

Nikolai Petrovitch's coachman brought out the
horses.

" Come, turn round, ThickbeardI " — said Ba-
zaroff to the postilion.

" Dost hear, Mitiiikha," put in another pos-
tiHon, who was standing near, with his hands
thrust into the rear shts of his sheepskin coat, —
" what the gentleman called thee? Thickbeard
it was."

11

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

Mitiiikha merely shook his cap, and drew the
reins from the sweating shaft-horse.

" Be quick, be quick, my lads, lend a hand," —
exclaimed Nikolai Petrovitch, — " and you '11 get
something for liquor! "

In a few minutes the horses were harnessed;
father and son seated themselves in the calash, and
Piotr climbed on the box; Bazaroff jumped into
the tarantas and buried his head in the leather pil-
low,— and both equipages rolled off.

12

Ill

" So here thou art a candidate at last, and hast
come home," — said Nikolai Petrovitch, touching
Arkady now on the shoulder, now on the knee: —
"at last!"

*' And how is uncle? Well? " asked Arkady,
who, despite the genuine, almost childish joy
which filled his heart, wished to change the conver-
sation as speedily as possible from an agitated into
a commonplace current.

" Yes. He had intended to drive over with me
to meet thee, but changed his mind for some rea-
son or other."

" And hast thou been waiting long for me? " —
asked Arkady.

*' Why, about five hours."

"Good papa!"

Arkady turned briskly toward his father, and
gave him a resounding smack on the cheek. Niko-
lai Petrovitch laughed softly.

" What a magnificent horse I have prepared
for thee! "—he began:— " thou wilt see. And
thy room has been papered."

" And is there a chamber for Bazaroif ? "

" We '11 find one for him also."
13

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

" Please, papa, do pet him a bit. I cannot ex-
press to thee to what a degree I prize his friend-
ship."

" Thou hast not known him very long? "

" Not very long."

" That is why I did not see him last winter. In
what does he interest himself? "

" His principal subject is the natural sciences.
But he knows everything. He wants to take
his examination for the doctor's degree next
year."

"Ah! so he's in the medical faculty,"— re-
marked Nikolai Petrovitch, and relapsed into
silence.— "Piotr," he added, and stretched out
his hand, — "aren't those our peasants coming
yonder? "

Piotr gazed on one side, in the direction whither
his master was pointing. Several peasant carts,
drawn by horses with slackened bridles, were roll-
ing briskly along the narrow country road. In
each cart sat one, or at the most two, peasants in
sheepskin coats which were open on the breast.—
" Exactly so, sir," said Piotr.

" Whither are they going— to town? "

" I suppose it must be to the town. To the
dram-shop,"— he added scornfully, and leaned a
little toward the coachman, as though referring to
him. But the latter did not even stir: he was a
man of the old school, who did not share the latest
views.

14

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

" I am having a great deal of trouble with the
peasants this year,"— pursued Nikolai Petrovitch,
addressing his son. — " They will not pay their
quit-rent.^ What wouldst thou do? "

" And art thou satisfied with thy hired la-
bourers? "

" Yes," — said Nikolai Petrovitch between his
teeth.—" They are stirring them up to mischief,
that 's the trouble ; however, no regular attempt
has been made, as yet. They ruin the harnesses.
But they have done the ploughing all right.
When difficulties are surmounted, all goes well
again. But art thou already interested in the
farming? "

*' You have no shade, and that 's a great pity,"
-remarked Arkady, without answering the last
question.

" I have added a large awning on the north
side, over the balcony," said Nikolai Petrovitch:
— " and now we can dine in the open air."

" It will look awfully like a suburban viUa . . .
however, all that is of no consequence. What air
there is here! How splendidly fragrant it is!
Really, it seems to me that nowhere in the world
is it so fragrant as in these parts ! And then the
sky here . . ."

Arkady suddenly paused, cast a sidelong
glance behind him, and became silent.

" Of course,"— remarked Nikolai Petrovitch,

The obrokf or sum paid in lieu of personal labor. — Trakslator.

15

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

— " thou wert born here, and ever5i:hing here
ought to seem to thee peculiarly . . . ."

" Well, papa, it makes no difference where a
man was born."

" But "

" No, it makes absolutely no difference."

Nikolai Petrovitch gazed askance at his son,
and the calash had traversed half a verst before
the conversation was resumed between them.

" I do not remember whether I wrote to thee,"
— began Nikolai Petrovitch, — " that thy former
nurse, Egorovna, was dead."

"Really? Poor old woman! And is Proko-
fitch ahve? "

" Yes, and has not changed in the least. He
still grumbles as of old. On the whole, thou wilt
not find many changes at Marino."

" Hast thou still the same overseer? "

" Why, the change in the overseer is about
the only one I have made. I have decided not
to keep any more emancipated, former house-
servants, or, at least, not to entrust them with any
duties which involve responsibility." (Arkady
indicated Piotr with his eyes. ) " II est libre, en
effet" — remarked Nikolai Petrovitch, in a low
tone, — " but, you see, he is my valet. Now I
have a petty burgher as overseer : he seems a prac-
tical young fellow. I have appointed him a salary
of two hundred and fifty rubles a year. How-
ever,"— added Nikolai Petrovitch, rubbing his

16

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

forehead and eyebrows with his hand, which with
him was always a sign of inward perturbation, —
" I have just told thee that thou wouldst not find
any changes at Marino. . . That is not quite cor-
rect. I consider it my duty to warn thee, al-
though . . ."

He faltered for a moment, and then continued,
in French.

" A strict moralist would regard my frankness
as misplaced, but, in the first place, it is impos-
sible to conceal the fact, and, in the second, thou
art well aware that I have always entertained pe-
culiar principles with regard to the relations be-
tween father and son. But, of course, thou wilt
have a right to condemn me. At my age ....
In a word . . . that . . . that young girl, of
whom thou hast, in all probability, already
heard . . ."

" Fenitchka? " asked Arkady easily.

Nikolai Petrovitch flushed. — " Please do not
mention her name aloud. . . . Well, yes . . . she
is now living with me. I have lodged her in my
house .... there were two small rooms there.
However, that can be changed."

" And why, pray, papa? "

" Thy friend is to visit thee . . it is awkward ..."

" Please do not worry thyself, so far as Ba-
zaroff is concerned. He is above all that sort of
thing."
" Well, thou ... in short,"— said Nikolai Petro-

17

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

vitch,— " the small wing is in a sorry state— that 's
the difficulty."

" Upon my word, papa,"— interpolated Ar-
kady,—" thou wouldst seem to be making apolo-
gies; art thou not ashamed of thyself? "

" Of course, I ought to be ashamed of myself,"
—replied Nikolai Petro vitch, growing more and
more crimson in the face.

" Enough, papa,— enough, please,"— Arkady
smiled aiFectionately. " What is there to apolo-
gise for! " he thought to himself, and a sensation
of condescending tenderness toward his kind,
gentle father, mingled with a f eehng of a certain
superiority over him, filled his soul.—" Stop,
please," — he repeated once more, involuntarily
enjoying the consciousness of his own progres-
siveness and freedom.

Nikolai Petrovitch cast a look at him from be-
neath the fingers of the hand with which he con-
tinued to rub his forehead, and something stung
him at the heart. . . . But he immediately took
himself to task.

" Here is where our fields begin," — he said,
after a long silence.

" And that is our forest, yonder ahead, I
think? "—inquired Arkady.

" Yes, it is ours. Only, I have sold it. It will
be felled this year."

" Why didst thou sell it? "

18

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

" I needed the money: and, besides, this land
goes to the peasants."

" Who do not pay thee their quit-rent? "

" That 's their affair ; however, they will pay
up some time or other."

" It is a pity about the forest,"— remarked Ar-
kady, and began to gaze about him.

The localities through which they were passing
could not be called picturesque. Fields, nothing
but fields, stretched away to the very horizon, now
rising gently, again sinking ; here and there small
patches of forest were visible, and here and there
ravines, overgrown with sparse, low bushes,
wound in and out, recalling to the eye the repre-
sentations of them on ancient plans of the time
of Katherine II. Here and there, also, small
streams were to be encountered, with washed-out
banks, and tiny ponds with wretched dams, and
little hamlets with low cottages under dark
roofs, which often had been half swept away, and
lop-sided threshing-sheds with wattled walls of
brushwood, and churches, now of brick with the
stucco peeled off in places, now of wood, with
slanting crosses and ruined graveyards. Ar-
kady's heart gradually contracted. As though
expressly, they kept meeting peasants in clothing
which was too tight with long wear, on wretched
nags ; like beggars in rags stood the roadside wil-
lows, with tattered bark and broken branches;

19

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

thin, scabby, apparently famished cows were
greedily nibbling at the grass along the ditches.
They seemed to have just succeeded in tearing
themselves from some menacing, death-dealing
talons, — and, evoked by the pitiful aspect of the
debilitated beasts, amid the fine spring day, there
arose the white wraith of the cheerless, endless
winter, with its blizzards, frosts, and snows. . . .
" No,"— thought Arkady, " this is not a rich
land; it does not strike the beholder with its
abundance or its industry; it is impossible, im-
possible for it to remain like this ; reforms are in-
dispensable . . . but how are they to be brought
about, how is one to set to work? ..."

Thus did Arkady meditate . . . and while he was
meditating, the spring asserted its rights. Every-
thing round about was ringing with a golden
sound, everjrthing was stirring with broad, soft
agitation and shining beneath the tranquil breath
of the warm breeze,— everything,— trees, bushes,
and grass; every^where the larks were carolHng
in unending, sonorous floods; the lapwings were
alternately shrilling, as they soared in circles
above the low-ljdng meadows, and silently hop-
ping over the hillocks; the daws stalked about,
handsomely black against the tender green of the
spring rye, which was still low of growth; they
preached sermons in the rye, which was already
turning slightly whitish, only now and then show-
ing their heads amid its smokelike billows. Ar-

20

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

kady gazed, and gazed, and his meditations grad-
ually faded away, then vanished altogether. . . .
He jflung off his uniform coat, and looked at his
father so merrily, so much like a young boy, that
the latter embraced him once more.

" We have not much further to go now,"— re-
marked Nikolai Petrovitch, — " we have only to
ascend yonder hill, and the house will be visible.
We are going to get on together splendidly, Ar-
kasha; thou shalt help me with the farming, if it
does not bore thee. We must become intimate
with each other now; we must know each other
well, must we not? "

"Of course," — said Arkady: — "but what a
magnificent day this is! "

"It is in honour of thy arrival, dear heart.
Yes, it is spring in all its glory. But I agree
with Pushkin— dost thou remember, in ' Evgeny
Onyegin * :

"How sad is thy coining to me,
Spring, spring, the time of love!
How . . . ."

"Arkady! "—rang out Bazaroff's voice from
the tarantas:— " send me a match. I have no
means of lighting my pipe."

Nikolai Petrovitch relapsed into silence, and
Arkady, who had begun to listen to him, not with-
out a certain surprise, but also not without sym-

21

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

pathy, hastened to pull a silver match-box from
his pocket and despatch it to Bazaroff by Piotr.

" Wilt thou have a cigar? "—shouted Bazaroff
again.

" Hand it over,"— rephed Arkady.

Piotr returned to the calash, and handed him,
in company with the match-box, a thick, black
cigar, which Arkady immediately lighted, dis-
seminating about him such a strong and acrid
odour of rank tobacco that Nikolai Petrovitch,
who had never smoked in his life, involuntarily —
though unperceived, in order not to offend his
son — turned away his nose.

A quarter of an hour later, both carriages drew
up at the steps of a new wooden house, painted
grey, and covered with a red iron roof. This was
Marino, also Novaya-Slobodka; or, according to
the peasants' name for it, Bobyly-Khutor.^

1 NSnaym-Slob6dka, New Suburb: Bobyly-KhutSr, Landless Farm,—
Tkakslatob.

22

IV

No throng of house-servants poured forth upon
the porch to welcome the masters : the only person
who showed herself was a little girl of twelve, and
in her wake there emerged from the house a
young lad who bore a strong resemblance to
Piotr, clad in a grey, livery round jacket, with
white armouried buttons, the servant of Pavel Pe-
trovitch Kirsanoff . He silently opened the door
of the calash, and unbuttoned the apron of the
tarantas. Nikolai Petrovitch, with his son and
Bazaroff, walked through a dark and almost
empty hall,^ from behind whose door they caught
a fleeting gHmpse of a young, feminine face, to
the drawing-room, which was already furnished
in the latest taste.

" Here we are at home," — said Nikolai Petro-
vitch, removing his cap, and shaking back his
hair. — " The chief thing now is to have supper
and to rest."

" It really would not be a bad idea to have some-
thing to eat,"— remarked BazarofF, stretching
himself, and dropping down on a couch.

" Yes, yes, serve supper as quickly as possible."

* The "hall" is a combination of music-room, ball-room, and play-
room.— Translator.

23

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

— Nikolai Petrovitch stamped his feet, without
any visible cause. — " By the way, here is Proko-
fitch."

There entered a man of fifty, white-haired, thin,
and swarthy, in a light-brown frock-coat with
brass buttons, and a pink kerchief round his
throat. He grinned, kissed Arkady's hand, and
bowing to the guest, retreated to the door, and
put his hands behind him.

" Here he is, Prokofitch,"— began Nikolai Pe-
trovitch,— " he has come to us, at last. . . . Well?
What dost thou think of him? "

" He is in the best condition, sir," said the old
man, and grinned again, but immediately knit
his thick brows.—" Do you command the table
to be set? " — he said impressively.

" Yes, yes, if you please. But will you not go
to your room first, Evgeny Vasilitch? "

" No, thank you, there 's no necessity. Only,
please give orders to have my little trunk carried
thither, and this horrid old garment, also," he
added, taking off the peasant-coat.

" Very good. Prokofitch, take his coat." (Pro-
kofitch, in a sort of stupefaction, grasped the
" horrid old garment " in both hands, and ele-
vating it high above his head, withdrew on tiptoe. )
" And thou, Arkady, wilt thou go to thine own
room for a minute? "

" Yes, I must get myself clean," replied Ar-
kady, and started toward the door; but at that

24

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

moment there entered the drawing-room a man
of medium stature, dressed in a dark English
suit, a fashionable, low necktie, and low, patent-
leather shoes, — Pavel Petrovitch Kirsanoff. In
appearance, he was about forty-five years of age :
his closely-clipped grey hair shaded dark in certain
lights, like new silver ; his face, sallow, but devoid
of wrinkles, remarkably regular and pure in out-
line, as though carved out with a light, delicate
chisel, displayed traces of remarkable beauty:
especially fine were his brilliant, black, almond-
shaped eyes. The whole person of Arkady's
uncle, elegant and high-bred, preserved its youth-
ful grace, and that aspiration, upward, away
from the earth, which generally disappears after
the twentieth year. Pavel Petrovitch drew from
the pocket of his trousers his beautiful hand with
its long, rosy nails, which seemed stiU more beauti-
ful from the snow-whiteness of his cuff' buttoned
with a single large opal, and gave it to his nephew.
Having accomplished the preliminary European
" shake-hands," he exchanged three kisses with
him, in Russian fashion, — that is to say, he thrice
touched his cheek with his perfumed moustache,
— and said: " Welcome! "

Nikolai Petrovitch introduced him to Bazaroff :
Pavel Petrovitch slightly bent his supple form,
and slightly smiled, but he did not offer his hand,
and even put it back in his pocket.

" I had already begun to think that you would
25

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

not arrive to-day," — he said in a pleasant voice,
amiably swaying, twitching his shoulders, and dis-
playing his very fine white teeth. — " Did any-
thing happen on the road? "

" Nothing happened," replied Arkady, — " we
were a little late, that is all. But we are as hungry
as wolves. Hurry up Prokofitch, papa, and I
will be back immediately."

" Wait, I will go with thee,"— exclaimed Ba-
zaroif , suddenly tearing himself from the divan.
The two young men left the room.

" Who is that? "—asked Pavel Petrovitch.

" A friend of Arkasha's, a very clever man, ac-
cording to him."

" Is he going to make you a visit? "

" Yes."

" That hirsute fellow? "

" Well, yes."

Pavel Petrovitch drummed on the table with his
finger-nails: — "I think that Arkady s'est de-
gourdi" he remarked.—" I am glad he has come
back."

At supper there was very little conversation.
BazarofF, in particular, said hardly a word, but
he ate a great deal. Nikolai Petrovitch narrated
various anecdotes from his farmer's Hf e, as he ex-
pressed it, discussed the impending administra-
tive measures, committees, delegates, the necessity
of introducing machinery, and so forth. Pavel
Petrovitch paced slowly to and fro in the dining-

26

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

room (he never supped) , once in a while taking a
sip from his wine-glass filled with red wine, and
still more rarely uttering some remark, or, rather,
some exclamation, like " Ah! " " Ehe! " " H'm! "
Arkady communicated some Petersburg news,
but he felt a sHght embarrassment — the embar-
rassment which generally takes possession of a
young man when he has just ceased to be a child
and has returned to the place where people have
been accustomed to see him and regard him as a
child. He lengthened out his speech unneces-
sarily, avoided the word " papa," and once he even
superseded it with the word " father," — emitted,
it is true, through his teeth; with superfluously
free and easy manner, he poured out into his glass
a great deal more wine than he wanted, and drank
the whole of it. Prokofitch never took his eyes
off" him, and merely made a chewing movement
with his hps. They all separated immediately
after supper.

" That uncle of thine is a queer sort of fish,"
— said BazarofF to Arkady, sitting down in his
dressing-gown beside him on his bed, and sucking
away at a short pipe. — " One can't help thinking
that he has a pretty dandified style for the coun-
try. And his nails, why, you could send his nails
to the exposition ! "

" But thou art, evidently, ignorant of the fact,"
— replied Arkady, — *' that he was a society lion
in his time. I will tell thee his history one of these

27

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

days. You see, he was a beauty, and turned the
women's heads."

" You don't say so ! He does it now in memory
of the old days. There is n't any one to fascinate
here, more's the pity. I kept watching him:
what wonderful cuiFs he has, just as though
they were made of stone, and his chin is so accu-
rately shaved. It 's ridiculous, is n't it, Arkady
Nikolaevitch?"

" Possibly : only, he really is a fine man."
" An archaic manifestation! But thy father is
a splendid fellow. There 's no good in his reading
poetry, and he probably has n't much sense about
the farming, but he 's a good soul."
" My father is a man of gold."
" Hast thou noticed that he is timid? "
Arkady shook his head, just as though he were
not timid himself.

" Astonishing phenomenon these elderly ro-
manticists! "—went on Bazaroff. "They de-
velop their nervous system to the point of ex-
asperation . . . well, and then the equilibrium is
destroyed. But good-bye ! There 's an EngUsh
washstand in my room, but the door will not lock.
All the same, English washstands ^ — that is to
say, progress — must be encouraged! "

Bazaroff went off, and a sensation of joy
took possession of Arkady. It is sweet to fall

^ The Russian washstand has a reservoir of water on top, and no
plug, and the water is liberated by a foot-treadle. —Translator.

28

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

asleep in the parental home, in the familiar hed.
over which loved hands have toiled, perhaps the
hands of an old nurse, those caressing, kind, in-
defatigable hands. Arkady recalled Egorovna,
and sighed, and breathed a prayer that the king-
dom of heaven might be hers. . . He did not pray
for himself.

Both he and Bazaroif promptly fell asleep, but
it was a long time still before the other persons in
the house got to sleep. The return of his son had
excited Nikolai Petrovitch. He went to bed, but
did not extinguish his candle, and propping his
head on his hand, he indulged in a prolonged
reverie. His brother sat in his study until long
after midnight, in a capacious GamboiF ^ easy-
chair, in front of the fireplace, in which hard coal
was faintly smouldering. Pavel Petrovitch had
not undressed himself, but had merely replaced
his low patent-leather pumps with red Chinese
slippers without heels. He held in his hands the
last number of Galignani^ but he did not read it ;
he stared intently into the grate, where the bluish
flame flickered, now dying down, now flashing up

God knows where his thoughts were roaming,

but they were not roaming in the past alone : the
expression of his face was concentrated and
gloomy, which is not the case when a man is en-
grossed in memories only. And in a tiny rear
room, on a large cofl'er, sat the young woman, Fe-

* A well-known cabinet-maker of that period. — Teakslatob.

29

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

nitchka, in a sky-blue short jacket,^ with a white
kerchief thrown over her dark hair, and alter-
nately listened, dozed, and stared at the door,
which stood ajar, beyond which a child's bed was
visible, and the even breathing of a sleeping child
was audible.

^ Literally a " soul-warmer " : a wadded peasant-jacket, either tight
fitting to the waist, below which it has close organ plaits : or falling
from the shoulders in broad box-plaits to the waist: and with very
long, tapering sleeves. — TEANgLxxoa.

30

On the following morning, Bazaroff awoke
earlier than any of the others, and went out of
doors. " Ehe! " he thought, after casting a glance
around him, " this is n't a very showy place."
When Nikolai Petrovitch had portioned off the
land between himself and the peasants, he had
been obhged to assign for his new manor-house
four desyatinas of perfectly flat and naked fields.
He had erected a house, offices, and farm-build-
ings, had laid out a garden, had dug a pond and
a couple of wells ; but the young trees had struck
root badly, very little water had collected in the
pond, and the water in the wells proved to have a
brackish taste. Only one arbour of Hlacs and
acacia had grown fairly well : in it they sometimes
drank tea and dined. In a few minutes, Bazaroff
had made the round of all the paths in the garden,
had paid a httle visit to the cattle-yard and to
the stable, had hunted out two small boys be-
longing to the house-servants, with whom he had
immediately struck up an acquaintance, and had
gone off with them to a small marsh, situated
about a verst distant from the manor-house, in
quest of frogs.

31

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

" What dost thou want frogs for, master? "
one of the little boys asked him.

" Why, for this,"— replied Bazaroff, who pos-
sessed a special faculty for inspiring the lower
classes with confidence in him, although he never
indulged them, and treated them carelessly: —
" I 'm going to split the frog open, and see what
is going on inside of it; and as thou and I are
exactly like frogs, except that we walk on our
legs, then I shall also know what is going on inside
of us."

" But what dost thou want to know that for? "

" In order that I may not make mistakes, if
thou shouldst fall ill and I had to cure thee."

" Art thou a doctur? "^

" Yes."

" Dost hear, Vaska, the gentleman says that
thou and I are just the same as frogs. Won-
derful!"

"I'm afraid o^ them, of frogs,"— remarked
Vaska, a lad of seven, with a head as white as
flax, clad in a grey kazak coat with a standing
collar, and barefooted.

" What is there to be afraid of? they don't bite,
do they?"*

" Come, now, hop into the water, you philos-
ophers,"— said BazaroiF.

In the meantime, Nikolai Petrovitch had also
waked up, and had betaken himself to Arkady,

1 The peasant pronunciation.— Transistor.

32

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

whom he found dressed. Father and son went out
on the veranda, under the shelter of the awning :
close to the railings, on a table between big
bunches of lilacs, the samovar was already bub-
bling. A little girl made her appearance — the
same one who had been the first to meet
the travellers on the porch— and said in a shrill
voice:

" Feodosya Nikolaevna does not feel quite well,
and cannot come; she ordered me to ask you,
whether you will pour tea for yourselves, or shall
she send Dunyasha? "

" I will pour it myself, myself," — Nikolai Pe-
trovitch caught her up hastily. — " How dost thou
take thy tea, Arkady, — with cream or with
lemon?"

" With cream," — repHed Arkady, and after a
brief pause he ejaculated: — " Papa! "

Nikolai Petrovitch looked at his son with dis-
comfiture. — ' ' What ? " — he said.

Arkady dropped his eyes.

" Excuse me, papa, if my question seems to
thee improper," — he began; "but thou, thyself,
by thy frankness yesterday, hast challenged me
to frankness .... thou wilt not be angry? . . . ."

" Speak on."

*' Thou givest me boldness to ask thee. . . Is n't
Fen ... is n't it because I am here that she is not
coming to pour the tea? "

Nikolai Petrovitch turned slightly aside.
83

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

" Perhaps,"— he said at last,—" she supposes
. . . she is ashamed . . . ."

Arkady swiftly turned his eyes on his father.

" There is no necessity for her to feel ashamed.
In the first place, thou art acquainted with my
manner of thought " (Arkady found it extremely
pleasant to utter these words) ; " and, in the sec-
ond place, have I the desire to interfere, by so
much as a hair's-breadth, with thy life, thy habits?
Moreover, I am convinced, that thou couldst not
make a bad choice: if thou hast permitted her to
live under one roof with thee, she must be worthy
of it; in any case, the son is not his father's judge,
and in particular I — and in particular of such a
father, who, like thyself, has never restricted my
freedom in any respect whatever."

Arkady's voice had trembled at first: he felt
that he was magnanimous, but, at the same time,
he understood that he was delivering something
in the nature of an exhortation to his father ; but
the sound of his own speech acts powerfully on
a man, and Arkady uttered his closing words
firmly, even effectively.

" Thanks, Arkasha,"— said Nikolai Petrovitch
in a dull tone, and again his fingers strayed over
his eyebrows and his forehead.—" Thy assump-
tions really are correct. Of course, if that girl
were not worthy . . . This is not a fickle fancy.
It is not easy for me to talk to thee about this;
but thou understandest that it was difiicult for

84

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

her to come hither, into thy presence, especially
on the first day of thy home-coming."

" In that case, I will go to her myself,"— cried
Arkady, with a fresh impulse of magnanimous
sentiments, and he jumped up from the table.—
" I will explain to her that she has no pause to
feel ashamed before me."

Nikolai Petrovitch rose also.

" Arkady,"— he began,—" please . . . how is it
possible . . . there .... I have not forewarned
thee "

But Arkady was no longer listening to him,
and had quitted the veranda. Nikolai Petrovitch
looked after him, and sank down on his chair in
confusion. His heart beat violently. . . . Whether
it was that, at that moment, the inevitable strange-
ness of the future relations between him and his
son presented itself to him, or that he recognised
the fact that Arkady would have shown almost
more respect for him had he not touched on that
matter at all, or whether he was reproaching him-
self with weakness — it would be difficult to say:
all those feelings were within him, but in the shape
of sensations — and not clear sensations, at that:
but the flush did not leave his face, and his heart
beat violently.

Hasty footsteps became audible, and Arkady
emerged upon the veranda. — " We have made
acquaintance, father 1 " — he cried, with an expres-
sion of affectionate and amiable triumph on his

35

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

face. — " Feodosya Nikolaevna really is not very
well to-day, and will come later. But why didst
not thou tell me that I had a brother? I would
have given him a good kissing yesterday evening,
as I have done just now."

Nikolai Petrovitch tried to say something, tried
to rise and hold out his arms. . .

Arkady threw himself on his neck.

" What 's this? Hugging each other again? "
—rang out Pavel Petrovitch's voice behind them.

Father and son were equally deHghted at his
appearance at that moment: there are touch-
ing situations, from which, notwithstanding, one
wishes to escape as promptly as possible.

" Why art thou surprised? " — said Nikolai
Petrovitch merrily.—" I have been longing for
Arkasha for ages .... I have n't yet had a
chance to stare my fill at him since yesterday."

" I *m not surprised in the least," — remarked
Pavel Petrovitch:—" I 'm even not disincUned to
give him a hug myself."

Arkady stepped up to his uncle, and again felt
on his cheeks the touch of his perfumed mous-
tache. Pavel Petrovitch seated himself at the
table. He wore an elegant morning costume, in
English fashion ; his head was adorned with a tiny
fez. This fez and his carelessly knotted tie hinted
at the freedom of country life ; but the stiff shirt-
collar— not white, it is true, but coloured, as is

86

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

proper for a morning toilet — impinged upon the
well-shaved chin with its habitual implacability.

" Where is thy new friend? "—he asked Ar-
kady.

" He is not in the house ; he generally rises early
and goes off somewhere. The chief point is, that
one need pay no attention to him: he is not fond
of ceremony."

" Yes, that is evident."— Pavel Petrovitch be-
gan, in a leisurely way, to spread butter on his
bread. — " Is he going to make thee a long visit? "

" That is as it happens. He has turned aside
here, on his way to his father's."

" And where does his father live? "

" In our government, eighty versts from here.
He has a small estate there. He used to be a regi-
mental doctor."

" Te, te, te, te That is precisely the reason

why I have kept asking myself: Where have I
heard that name Bazaroff? . . . Nikolai, does
my memory serve me, and was not the medical
man in our father's division Bazaroff? "

" It strikes me that it was."

" Precisely, precisely. So that medical man is
his father. H'm! "—Pavel Petrovitch twitched
his moustache. — " Well, and what sort of person
is Mr. Bazaroff himself? " he asked, with pauses
between the words.

"What sort of person is Bazaroff ? "—Ar-

87

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

kady laughed.—" Would you like to have me tell
you, my dear uncle, what sort of person he is? "

" Pray do, my dear nephew."

" He is a nihilist."

" What? "—asked Nikolai Petrovitch; and
Pavel Petrovitch elevated his knife, with a bit of
butter sticking to the blade, in the air, and re-
mained motionless.

" He is a nihilist,"— repeated Arkady.

" A nihihst," said Nikolai Petrovitch.—
" That comes from the Latin nihil^ nothings so
far as I can judge ; consequently, that word desig-
nates a man who . . . who recognises nothing."

" Say: ' who respects nothing,' "—put in Pavel
Petrovitch, and devoted himself once more to his
butter.

" Who treats everything from a critical point
of view," — remarked Arkady.

" And is n't that exactly the same thing? "—
inquired Pavel Petrovitch.

" No, it is not exactly the same thing. A nihil-
ist is a man who does not bow before any au-
thority whatever, who does not accept a single
principle on faith, with whatever respect that
principle may be environed."

" And dost thou think that is a good thing? "
—interrupted Pavel Petrovitch.

" That depends on who it is, dear uncle. It is
all right for one man, and very bad for another."

" You don't say so. Well, I perceive that that
88

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

is not in our line. We people of the old school
assume that, without principles " (Pavel Petro-
vitch pronounced this word softly, in the French
style. Arkady, on the contrary, pronounced it
" principles," throwing the accent on the first syl-
lable) , " without accepted principles, as thou say-
est, it is impossible to take a step, or to breathe,
on faith. Vous avez change tout cela. God grant
us health and the rank of general, but we will
content ourselves with admiring the Messrs.
what do you call it? "

" The nihilists,"— said Arkady with much dis-
tinctness.

" Yes. They used to be Hegelists, and now
they are nihilists. Let us see, how you will exist
in the vacuum, in the atmospheric expanse; but
now, be so good as to ring the beU, brother, Niko-
lai Petrovitch, it is time for me to drink my
cocoa."

Nikolai Petrovitch rang, and shouted: " Dun-
yashal" But, instead of Dunyasha, Fenitchka
herself made her appearance on the veranda. She
was a young woman of three and twenty, all white
and soft, with dark hair and eyes, red, child-
ishly-plump lips, and tender hands. She wore a
neat print gown ; a new, light-blue kerchief rested
lightly on her plump shoulders. She carried
a large cup of cocoa, and setting it down in front
of Pavel Petrovitch, became covered with con-
fusion: the hot blood diffused itself in a crimson

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

flood beneath the delicate skin of her pretty face.
She dropped her eyes, and remained standing be-
side the table, lightly resting upon it the very tips
of her fingers. She seemed to be ashamed of hav-
ing come, and, at the same time, she felt, ap-
parently, that she had a right to come.

Pavel Petrovitch knit his brows sternly, and
Nikolai Petrovitch was overwhelmed with con-
fusion.

" Good morning, Fenitchka," — he muttered
through his teeth.

" Good morning, sir," — she replied, in a sonor-
ous but not loud voice, and, casting a sidelong
glance at Arkady, who bestowed a friendly smile
on her, she softly withdrew. She walked with a
slight waddle, but it suited her.

Silence reigned on the veranda for the space
of several minutes. Pavel Petrovitch sipped his
cocoa, and suddenly raised his head. — " Here is
Mr. Nihilist about to favor us with his company,"
— he said, in an undertone.

And, in fact, Bazaroff was coming through the
garden, striding across the flower-beds. His
linen coat and trousers were spattered with mud ;
a clinging marsh plant encircled the crown of his
old, round hat; in his right hand he grasped a
small bag; in the bag some live creature was
squirming. He rapidly approached the veranda,
and nodding his head, he said: — " Good morning,
gentlemen; excuse me for being late to tea; I will

40

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

be back directly; I must provide for these pris-
oners."

" What have you there— leeches? "—inquired
Pavel Petrovitch.

" No, frogs."

" Do you eat them— or raise them? "

" They are for experiments," — said BazarofF
indifferently, and went into the house.

" He is going to cut them up," — remarked
Pavel Petrovitch. — " He does not believe in prin-
ciples, but he does believe in frogs."

Arkady gazed at his uncle with compassion;
Nikolai Petrovitch shrugged his shoulders on the
sly. Pavel Petrovitch himself was conscious that
his witticism had not been a success, and began to
talk about the farming operations, and the new
overseer, who had come to him on the previous
day to complain that labourer Foma was " de-
baucheering " and was incorrigible. " He 's a
regular ^sop," he said, among other things: " he
has protested everywhere that he is a bad man;
after he has lived a while longer, he '11 get rid of
his foUy."

41

VI

Bazaeoff returned, sat down at the table, and
began hastily to drink tea. Both brothers stared
at him in silence, while Arkady glanced stealth-
ily, now at his father, now at his uncle.

" Have you walked far from here? " — asked
Nikolai Petrovitch at last.

" You have a small swamp yonder, alongside
the aspen grove. I started up five woodcock;
thou mightest shoot them, Arkady."

"Don't you shoot?"

" No."

" Do you occupy yourself with the physical
sciences in particular? " — inquired Pavel Petro-
vitch, in his turn.

" Yes, with physics ; with the natural sciences
in general."

'* The Germans, I am told, have made great
progress in that department of late."

" Yes, the Germans are our teachers in that,"
— rephed BazaroiF carelessly.

The word " Germantzy " Pavel Petrovitch
had employed, instead of " nyemtzy," ^ by way of
irony, which, however, no one noticed.

" Have you so high an opinion of the Ger-

1 Ny^metz, "the dumb one," (that is to say: a person who cannot
talk the language of the country), is applied to foreigners in general,
and Germans in particular. — Tbaxuator.

42

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

mans? "—said Pavel Petrovitch, with sedulous
courtesy. He had begun to feel a secret irrita-
tion. His aristocratic nature was stirred to re-
volt by Bazaroff 's perfectly free-and-easy man-
ners. That medical man's son was not only not
afraid, he even rephed abruptly and reluctantly,
and there was something rude, almost insulting,
in the very sound of his voice.

" The learned men there are a practical race."

" Just so, just so. Well, you probably have
not so flattering an opinion of the Russian sci-
entists? "

" Probably, that is so."

" That is very praiseworthy self-renunciation,"
— ejaculated Pavel Petrovitch, drawing up his
figure, and throwing his head back.—" But how
comes it that, as Arkady Nikolaitch was just
teUing us, you do not recognise any authorities?
Do not you believe in them? "

" But why should I recognise them? And
what should I beheve in? They tell me a fact,
and I believe it, that is all."

" But do the Germans all speak facts? "—said
Pavel Petrovitch, and his face assumed an indif-
ferent, distant expression, as though he had
wholly withdrawn into some height above the
clouds.

" Not all,"— replied Bazaroff, with a short
yawn, being, evidently, unwiUing to prolong the
controversy.

Pavel Petrovitch darted a glance at Arkady,
43

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

as much as to say : " Thy friend is polite, thou
must admit that." — " So far as I myself am con-
cerned,"— he began again, not without an effort,
— " sinful man that I am, I am not fond of the
Germans. I am not alluding to the Russian-
Germans of course ; every one knows what sort of
birds they are. But I cannot stomach the Ger-
man-Germans either. Those of former days are
well enough; then they had Schiller, I believe,

Goetthe My brother here, accords them

special favour. . . But now a lot of chemists and
materiahsts have sprung up among them "

" A respectable chemist is twenty times more
useful than any poet," — interrupted Bazaroff .

"You don't say so!" — said Pavel Petrovitch,
and barely elevated his eyebrows, exactly as
though he were in a doze. — " I suppose that you
do not recognise art? "

" The art of making money without sensational
aids!" — exclaimed Bazaroff, with a scornful
sneer.

" Exactly so, sir; exactly so, sir. You are
pleased to jest. So you reject that? Let us as-
sume that you do. That means that you believe
only in science? "

" I have already told you that I believe in
nothing; and what is science — science in general?
There is science which is a trade, a vocation; but
science in the abstract does not exist."

" Very good, sir. Well, and in regard to other

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

laws, which are accepted in human existence, —
do you hold the same negative course about
them? "

" What is this, a cross-examination? " inquired
Bazaroff.

Pavel Petrovitch paled shghtly Nikolai

Petrovitch regarded it as his duty to join in the
conversation.

" You and I wiU discuss this subject more in
detail, sometime, my dear Evgeny Vasilitch; I
will learn your opinion, and express my own.
For my own part, I am very glad that you are
devoting yourself to the natural sciences. I have
heard that Liebig has made wonderful discoveries
in regard to fertilising the land. You may be
able to assist me in my agricultural work: you
may be able to give me some useful advice."

" I am at your service, Nikolai Petrovitch ; but
what have we to do with Liebig ! One must first
learn the alphabet, and then take hold of a book,
but so far we have not even set our eyes on A."

" Well, I perceive that thou really art a ni-
hihst," thought Nikolai Petrovitch.—" Never-
theless, permit me to have recourse to you, in case
of need," — he added aloud. — " And now, bi-o-
ther, I think it is time for us to go and have a
talk with the overseer."

Pavel Petrovitch rose from his chair.

" Yes," — said he, without looking at any one,
— " 't is a great misfortune to live thus for five

45

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

years in the country, at a distance from great
minds! One becomes a downright fool. One is
endeavouring not to forget what he has learned,
when— bang!— it suddenly appears that it is all
nonsense, and one is told that sensible folks do
not bother themselves any longer about such fol-
lies, and that one is as good as a simpleton who
has fallen behind the times. What is one to do!
Evidently, the young folks are really wiser than
we are."

Pavel Petrovitch wheeled slowly round on his
heels, and slowly withdrew; Nikolai Petrovitch
followed him.

" Well, is he always like that? "—inquired Ba-
zaroff coolly of Arkady, as soon as the door
closed behind the two others.

" See here, Evgeny, thy manner toward him
has been altogether too abrupt," — remarked Ar-
kady.—" Thou hast offended him."

" Why, the idea of my coddling these rural aris-
tocrats ! Why, it 's nothing but self-conceit, the
habits of a society lion, foppishness. Come now,
he ought to have continued his career in Peters-
burg, since that is the cut of his jib. . . . How-
ever, God be with him— I wash my hands of him
altogether! I have found a pretty rare specimen
of a water-beetle, Dytiscus marginatus — dost
thou know it? I '11 show it to thee."

" I promised to narrate his history to thee,"
began Arkady.

46

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

" The history of the beetle? "

" Come, stop that, Evgeny. My uncle's his-
tory. Thou wilt see that he is not the sort of
man that thou imaginest. He is more deserving
of pity than of ridicule."

" I do not dispute that ; but what is it to thee
anyhow? "

" We must be just, Evgeny."

" On what grounds? "

" No, hsten. . . ."

And Arkady related to him his uncle's story.
The reader will find it in the following chapter.

VII

Pavel Petrovitch Kirsanoff had received his
earliest education at home, hke his younger bro-
ther, Nikolai, and, later on, in the Pages Corps.
From his childhood, he had been distinguished
for his remarkable beauty ; added to this, he was
self-confident, given to raillery, and splenetic in
a rather amusing fashion — he could not fail to
please. He began to be seen everywhere, as soon
as he had become an officer. He was petted, and
he coddled himself; he even played the fool, he
even indulged in caprices, but this suited his
style. The women went wild over him, the men
called him a fop, and secretly envied him. He
lived, as we have already said, in an apartment
with his brother, whom he sincerely loved, al-
though he did not resemble him in the least.
Nikolai Petrovitch walked with a slight limp, had
small, agreeable, but rather melancholy features,
small, black eyes, and soft, thin hair; he hked to
be lazy, but was also fond of reading, and was
afraid of society. Pavel Petrovitch never spent
a single evening at home, gloried in his audacity
and cleverness (he had brought gymnastics into
fashion among the young men) , and had read not

48

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

more than five or six books — in French — alto-
gether. At the age of eight and twenty, he was
aLready a captain ; a brilliant career awaited him.
All of a sudden, everything was changed.

At that time, a woman who has not yet been
forgotten, Princess R . . , was wont to make her
appearance, from time to time, in Petersburg
society. She had a well-educated and decorous
but somewhat stupid husband, and no children.
She would suddenly go abroad, and as suddenly
return to Russia, and, in general, she led a
strange life. She bore the reputation of being a
giddy coquette, gave herself up with enthusiasm
to all sorts of pleasures, danced until she was
ready to drop, laughed loudly and jested with the
young men, whom she received, before dinner,
in a half -darkened drawing-room, and at night
wept and prayed, and found rest nowhere, and
often flung herself about the room until day-
break, wringing her hands with grief, or sat, all
pale and cold, reading the Psalter. Day arrived,
and again she turned into a woman of the world,
again she went out into society, laughed, chat-
tered, and fairly rushed at everything which
could afford the least diversion. She was won-
derfully built; her hair, golden in hue and as
heavy as gold, hung below her knees ; yet no one
would have called her a beauty; the only good
point about her face was her eyes, and not even
her eyes themselves— they were not large, and

49

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

were grey— but their glance, swift and deep,
heedless to recklessness, and thoughtful to melan-
choly,— was a mysterious glance. There was an
unusual gleam about them, even when her tongue
was babbling the most idle nonsense. She dressed
with elegance. Pavel Petrovitch met her at a
ball, danced the mazurka with her, in the course
of which she did not utter a single sensible word,
and fell passionately in love with her. Being
accustomed to conquests, he speedily attained his
object in this case also; but the ease of his victory
did not chill him. On the contrary, he became
still more torturingly, still more firmly attached
to this woman, in whom, even when she had given
herself irrevocably, there still seemed to linger
something intimate and inaccessible, into which
no one could penetrate. What it was that nested
in that soul,— God only knows! She appeared
to be in the grasp of some powers which were
mysterious and unknown even to herself; they
played with her as they would; her hmited mind
could not reconcile itself to their freaks. . . . Her
whole conduct presented a series of incongrui-
ties; the only letters which might have aroused
the just suspicions of her husband she wrote
to a man who was almost a stranger to her, and
her love had a taste of sadness: she neither
laughed nor jested with the one whom she had
chosen, and she listened to him, and gazed at him,
with surprise. Sometimes, and in the majority

50

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

of cases suddenly, this surprise passed over into
cold terror; her face assumed a wild and death-
like expression ; she locked herself up in her bed-
room, and her maid, by putting her ear to the
keyhole, could hear her subdued sobbing. More
than once, on returning home after a tender tryst,
Kirsanoff felt in liis heart th^rt lacerating and
bitter vexation which springs up in the heart
after a decisive failure. " What more do I
want? " he would ask himself, but his heart con-
tinued to ache. One day he gave her a ring with
a sphinx carved on the stone.

" What is this? "—she asked:—" a sphinx? "

" Yes,"— he replied,—" and that sphinx is—
yourself."

"I? " — she asked, and slowly raised her enig-
matic eyes to his.—" Do you know that is very
flattering? " — she added, with an insignificant
smile, but her eyes continued to' wear their
strange gaze.

Pavel Petrovitch felt heavy at heart even
when Princess R . . loved him ; but when she grew
cold toward him — and this came about rather
promptly, he almost went crazy. He tormented
himself, he raged with jealousy, he gave her no
peace, he tagged about everywhere after her ; his
importunate persecution bored her, and she went
abroad. He resigned from the service, despite
the entreaties of his friends and the exhortations
of his superior officers, and followed the Prin-

51

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

cess; he spent four years in foreign lands, now
chasing after her, now intentionally losing sight
of her: he was ashamed oi' himself, he was en-
raged at his pusillanimity .... but nothing did
any good. Her image, that incomprehensible,
almost absurd, but enchanting image, had en-
sconced itself too deeply in his soul. In Baden
he somehow resumed his former relations with
her, and, to all appearances, she had never loved
him so passionately . . . but in a month all was at
an end; the flame had flared up for the last time,
and had been extinguished forever. With a
foreboding of the inevitable parting, he endeav-
oured, at least, to remain her friend, as though
friendship with such a woman were possible. . . .
She quietly left Baden, and, from that day forth
persistently avoided Kirsanoff". He returned to
Russia, tried to take up his old life, but could no
longer get into the former track. Like a hunted
animal, he wandered from place to place ; he still
went into society— he had preserved all the habits
of a man of the world; he could boast of two or
three new conquests; but he no longer expected
anything special of himself, or of others; he un-
dertook no enterprises. He grew old, his hair
turned grey ; it became a necessity with him to sit
at the club, to get bitterly bored, to dispute coldly
in bachelor society, — which is well known to be
a bad sign. As a matter of course, he did not
dream of marriage. Ten years passed in this

52

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

manner, in a colorless, fruitless, swift, frightfully
swift fashion. Nowhere does time fly so rapidly
as in Russia; it is said that it flies still more
swiftly in prison. One day, at dinner in the club,
Pavel Petrovitch heard of Princess R . . 's death.
She had died in Paris, in a condition bordering
on insanity. He rose from the table, and paced
the rooms of the club for a long time, pausing,
as though rooted to the spot, beside the card-
tables, but he did not return home any earlier
than usual. Some time later, he received a
packet addressed to him: it contained the ring
which he had given to the Princess. She had
drawn Hues, in the form of a cross, over the
sphinx, and had requested that he should be told
that the cross was the solution of the riddle.

This happened in the beginning of 1848, at
the very time when Nikolai Petrovitch, having
lost his wife, had come to Petersburg. Pavel
Petrovitch had hardly seen his brother since the
latter had settled down in the country; Nikolai
Petrovitch's marriage had coincided with the
very first days of Pavel Petrovitch's acquaintance
with the Princess. On his return from abroad,
he had gone to him, with the intention of spend-
ing a couple of months with him, of admiring his
happiness, but he had lived only one week with
him. The diff*erence in the situation of the two
brothers had proved to be too great. In 1848 that
difference was lessened: Nikolai Petrovitch had

53

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

lost his wife, Pavel Petrovitch had lost his mem-
ories: after the death of the Princess, he tried
not to think of her. But Nikolai retained the
consciousness of a hf e which had been regularly
spent, his son was growing up before his eyes;
Pavel, on the contrary, a soUtary bachelor, had
entered upon that confused, twiHght period, the
period of regrets which resemble hopes, of hopes
which resemble regrets, when youth is gone, and
old age has not yet come.

This period was more difficult for Pavel Petro-
vitch than for any other man: having lost his past,
he had lost all.

" I do not invite thee to Marino now,"— Niko-
lai Petrovitch said to him one day (he had given
his estate that name, in honour of his wife), —
" thou wert bored there even during the hfetime
of the deceased, but now, I think, thou wouldst
perish with irksomeness."

" I was still stupid and restless then," — replied
Pavel Petrovitch:— " since that time I have
calmed down, even if I have not grown any wiser.
Now, on the contrary, if thou shouldst invite me,
I am ready to settle down in thy house forever."

In place of a reply, Nikolai Petrovitch em-
braced him; but a year and a half elapsed after
this conversation before Pavel Petrovitch made
up his mind to put his intention into execution.
On the other hand, having once settled down in
the country, he did not again leave it, even during

54

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

those three winters which Nikolai Petrovitch
spent in Petersburg with his son. He began to
read, chiefly in English; he arranged his whole
life, in general, on the English pattern, rarely met
his neighbours, and went out only to the elections,^
where he mostly held his tongue, only occasionally
teasing and frightening the old-fashioned gentry
by hberal sallies, and not making approaches to
the younger generation. And both the former
and the latter thought him a haughty man; and
both sets of people respected him for his distin-
guished, aristocratic manners ; for the rumours of
his conquests; because he dressed very well and
always occupied the best room in the hotel; be-
cause he dined well, as a rule, and had once even
dined with Wellington at Louis Philippe's; be-
cause he always carried about with him every-
where a real silver toilet set, and a camp bath-tub ;
because he emitted an odour of some unusual,
wonderfully "noble" perfumes; because he
played whist in a masterly manner, and always
lost; and, in conclusion, they respected him also
because of his impeccable honesty. The ladies
regarded him as a fascinating misanthrope, but
he did not consort with the ladies. . . .

" So, now thou seest, Evgeny," — said Arkady,
at the conclusion of his story, — " how unjustly
thou judgest of my uncle! I will not even men-
tion the fact that he has more than once rescued

1 As Marshal of the Nobility. — Tbanslator.

55

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

my father from a catastrophe, has given him
all his own money,— perhaps thou art not
aware that their estate has not been divided,
— but he is glad to help any one, and, among
other things, he always stands up for the peas-
ants; it is true that when he talks with them
he wrinkles up his face and inhales eau de
cologne. ..."

"Of course: nerves," — interrupted BazaroflP.
" Perhaps, only he has a very kind heart. And
he is far from stupid. What useful advice he has
given me .... especially . . . especially about
my relations with women."

" Aha ! He has burnt himself with his own
milk, so he blows on other people's water. We
know all about that! "

"Well, in a word," — went on Arkady: — "he
is profoundly unhappy, believe me; it is a sin to
despise him."

" Well, who despises him? " — retorted Ba-
zaroff.— " But I will say, nevertheless, that a
man who has staked his whole life on a woman's
love, and, when that card was trumped, turned
sour and lost heart to such an extent that he be-
came incapable of anything, — such a man — is not
a man, but a male. Thou sayest that he is un-
happy—thou knowest best ; but all the whims have
not gone out of him. I am convinced that he
seriously regards himself as a practical man, be-
cause he reads that miserable Galignani and

56

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

once a month rescues a peasant from chastise-
ment."

" But remember his education, the period in
which he lived," — remarked Arkady.

"His education?" retorted Bazaroff. — "Ev-
ery man is bound to educate himself, — well,
as I have done myself, for example. . . . And
so far as the period is concerned, who am I to de-
pend upon that? Rather, let it depend upon me.
No, brother, all that is groundless and frivolous !
And what is there mysterious about the relations
between a man and a woman? We physiologists
know what those relations are. Just study the
anatomy of the eye : where does what thou callest
an enigmatic glance come from? That 's all ro-
manticism, stuff and nonsense, rot, art. Come
on, we 'd better go and look at my beetle."

And the two friends betook themselves to Ba-
zaroff's room, in which a certain medico-surgical
odour, mingled with the scent of cheap tobacco,
had already contrived to establish itself.

57

VIII

Pavel Petkovitch did not remain present long
at the interview between his brother and the man-
ager, a tall, thin man, with a sweet, consumptive
voice and crafty eyes, who, to all Nikolai Petro-
vitch's remarks, replied, " Certainly sir; that 's a
fact, sir," and tried to make out that the peasants
were drunkards and thieves. The farming, which
had recently been rearranged on a new plan, was
squeaking like an ungreased wheel, and cracking
Hke home-made furniture fabricated from green
wood. Nikolai Petrovitch was not discouraged,
but he sighed frequently, and became thoughtful :
he was conscious that matters would not go right
without money, and almost all his money was ex-
hausted. Arkady had spoken the truth: Pavel
Petrovitch had helped his brother more than once ;
more than once, perceiving that he was strug-
gling and racking his brains in the effort to de-
vise a way of escape, Pavel Petrovitch had
strolled slowly to the window, and, thrusting his
hands into his pockets, had muttered through his
teeth, "Mais je puis vous donner de V argent/'
and had given him money ; but on this particular
day he had nothing, and he preferred to with-

58

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

draw. The sordid details of farming made him
melancholy; and, in addition, it constantly
seemed to him that Nikolai Petrovitch, notwith-
standing his zeal and industry, did not take hold
of the business in the proper way; although he
would not have been capable of pointing out to
Nikolai Petrovitch precisely where he was in er-
ror. " My brother is not sufficiently practical,"
— he argued with himself, — " people cheat him."
Nikolai Petrovitch, on the other hand, enter-
tained a lofty opinion as to Pavel Petrovitch's
practical qualities, and always asked his advice.
" I am a soft, weak man; I have spent all my life
in the wilds," — he was wont to say; " but not for
nothing hast thou lived so much with people, thou
knowest them well : thou hast the eye of an eagle."
Pavel Petrovitch's only reply to these words was
to turn away; but he did not seek to change his
brother's conviction.

Leaving Nikolai Petrovitch in the study, he
walked along the corridor which separated the
front part of the house from the rear part, and,
reaching a low-browed door, he paused in
thought, tugged at his moustache, and knocked.

"Who's there? Come in," — rang out Fe-
nitchka's voice.

" It is I," — said Pavel Petrovitch, and opened
the door.

Fenitchka sprang up from the chair on which
she was sitting with her baby, and placing it in

59

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

the arms of the little girl, who immediately car-
ried it out of the room, hastily adjusted her
kerchief.

" Pardon me if I intrude," — began Pavel Pe-
trovitch, without looking at her: — " I merely
wished to ask you .... I beHeve some one is
going to the town to-day .... order some green
tea to be bought for me."

" Yes, sir,"— rephed Fenitchka:— " how much
do you order to be purchased? "

" Why, half a pound will be sufficient, I sup-
pose. And I notice that you have made some
changes here," — he added, darting a swift glance
around, which glided over Fenitchka's face also.
— " Those curtains, yonder," — he said, seeing
that she did not understand him.

" Yes, sir, the curtains; Nikolai Petrovitch was
so good as to give them to me; but they have
been hung this long time."

" Yes, and I have not been to see you for a
long time. You are very nicely estabhshed here
now."

" Thanks to Nikolai Petrovitch," — whispered
Fenitchka.

" Are you more comfortable here than in your
former wing? " — inquired Pavel Petrovitch po-
litely, but without the trace of a smile.

" Of course I am, sir."

" Who has been put in your place? "

" The laundress lives there now."

00

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

"Ah!"

Pavel Petrovitch relapsed into silence. " Now
he will go away," thought Fenitchka. But he did
not go away, and she stood before him, as though
rooted to the spot, weakly twisting her iSngers.

" Why did you have your httle one carried
away? " — said Pavel Petrovitch, at last. — " I
love children: show it to me."

Fenitchka blushed scarlet all over with confu-
sion and joy. She was afraid of Pavel Petro-
vitch : he hardly ever spoke to her.

*' Dunyasha,"— she called:— " bring Mitya "
(Fenitchka addressed every one in the house as
"you"). — "But no, wait, I must put a clean
dress on him." — Fenitchka went toward the door.

" Never mind about that,"— remarked Pavel
Petrovitch.

" I will be back in a moment,"— replied Fe-
nitchka, and hastily left the room.

Pavel Petrovitch was left alone, and this time
he looked about him with particular attention.
The contracted, low-ceiled little room in which he
found himself was very clean and cosey. It
smelled of the recently painted floor, of camo-
mile and balm. Along the walls stood chairs with
backs in the form of lyres ; they had been bought
by the late General, in Poland, during the cam-
paign ; in one corner stood a small bedstead, with
muslin curtains, alongside a wrought-iron chest
with a rounded lid. In the opposite corner burned

61

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

a shrine-lamp in front of a large, dark-coloured
image of St. Nicholas the Wonder-worker ; a tiny
porcelain egg, suspended from the halo by a red
ribbon, hung on the saint's breast; on the
window-sills glass jars, with last year's preserves
carefully tied up, admitted a green light; on their
paper lids Fenitchka herself had written in large
letters: " gosebery." Nikolai Petrovitch was
especially fond of that preserve. From the
ceiling, on a long cord, hung a cage containing
a bob-tailed canary-bird ; it twittered and hopped
about incessantly, and the cage incessantly rocked
and trembled ; grains of hemp-seed fell to the floor
with a soft patter. On the wall between the win-
dows, over a small chest of drawers, hung several
fairly bad photographs of Nikolai Petrovitch, in
various attitudes, made by itinerant artists ; there,
also, hung a photograph of Fenitchka herself,
which was an utter failure: some sort of an eye-
less visage smiled constrainedly out of the dark
frame, — and nothing more could be distin-
guished ; and over Fenitchka, Ermoloff , in a felt
cloak, was frowning in a menacing manner at the
Caucasus Mountains in the distance, from be-
neath a silken slipper for pins, which fell clear
down on his brow.

Five minutes elapsed. In the adjoining room
rustling and whispering were audible. Pavel
Petrovitch picked up from the chest of drawers a
greasy book, an odd volume of Masalsky's " The

62

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

Sharp-shooters" (** Stryeltzy "), and turned
over a few pages. . . . The door opened, and
Fenitchka entered, with Mitya in her arms. She
had dressed him in a Httle red shirt with galloon
on the collar, and had brushed his hair and wiped
off his face: he breathed heavily, threw himself
about with his whole body, and flourished his little
hands, as all healthy babies do; but the foppish
little shirt had taken effect on him: an expres-
sion of satisfaction emanated from his whole
plump form. Fenitchka had brought her own
hair into order also, and had put on her kerchief
in the best possible manner ; but she might as well
have remained as she was. And, as a matter of
fact, is there anything in the world more fas-
cinating than a young and beautiful mother with
a healthy baby in her arms?

"What a chubby child,"— said Pavel Pe-
trovitch condescendingly, and tickled Mitya's
double chin with the tip of the long nail on his
forefinger ; the child fixed his eyes on the canary-
bird, and began to laugh.

" This is uncle,"— said Fenitchka, bending her
face over him, and rocking him softly, while
Dunyasha quietly set a lighted pastille on the
window-sill, placing a copper coin beneath it.

" How many months old is he? "—inquired
Pavel Petrovitch.

" Six months; the seventh month will begin
soon, on the eleventh."

68

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

" Won't it be the eighth, Feodosya Niko-
laevna? "—interposed Dunyasha, not without
timidity.

" No, the seventh; how is that possible! "—The
child crowed again, fixed his eyes on the chest,
and suddenly grasped his mother's nose and Hps
with all five fingers.—" The spoiled child,"— said
Fenitchka, without removing her face from his
fingers.

" He resembles my brother," — remarked Pavel
Petrovitch.

" Whom should he resemble, then? " thought
Fenitchka.

" Yes," — pursued Pavel Petrovitch, as though
talking to himself, — " there is an indubitable like-
ness."— He gazed at Fenitchka attentively, al-
most sadly.

" This is uncle,"— repeated she, in a whisper
this time.

"Ah! Pavel! so thou art here!" — rang out
Nikolai Petrovitch's voice suddenly.

Pavel Petrovitch hastily wheeled round, and
knit his brows; but his brother gazed at him so
joyfully, so gratefully, that he could not do
otherwise than respond to him by a smile.

" Thou hast a splendid boy,"— he said, and
looked at his watch;—" I dropped in here about
my tea "

And, assuming an indifferent expression,
Pavel Petrovitch immediately left the room.

64

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

" Did he come of his own accord? " — Nikolai
Petrovitch asked Fenitchka.

" Yes, sir; he knocked and entered."

" Well, and has n't Arkasha been to see thee
again f

*' No. Would n't it be better for me to remove
to the wing, Nikolai Petrovitch? "

"Why so?"

" I am wondering whether it would not be bet-
ter, at first."

" N . . . . no," — articulated Nikolai Petrovitch
with hesitation, and rubbed his forehead. — " It
ought to have been done before. . . Good morn-
ing, thou fat little ball," — he said, with sudden
animation, and approaching the baby, he kissed
him on the cheek; then he bent down a Httle,
and pressed his lips on Fenitchka's hand, which
shone white as milk against Mitya's little red
shirt.

"Nikolai Petrovitch! what are you doing?"
— she stammered, and dropped her eyes, then
quietly raised them again. . . . The expression
of her eyes was charming when she gazed, as it
were, from beneath her brows, with an affection-
ate and somewhat stupid smile.

Nikolai Petrovitch had become acquainted
with Fenitchka in the following manner. One
day, three years before this time, he had been
obliged to pass the night at a posting-station in a
distant provincial town. He had been pleasantly

65

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

surprised at the cleanliness of the room which was
assigned to him, and the freshness of the bed-
linen: " Is not the landlady a German? " flashed
through his mind ; but it appeared that the house-
wife was a Russian, a woman of fifty, neatly
dressed,' with comely, sensible face and dignified
speech. He chatted with her over his tea; she
pleased him greatly. Nikolai Petrovitch, at that
time, had just moved into his new manor-house,
and, not wishing to keep serfs about him, was on
the lookout for hired servants; the landlady, on
her side, complained of the small number of trav-
ellers in the town, of hard times; he proposed to
her that she should enter his house in the capacity
of housekeeper ; she accepted. Her husband had
been long dead, and had left her with only a
daughter, Fenitchka. Two weeks later, Arina
Savishna (such was the name of the new house-
keeper) arrived in company with her daughter
at Marino, and established herself in the wing.
Nikolai Petrovitch's choice turned out to be a
happy one. Arina introduced order into the
house. Of Fenitchka, who was already seven-
teen years old, no one spoke, and it was rarely
that any one saw her : she lived quietly, modestly,
and only on Sundays did Nikolai Petrovitch per-
ceive in the parish church, somewhere on one side,
the dehcate profile of her rather pale face. More
than a year passed in this manner.

One morning, Arina presented herself in his

66

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

study, and after making him a low reverence, ac-
cording to her wont, she asked him whether he
could not help her daughter, who had got a spark
from the stove in her eye. Nikolai Petrovitch,
hke all stay-at-homes, occupied himself with med-
ical treatment, and had even bought a homoeo-
pathic medicine-chest. He immediately ordered
Arina to bring the sufferer. On learning that
the master wanted her, Fenitchka was seized with
a violent fit of timidity, but she followed her
mother. Nikolai Petrovitch led her to the win-
dow, and grasped her head with both hands. Af-
ter taking a good look at her reddened and
swollen eye, he prescribed an eye-wash, which he
himself compounded on the spot, and, tearing
up his handkerchief, he showed her how she must
bathe it ; Fenitchka heard him out, and started to
leave the room. " Come, kiss the master's hand,
thou stupid creature," said Arina to her. Nikolai
Petrovitch did not give her his hand, but, becom-
ing confused, he kissed her on her bowed head,
where the hair parted.

Fenitchka's eye soon got well, but the impres-
sion which she had made upon Nikolai Petrovitch
did not soon pass away. Visions of that pure,
tender, timidly uplifted face pursued him : he felt
beneath his pahns that soft hair; he beheld those
innocent, shghtly parted lips, from between
which the pearly teeth gleamed moistly in the
sunlight. He began, with great attention, to

67

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

watch her in church; he tried to enter into con-
versation with her. At first she was shy of him,
and one day, toward evening, when she encoun-
tered him on a narrow path made by pedestrians
through a rye-field, she retreated into the tall,
thick rye, overrun with wormwood and corn-
flowers, simply for the sake of escaping his eyes.
He caught a glimpse of her little head athwart
the golden network of the grain-ears, whence she
was peeping like a small wild animal, and called
out to her pleasantly:

" Good day, Fenitchka! I don't bite! "

" Good day,"— she whispered, without quit-
ting her ambush.

Little by httle she began to grow accustomed
to him; but she was still timid in his presence
when, suddenly, her mother Arina died of the
cholera. Where was Fenitchka to go? She had
inherited from her mother a love of orderliness,
good judgment, and dignity; but she was so
young, so isolated; Nikolai Petrovitch was so kind
and discreet. . . . There is no need to narrate
the rest

" So my brother just walked into thy room? "
—Nikolai Petrovitch asked her.—" He knocked
and walked in? "

" Yes, sir,"

" Well, that 's good. Let me toss Mitya."

And Nikolai Petrovitch began to toss him up
almost to the very ceiling, to the great delight

68

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

of the boy, and to the no small anxiety of the
mother, who, at every upward flight, stretched
out her hands toward his bare legs.

But Pavel Petrovitch returned to his elegant
study, hung with handsome paper of a grey tone,
with weapons suspended on a motley -hued Per-
sian rug, with walnut-wood furniture upholstered
in dark-green mock velvet, a book-case in Ren-
aissance style of antique dark oak, bronze stat-
uettes on the magnificent writing-table, and a
fireplace. . . . He flung himself on the couch,
placed his hands under his head, and re-
mained motionless, staring at the ceiling al-
most with despair. Whether it was that he wished
to conceal from the very walls what was taking
place on his face, or from some other cause, at
all events, he rose, dropped the heavy window-
curtains, and again flung himself on the couch.

69

IX

On that same day, Bazaroff also made acquain-
tance with Fenitchka. He was walking about
the garden with Arkady, and explaining to him
why certain young trees, especially the oaks, had
not taken root.

** You ought to set out as many silver poplars
as possible here, and firs, and lindens, if you hke,
after adding black loam. That arbour, yonder,
has thriven well," — he added: — " because acacias
and hlacs are good fellows— they require no nurs-
ing. Ba! why, there is some one there."

Fenitchka was sitting in the arbour with Dun-
yasha and Mitya. Bazaroff came to a halt, and
Arkady nodded to Fenitchka as to an old ac-
quaintance.

" Who is that? " — Bazaroff asked him, as soon
as they had passed on.—" What a pretty
woman I"

" Of whom art thou speaking? "

" It 's plain enough; there was only one pretty
woman."

Arkady, not without embarrassment, ex-
plained to him, in brief words, who Fenitchka
was.

"Ahal"— said Bazdroff:— " thy father, evi-

70

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

dently, knows a good thing when he sees it. And
I like thy father, I swear I do ! He 's a fine fel-
low. But I must scrape acquaintance," — he
added, and went back to the arbour.

" Evgeny! "—Arkady shouted after him, in
alarm: — " be more cautious, for God's sake."

" Don't get excited,"— said Bazaroff:— " I 'm
a person of experience, I 've Hved in cities."

Approaching Fenitchka, he pulled off his cap.

" Permit me to introduce myself," — he began,
with a polite bow: — " I 'm the friend of Arkady
Nikolaevitch, and a man of peace."

Fenitchka half -rose from the bench, and gazed
at him in silence.

"What a magnificent babyl" — went on Ba-
zaroff.— " Don't be alarmed, I have never cast
the evil eye on any one yet. What makes his
cheeks so red? Is he cutting his teeth? "

"Yes, sir," — said Fenitchka: — "he has cut
four teeth already, and now his gums have
swollen up again."

" Show me .... come, don't be afraid, I 'm a
doctor."

Bazaroff took the child in his arms, and, to the
astonishment of Fenitchka and Dunyasha, it dis-
played no resistance, and was not frightened.

" I see, I see. ... It 's nothing; everything is
all right : he 's going to have large teeth. If any-
thing happens, let me know. And are you well
yourself? "

71

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

" Yes, thank God."

" Thank God— that is the best of all. And
you? "—added Bazaroif, turning to Dunyasha.

Dunyasha, a girl who was very prim in the
rooms of her mistress, and a great giggler else-
where, only snorted by way of reply.

" Well, that 's fine. Here 's your hero for
you."

Fenitchka took her baby in her arms.

" How quietly he sat with you! "—she said, in
a low tone.

" All children behave quietly with me,"— re-
plied BazarofF,— " I know the trick."

" Children feel who loves them,"— remarked
Dunyasha.

" That is true,"— assented Fenitchka. " Here
is Mitya, — he will not let some people take him
in their arms on any terms."

" And will he come to me? " — asked Arkady,
who, after standing for a time a Uttle aloof, had
now approached the arbour.

He allured Mitya to him ; but Mitya flung his
head back and began to scream, which greatly
mortified Fenitchka.

" Another time— when he has managed to get
used to me," — said Arkady condescendingly, and
the two friends went their way.

" What the deuce is her name? "-inquired
Bazaroif.

" Fenitchka .... Feodosy a,"— replied Arkady.

72

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

" And her patronymic? I must know that
also."

" Nikolaevna."

" Bene. What I Uke about her is that she does
not get too much embarrassed. Any one else
would, probably, condemn that in her. What
nonsense! what is there to be embarrassed
about? She is a mother — well, and she is in the
right."

" She is in the right,"— remarked Arkady, —
' but there is my father "

" He is right too,"— interrupted Bazaroff.

" Well, no, I don't think so."

" Evidently, an extra heir is not to our taste! "

" Art not thou ashamed to presuppose such
thoughts in mel " — put in Arkady, with heat. —
" It is not from that point of view that I regard
my father as in the wrong. I think he ought to
marry her."

"Ehe-he!"— said Bazaroff calmly.— " How
magnanimous we are ! Thou still attributest sig-
nificance to marriage; I had not expected that
from thee."

The friends advanced several paces in silence.

" I have seen all thy father's outfit," — be-
gan Bazaroff again. — " The cattle are poor,
and the horses are broken-down. The buildings,
also, are pretty bad; the workmen are arrant
idlers ; and the overseer is either a fool or a rascal ;
I have not yet thoroughly made out which."

73

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

" Thou art severe to-day, Evgeny Vasilie-
vitch."

** And the good-natured peasants cheat thy
father, without the shadow of a doubt. Thou
knowest the adage : ' The Russian peasant will
fool even God himself.' "

" I am beginning to agree with my uncle,"—
remarked Arkady,—" thou certainly hast a bad
opinion of the Russians."

"That's no great matter 1 The only good
point about the Russian man is, that he has a very
bad opinion of himself. The important thing
is that twice two makes four, and that the rest
is all nonsense."

" And is nature nonsense? "—said Arkady,
gazing thoughtfully far away, across the mottled
fields, beautifully and softly illuminated by the
sun, which was already near to setting.

" And nature, also, is nonsense, in the sense in
which thou understandest it. Nature is not a
temple, but a workshop, and man is a workman
therein."

The slow sounds of a violoncello floated to them
from the house at that moment.

Some one was playing with feeling, although
with an inexperienced hand, Schubert's " Ex-
pectation," and the sweet melody poured forth
on the air like honey.

" Who 's that? " — ejaculated BazaroiF in
amazement.

74

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

" That is my father."

" Does thy father play on the violoncello? "

" Yes."

" Why, how old is thy father? "

" Forty-four."

Bazaroff suddenly burst into loud laughter.

" What art thou laughing at? "

" Upon my word! at the age of forty-four, a
man, paterfamilias, in the * * * district, plays on
the violoncello! "

BazarofF continued to laugh; but Arkady, in
spite of the fact that he worshipped his teacher,
did not even smile on this occasion.

75

About a fortnight passed. Life in Marino
flowed on in its usual current: Arkady led the
life of a Sybarite, Bazaroif worked. Every one
in the house had got accustomed to him, to his
careless manners, to his uncomplicated and ab-
rupt speeches. Fenitchka, in particular, had be-
come so famihar with him that once she ordered
him to be awakened at night: Mitya had been
seized with convulsions; and he came, as was his
wont, half -jesting, half -yawning, sat with her a
couple of hours, and relieved the baby. On the
other hand, Pavel Petrovitch hated Bazaroif
with all the powers of his soul : he considered him
proud, arrogant, a cynic, a plebeian; he had a
suspicion that Bazaroif did not respect him, that
he almost despised him — him, Pavel KirsanoiF!
Nikolai Petrovitch was afraid of the young
" nihilist," and had doubts as to the advantage
of his iniluence on Arkady ; but he liked to listen
to him, he liked to be present at his physical and
chemical experiments . . Bazaroff had brought
a microscope with him, and busied himself with
it for hours together. The servants, also, became
attached to him, although he jeered at them: they

76

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

felt that, nevertheless, he was their brother, not
a lordly master. Dunyasha was fond of giggling
with him, and cast oblique, significant glances at
him as she flitted past like " a snipe " ; Piotr, a
man in the highest degree conceited and stupid,
with strained furrows forever on his brow, a man
whose sole merit lay in the fact that he had a
polite aspect, read by spelHng out the words, and
frequently cleaned his coat with a brush— he, also,
smiled and beamed as soon as Bazaroff directed
his attention to him ; the house-servants' brats ran
after the " doctur " like puppies. Old Prokofitch
was the only one who did not like him, served him
his food at table with a grim aspect, called him
a " knacker " and a *' swindler," and asserted
that he, with his side-whiskers, was a regular pig
in a bush. Prokofitch was, in his way, as much of
an aristocrat as Pavel Petrovitch.

The best days in the year arrived— the early
days of June. The weather was fine; it is true
that the cholera was threatening again at a dis-
tance, but the inhabitants of the * * * Govern-
ment had already got used to its visitations. Ba-
zaroff rose very early, and went off two or three
versts, not for a walk — he could not endure to
walk without an object— but to collect herbs and
insects. Sometimes he took Arkady with him.
On the way home, they generally got into a dis-
pute, and Arkady was generally worsted, al-
though he talked more than his comrade.

77

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

One day they were very late, for some reason;
Nikolai Petrovitch went out into the garden to
meet them, and when he got on a level with the
arbour he suddenly heard the swift footsteps and
the voices of the two young men. They were
walking on the other side of the arbour, and could
not see him.

" Thou art not sufficiently well acquainted with
my father," — Arkady was saying.

Nikolai Petrovitch concealed himself.

" Thy father is a nice fellow,"— said Bazaroff,
— " but he 's a man who is behind the times,* his
song is sung."

Nikolai Petrovitch lent an ear. . . . Arkady
made no reply.

The man who was " behind the times " stood
motionless for a couple of minutes, and slowly
wended his way homeward.

" Day before yesterday I saw him reading
Pushkin,"— went on Bazaroff. ..." Please ex-
plain to him that he ought not to do that. He
is n't a boy, thou knowest : it 's time for him to
fling aside all that twaddle. The idea of being a
romanticist at the present day I Give him some-
thing practical to read."

" What ought I to give him? "—asked
Arkady.

" Why, Bruchner's * Stoff und Kraft,' I think,
as a starter."

l The equivalent of "a back number." — Thahslator.

78

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

" I think so myself,"— remarked Arkady ap-
provingly.— " 'Stoff und Kraft ' is written in
popular language "

" See now, how thou and I,"— said Nikolai
Petrovitch, after dinner on that same day, to his
brother, as he sat in his study: — " have fallen into
the ranks of the men behind the times, our song
is sung. Well, what of that? Perhaps Bazaroff
is right; but I am hurt, I must confess: I had
hoped, precisely at this time, to get into close and
friendly relations with Arkady, but it turns out
that I have lagged behind, he has gone ahead,
and we cannot understand each other."

" But has he gone ahead? And in what way
is he so greatly different from us?" exclaimed
Pavel Petrovitch impatiently. — " It 's that signor
who has put all that into his head. I hate that
miserable medical student; in my opinion, he is
simply a charlatan; I am convinced that he has
not got very far in physics, even with all his
frogs."

"No, brother, do not say that: Bazaroff is
clever and learned."

"And what repulsive conceit!" — interrupted
Pavel Petrovitch again.

" Yes,"— remarked Nikolai Petrovitch:— " he
is conceited. But, evidently, that cannot be dis-
pensed with; only, this is what I cannot under-
stand. Apparently, I am doing everything, in
order not to be left behind the age : I have estab-

79

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

lished my peasants, I have set up a farm, so that
I am even spoken of throughout the Govern-
ment as a * red.' I read, I study,— in general,
I strive to keep up with contemporary require-
ments,— but they say that my song is sung. And
I am beginning, brother, to think myself that it
is sung."

"Why so?"

" This is why. To-day I was sitting and read-
ing Pushkin. ... I remember that I had hap-
pened upon ' The Gipsies.' . . All at once, Arkady
came up to me, and in silence, with such affec-
tionate compassion on his face, took the book
away from me softly, as from a child, and laid
before me another, a German book . . . smiled,
and went away, carrying Pushkin with him."

" You don't say so! And what book did he
give thee? "

" This one."

And Nikolai Petrovitch drew from the rear
pocket of his coat Bruchner's very renowned
pamphlet, in the ninth edition.

Pavel Petrovitch turned it over in his hands. —
" H'm! "—he muttered.—" Arkady Nikolaevitch
is attending to thy education. Well, and hast
thou tried to read it? "

" Yes."

" Well, and what was the result? "

" Either I am stupid, or all this is— nonsense.
— It must be that I am stupid."

80

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

" But thou hast not forgotten thy German? " —
asked Pavel Petrovitch.

" I understand German."

Again Pavel Petrovitch turned the book over
in his hands, and cast a sidelong glance at his
brother. Both maintained silence.

" Yes, by the way,"— began Nikolai Petro-
vitch, being, evidently, desirous of changing the
conversation, — " I have received a letter from
Kolyazin."

" From Matvyei Ihtch? "

" Yes. He has come to * * * to inspect the
Government. He has become a big-wig now, and
writes to me that, as a relation, he wishes to see us,
and he invites thee and me and Arkady to the
town."

" Wilt thou go? "—asked Pavel Petrovitch.

"No;-and thou?"

" And I shall not go, either. What do I want
to drag myself fifty versts for, to eat potato-flour
pudding. Mathieu wants to exhibit himself to
us in all his glory. Devil take him ! the guberna-
torial incense will be enough for him ; he '11 get
along without us. And a Privy Councillor is not
such a great dignitary, after all! If I had re-
mained in the service, if I had gone on tugging
away at that stupid hauling-coUar, I should have
been an adjutant-general by this time. And thou
and I are people who are behind the times, to
boot."

81

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

" Yes, brother, evidently it is time for us to
order our coffins, and cross our hands upon our
breasts for the grave,"— remarked Nikolai Pe-
trovitch, with a sigh.

" Well, I shall not give in so promptly," —
muttered his brother.—" We shall have a fight yet
with that medical man, I foresee that."

The fight took place that very day, at evening
tea. Pavel Petrovitch entered the drawing-room
all ready for the fray, irritated and with his mind
made up. He was merely awaiting a pretext in
order to hurl himself upon the enemy, but for a
long time, no pretext presented itself. Bazarofi",
in general, had little to say in the presence
of " the old Kirsanoffs " (that was what he
called the two brothers), but on that evening
he felt out of sorts, and gulped down cup
after cup in silence. Pavel Petrovitch was all
afire with impatience; at last his desire was
realised.

The conversation turned upon one of the neigh-
bouring landed proprietors. — " Rubbish, a trashy,
would-be little aristocrat," indifferently re-
marked Bazaroff, who had met him in Peters-
burg.

" Permit me to ask you," — began Pavel Petro-
vitch, and his lips quivered: — "According to
your ideas, do the words ' rubbish ' and * aristo-
crat * signify one and the same thing? "

" I said ' trashy, would-be little aristocrat,' "—

82

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

said Bazaroff, lazily swallowing a mouthful of
tea.

" Exactly so, sir; but I assume that you hold
the same opinion concerning the aristocrats that
you do concerning the trashy, would-be little aris-
tocrats. I consider it my duty to inform you that
I do not share that view. I take the liberty of say-
ing that every one knows me to be a liberal man
and one who loves progress ; but, precisely for that
reason, I respect the aristocrats — the genuine
ones. Remember, my dear sir " (at these words,
Bazaroff raised his eyes to Pavel Petrovitch) —
" remember, my dear sir," he repeated, with ex-
asperation:— " the Enghsh aristocrats. They do
not abate one iota of their rights, and therefore
they respect the rights of others; they demand
the fulfilment of obligations toward themselves,
and therefore they themselves fulfil their duties.
The aristocracy has given freedom to England,
and it maintains it."

" We've heard that tune a great many times,"
—retorted BazaroiF:— " but what are you under-
taking to prove by this? "

" By this I am undertaking to prove, my dear
sir " (when Pavel Petrovitch was angry, he inten-
tionally said " eftim " and " efto," ^ although he
knew perfectly well that the grammar does not
admit such words. In this freak, the relics of a

^ Instead of : eto (this) and itim (by this)— »'.«., employing the forms
in use among the peasants.— Teakslatob.

83

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

tradition of the epoch of Alexander manifested
itself. The big-wigs of that time, on rare occa-
sions, when talking in their native tongue, were
in the habit of using, some efto, others eoohto: as
much as to say : " We are thorough-going Rus-
sians, and, at the same time, we are grandees who
are permitted to scorn rules of school") — "by this
[eftim] I mean to prove that, without a sense of
one's own dignity, without respect for one's self,—
and in the aristocrat these sentiments are devel-
oped,— there is no stable foundation for the pub-
lic .. . hien public . . . the social structure. The
individuality, my dear sir,— that is the principal
thing: the human individuality must be strong
as a rock, for on it everything is erected. I know
very well, for example, that you see fit to regard
as ridiculous my habits, my toilet, my cleanli-
ness, to sum it up; but aU that proceeds from a
sense of self-respect, from a sense of duty,— yes,
sir, yes, sir, of duty. I live in the country, in the
wilds, but I do not neglect myself, I respect the
man in myself."

" Pardon me, Pavel Petrovitch,"— said Ba-
zaroff : — " here you are, respecting yourself, and
sitting with folded hands: where is the good of
that for the hien public? You would do the same
thing, even if you did not respect yourself."

Pavel Petrovitch turned pallid.—" That is an
entirely different question. I am not in the least
bound to explain to you, now, why I sit with

84

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

folded hands, as you are pleased to express your-
self. I merely wish to say that aristocracy is a
principle, and only immoral or frivolous people
can live in our day without principles. I said
that to Arkady the day after his arrival, and I
now repeat it to you. Is not that so, Nikolai? "

Nikolai Petrovitch nodded his head.

" Aristocracy, liberalism, progress, principles,"
— BazarofF was saying in the meantime: — "when
you come to think of it, how many foreign ....
and useless words! The Russian man does not
need them, even as a gift."

" What does he need, according to you? To
hear you, one would suppose that we were outside
the pale of humanity, outside its laws. Good
heavens! the logic of history demands

" But what do you want with that logic? We
can get along without it."

" How so? "

" Why, in this way : you need no logic, I hope,
in order to put a piece of bread into your mouth
when you are hungry. What use have we for
these abstractions? "

Pavel Petrovitch waved his hands in despair. —
" I do not understand you, after that. You are
insulting the Russian nation. I do not under-
stand how it is possible not to recognise princi-
ples and rules ? By force of what do you act? "

" I have already told you, dear uncle, that we
recognise no authorities,"— put in Arkady.

85

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

" We act by force of that which we recognise
as useful,"— said Bazaroff.— *' At the present
time, the most useful thing of all is rejection—
we reject."

" Everything? "

" Everything."

" What? Not only art, poetry . . . but also
... it is terrible to utter it . . . ."

" Everything,"— repeated Bazaroff, with in-
expressible composure.

Pavel Petrovitch stared at him. He had not
expected this, and Arkady fairly flushed crim-
son with delight.

" But pardon me,"— began Nikolai Petro-
vitch. "You reject everything, or, to speak more
accurately, you demolish everything. . . . But
surely, it is necessary to build up also."

" That 's no affair of ours. . . The place must
first be cleared."

" The contemporary condition of the populace
demands this,"— added Arkady, with impor-
tance:— " we must comply with that demand; we
have no right to devote ourselves to the gratifica-
tion of our personal egoism."

The last phrase, evidently, did not please
Bazaroff; it smacked of philosophy, — that is to
say, of romanticism, — for Bazaroff called phil-
osophy also romanticism, but he did not consider
it necessary to contradict his young disciple.

" No, nol " — exclaimed Pavel Petrovitch,

86

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

with a sudden impetuosity: — " I will not be-
lieve that you, gentlemen, are accurately ac-
quainted with the Russian people; that you are
representatives of its requirements, its aspira-
tions! No, the Russian people is not what you
imagine it to be. It sacredly respects tradition,
it is patriarchal, it cannot live without faith. . ."

"I will not dispute that! "—interrupted Ba-
zaroff ; — "I am even prepared to agree that, in
that respect J you are right. . ."

" But if I am right . . ."

*' Still, that proves nothing."

*' Precisely, it proves nothing," — repeated
Arkady, with the confidence of an expert chess-
player who has foreseen his adversary's appar-
ently expert move, and hence is not in the least
disconcerted.

" Why does it prove nothing? " — muttered
the astounded Pavel Petrovitch. " Do you mean
to say that you are marching against your
people? "

" And what if I am? " — exclaimed Bazaroff .
" The people assume that when the thunder
rumbles it is the prophet Elijah driving across
the sky in his chariot. What then? Am I
bound to agree with them? And, moreover, they
are Russians, and am not I a Russian myself? "

" No, you are not a Russian, after all you have
just said! I cannot acknowledge you as a Rus-
sian."

87

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

" My grandfather tilled the soil,"— replied
BazaroiF, with haughty pride.—" Ask any one
of your peasants, in which of us— in you or in
me — he would the more readily recognise a
fellow-countryman. You do not even know how
to talk with him."

" But you talk with him, and despise him, at
one and the same time."

" What of that, if he deserves to be despised?
You censure my tendency, but who told you that
it is accidental in my case; that it is not evoked
by that same spirit of the people in the name of
which you wage war? "

" The idea ! Much need there is of nihilists I "

" Whether there is need for them or not, is not
for us to decide. Assuredly, you consider your-
self not devoid of usefulness."

" Gentlemen, gentlemen, please refrain from
personalities!" exclaimed Nikolai Petrovitch,
half -rising from his seat.

Pavel Petrovitch smiled, and laying his hand
on his brother's shoulder, he made him sit down
again. — " Don't worry," — he said. — I shall
not forget myself, precisely because of that sense
of dignity at which Mr. . . . Mr. Doctor jeers
so savagely. Pardon me,"— he went on, address-
ing himself once more to Bazaroff : — " perhaps
you think your doctrine is a novelty? You are
mistaken in thinking so. The materialism which
you preach has been in vogue more than once

88

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

already, and has always shown itself to be
inadequate. ..."

" Another foreign word! " — interrupted Baza-
roflF. He was beginning to get angry, and his
countenance assumed a sort of coarse, brazen
hue. — " In the first place, we are not preaching
anything; that is not our habit. . . ."

"What do you do, then?"

" This is what we do. Formerly, in days which
are not yet remote, we were accustomed to say
that our officials took bribes; that we had no
roads, no trade, no regular courts of justice. . ."

" Well, yes, yes, you are accusers,— I believe
that is what it is called. And with many of your
accusations I agree, but . . . ."

" But, later on, it dawned upon us that it
was not worth while to prate, and do nothing
but prate, about our ulcers; that that led only to
trivialities and doctrinairism ; we perceived that
our clever men, the so-called leading men and
accusers, were good for nothing, that we were
busying ourselves with nonsense, talking about
some sort of art, about unconscious creation,
about parliamentarism, about advocateship, and
the devil knows what else, when it was a ques-
tion of daily bread, when the crudest supersti-
tion was stifling us, when all our stock companies
were failing simply through the lack of honest
men, when the very liberty which the Govern-
ment is working over is hardly likely to be of

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FATHERS AND CHILDREN

any use to us, because our peasant is ready to rob
himself, if only he may drink himself dead drunk
in the pot-house."

" Exactly,"— interrupted Pavel Petrovitch,—
" exactly so : you have become convinced of all
this, and have made up your minds not to set
about anything seriously."

" And have decided not to set about any-
thing,"— repeated Bazarojff grimly. He sud-
denly became vexed with himself for having
been so expansive in the presence of this gentle-
man.

"And only to rail?"

" Yes, only to rail."

" And that is called nihilism? "

*' And that is called nihilism," — repeated Baza-
rofF once more, this time with peculiar insolence.

Pavel Petrovitch narrowed his eyes slightly.

"So that's the way the wind blows!"— he
said, in a strangely quiet voice.—" Nihilism is
bound to aid every woe, and you, you are our
deliverers and heroes. But for what do you take
others, — those same deliverers, for example? Do
not you prate, like all the rest? "

" We are guilty in some other respects, but not
of that sin," — articulated BazaroiF through his
teeth.

"What, then? Do you do anything, pray?
Are you preparing to act? "

Bazaroff made no reply. Pavel Petrovitch

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FATHERS AND CHILDREN

was fairly quivering, but he immediately re-
gained control of himself.

"H'm! ... To act, to demolish . . . ." he
continued. — " But why demolish without even
knowing the reason? "

" We demolish because we are a force," — re-
marked Arkady.

Pavel Petrovitch looked at his nephew, and
laughed.

" Yes, a force, — and a force, as such, does not
render an account of itself," — said Arkady, and
straightened himself up.

"Unhappy man," — roared Pavel Petrovitch;
he positively was not able to restrain himself any
longer: — " thou mightest take into consideration
what it is in Russia that thou art upholding by
thy trivial judgment ! No, this is enough to make
an angel lose patience! Force! There is force
in the savage Kalmyk, and in the Mongolian also,
but what is that to us? — Civilisation is dear to us,
— yes, sir, yes, my dear sir, its fruits are dear to
us. And do not tell me that those fruits are in-
significant: the most wretched dauber, un har-
bouilleur, a player of dance-music who is paid
five kopeks an evening,— all of them are more
useful than you, because they are representatives
of civilisation, and not of crude Mongolian force !
You imagine that you are leaders, but the only
proper place for you is in a Kalmyk tent! A
force! But pray recollect, in conclusion, you

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FATHERS AND CHILDREN

forceful gentlemen, that there are only four men
and a half of you, but there are millions of those
who will not permit you to trample under foot
their most sacred beliefs, who will crush you! "

" If they crush us, there lies the road," — said
BazaroiF. — " Only, that question has not yet been
decided. We are not so few in number as you
suppose."

" What? Jesting aside, do you think you will
be able to manage things ; that you are more than
a match for the whole nation? "

" Moscow was burned to the ground by a far-
thing candle, you know," — replied Bazaroff .
. *' Precisely, precisely. First an almost satanic
pride, then derision. That — that is what seduces
the young generation, that is what subjugates the
inexperienced hearts of wretched little boys!
Look! there sits one of them by your side; you
see that he is almost worshipping you; admire
him." (Arkady turned aside and frowned.)
" And this infection is already widely dissem-
inated. I am told that our artists in Rome never
set foot inside the Vatican. They regard Ra-
phael as almost a fool, because, forsooth, he is an
authority; but they themselves are disgustingly
impotent and sterile, and their imagination goes
no further than ' A Girl at the Fountain,* say
what you will ! And the girl is very badly painted,
to boot. They are fine fellows in your opinion,
are n't they?"

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FATHERS AND CHILDREN

" In my opinion,"— retorted BazaroiF:— " Ra-
phael is n't worth a copper farthing ; and they
are better than he! "

" Bravo ! bravo I Listen, Arkady .... that's
the way young men of the present day ought to
express themselves! And, when you come to
think of it, how can they help following you ! In
former days, young folks had to study ; they did
not care to bear the reputation of ignoramuses,
so they worked, willy-nilly. But now, all they
have to do is to say : ' Everything in the world is
nonsense!' — and that's the end of the matter.
The young folks are overjoyed. And, in fact,
formerly they were simply blockheads, but now
they have suddenly become nihilists."

" That 's where your boasted sense of personal
dignity has fooled you,"— remarked Bazaroff
coolly, while Arkady flared up, and his eyes
flashed. — " Our dispute has gone too far. . . I
think it would be better to put an end to it. And
I shall be ready to agree with you," — he added,
rising, — " when you can bring forward a single
institution of our contemporary existence, either
domestic or social, which does not challenge total
rejection."

" I will present to you millions of such insti-
tutions,"—exclaimed Pavel Petrovitch:—" mil-
lions ! Why, take the commune, for example."
• A cold sneer curled BazarofF's lips. — " Well, so
far as the commune is concerned," — said he: —

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FATHERS AND CHILDREN

" you had better talk with your brother. I think
he has now found out, in practice, what the com-
mune is hke: thorough security, sobriety, and all
that sort of thing."

" The family, then,— the family, as it exists
among our peasants! "—shouted Pavel Petro-
vitch.

" That question, also, I think, it would be better
for you not to inquire into in detail. You have
heard, I fancy, of men making love to their sons'
wives? Listen to me, Pavel Petrovitch: give
yourself a couple of days of grace ; it is n't likely
that you will be able to find anything on the spot.
Sort over all classes of our society, and meditate
well over each one, and, in the meantime, Arkady
and I wiU . . ."

" Sneer at everything,"— put in Pavel Petro-
vitch.

" No, cut up frogs. Come on, Arkady; fare-
well for the present, gentlemen! "

The two friends quitted the room. The bro-
thers were left alone, and, at first, they merely
stared at each other.

" There,"— began Pavel Petrovitch at last:—
" there 's the youth of the present day for you!
There they are — our heirs! "

" Our heirs,"— repeated Nikolai Petrovitch,
with a sigh of depression. He had been sitting on
hot coals, as it were, during the whole course of

94

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

the dispute, and had merely cast furtive, pained
glances at Arkady.—" Dost thou know, brother,
what has recurred to my mind? One day, I quar-
relled with our deceased mother: she screamed,
and would not listen to me . . . At last I said
to her, — ' You cannot understand me,' said I : ' we
belong to two different generations,' said I. She
was frightfully angry, and I thought to my-
self: What is to be done? The pill is bitter—
but it must be swallowed. So now, our turn
has come, and our successors can say to us:
* You are not of our generation — swallow the
pill.' "

" Thou art too kind-hearted and modest," — re-
turned Pavel Petrovitch;— " on the contrary, I
am convinced that thou and I are far more in the
right than those little gentlemen, although we ex-
press ourselves, perhaps, in somewhat antiquated
language, have vielli^ and do not possess that au-
dacious self-conceit. . . And how puffed up
the young people of the present day are! Ask
one of them : ' What wine do you prefer, red or
white ? ' — ' I am accustomed to prefer red ! ' he
repHes in a bass voice, and with as pompous a
visage, as though the whole universe were gazing
at him at the moment. . ."

" Would not you hke some more tea? " — said
Fenitchka, sticking her head in at the door: she
had not been able to bring herself to enter the

95

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

drawing-room while the voices of the disputants
were resounding there.

" No, thou mayest give orders to have the
samovar removed," — replied Nikolai Petrovitch,
rising to greet her. Pavel Petrovitch abruptly
wished him " Bon soirf and went off to his own
study.

96

XI

Half an hour later, Nikolai Petrovitch betook
himself to the garden, to his favourite arbour.
Melancholy thoughts had taken possession of him.
For the first time he clearly realised the breach
between himself and his son ; he had a foreboding
that with every passing day it would become
wider and wider. So it was in vain that he had
sat, at Petersburg, over the newest books, during
the winter; in vain had he listened to the conver-
sations of the young men; in vain had he rejoiced
when he had succeeded in interpolating a remark
of his own into their fervent speeches. " My
brother says that we are in the right," he thought;
" and setting aside all self-conceit, it seems to me,
also, that they are further from the truth than
we are; and, at the same time, I feel that they
have something which we do not possess, some su-
periority over us. . . Youth? No : it is not youth
alone. Does not their superiority consist in the
fact, that in them there are fewer traces of the
gentry regime than in us? "

Nikolai Petrovitch hung his head, and passed
his hand over his face.

" But must one reject poetry? **— he said to

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FATHERS AND CHILDREN

himself again: " is one to feel no sympathy for
art, for nature? ..."

And he cast a glance around him, as though de-
sirous of understanding how it was possible not to
feel sympathy for nature. The shades of twilight
were already beginning to descend; the sun had
hidden itself behind a small aspen grove, which
lay half a verst distant from the garden; its
shadow stretched out inimitably across the mo-
tionless fields. A peasant was riding at a gallop
on a white horse, along the dark, narrow road
which skirted the edge of the grove: his whole
figure was clearly visible, everything about him,
down to the patch on his shoulder, in spite of the
fact that he was riding in the shadow; the hoofs
of the horse flashed out with pleasing distinctness.
The rays of the sun, on their side, made their way
into the grove, and piercing through the thick-
ets, flooded the boles of the trees with so warm a
glow, that these were made to resemble the boles
of pine-trees, while their foliage turned almost
blue, and above it rose the pale azure sky,
faintly crimsoned by the sunset. The swallows
were flying high; the breeze had completely died
down ; belated bees hummed languidly and sleep-
ily in the lilac blossoms ; midges hovered in a pillar
above an isolated, far-outstretching branch. *' My
God, how beautiful!" thought Nikolai Petro-
vitch, and his favourite verses were on the point of
springing to his lips: he recalled Arkady,— "Stoff

98

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

und Kraft "—and fell silent, but continued to sit
on, continued to surrender himself to the sad and
cheering play of his solitary meditations. He
loved to meditate; country life had developed in
him this capacity. It was not so very long since
he had meditated as he waited for his son at the
posting-station, and since then a change had
taken place, and their relations, which had still
been ill-defined at that time, had become clearly
defined .... and in what a way ! Again his de-
ceased wife presented herself to him, but not as
he had known her during the course of many
years, — not as a thrifty, kind housewife, but as a
young girl with a slender form, an innocently-
inquiring glance, and her hair closely coiled on
her childish neck. He recalled her as he had be-
held her for the first time. He was a student then.
He had met her on the staircase of the lodgings
in which he lived, and, unintentionally, he had jos-
tled her, had turned round, had endeavoured to
excuse himself, and had only been able to stam-
mer, "Pardon, monsieur ^ while she had bent her
head, had laughed, and then, suddenly, had
seemed to take fright, and had fled; but at the
turn of the staircase she had thrown a glance
backward at him, had assumed a serious mien, and
had blushed. And then, the first timid visits, the
half-words, the half -smiles, and the awkwardness,
and the sadness, and the outbursts, and, at last,
that panting joy. . . Whither had all that whirled

99

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

away? She had become his wife; he had been
happy as few on earth are happy. . . " But," he
thought : — * 'those delightful first moments ; — why
could not they live forever, with life immortal? "

He did not attempt to elucidate his thought to
himself, but he was conscious that he would have
liked to hold fast to that blissful time by some-
thing more forcible than memory ; he would have
hked to possess once more tangible evidence of his
Marya's nearness, to feel her warmth and her
breath; and he had already begun to fancy that,
above him

" Nikolai Petrovitch," — resounded Fenitchka's
voice near him:—" where are you? "

He shuddered. He was neither pained nor con-
science-stricken. . . He did not even admit the
possibility of a comparison between his wife and
Fenitchka, but he regretted that she had taken a
notion to hunt him up. Her voice instantaneously
reminded him of his grey hair, his advanced age,
his present ....

The world of enchantment, into which he had
already entered, which had sprung forth from the
misty waves of the past, trembled,— and vanished.

"I am here,"— he replied: "I will come; go
along." " Here are traces of the old gentry re-
gime," flashed through his mind'. Fenitchka
peeped silently at him in the arbour, and disap-
peared; and he noticed, with surprise, that night
had descended since he had begun to meditate.

100

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

Everything had grown dark and silent round
about, and Fenitchka's face flitted before him,
very white and small. He half -rose from his seat,
and was about to set out homeward ; but his soft-
ened heart would not calm down in his breast, and
he began to stroll slowly about the garden, now
thoughtfully staring at the ground beneath his
feet, now raising his eyes to the sky, where the
stars were swarming and twinkling. He walked
for a long time, almost to fatigue, and still the
tumult within him, a sort of importunate, unde-
fined, melancholy tumult, did not subside. Oh,
how Bazaroff would have laughed at him, had he
known what was going on within him then I Ar-
kady himself would have condemned him. Tears,
causeless tears, welled up in his eyes — in the eyes
of the agriculturist and estate-owner; this was
a hundredfold worse than the violoncello.

Nikolai Petrovitch continued to walk, and
could not bring himself to enter the house, that
peaceful and cosey nest, which gazed with such
welcome at him from all its illuminated windows ;
he was not able to tear himself away from the
darkness, from the garden, from the feeling of
the cool air on his face, and from that sadness,
that agitation ....

At a turn in the path, Pavel Petrovitch met
him.

" What is the matter with thee? "—he asked
Nikolai Petrovitch : — " thou art as pale as a

101

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

ghost; thou art not well; why dost not thou go to
bed?"

Nikolai Petrovitch explained to him, in brief
words, his spiritual condition, and walked on.
Pavel Petrovitch went to the end of the garden,
and he also became thoughtful, and he also
raised his eyes to heaven. But in his fine, dark
eyes there was nothing reflected except the light
of the stars. He had not been born romantic, and
his elegantly-dry and passionate soul, misan-
thropic after the French fashion, did not know
how to meditate. . . .

" Dost thou know what? " said Bazaroff to
Arkady, that same night. — " A magnificent idea
has come into my head. Thy father said, to-day,
that he had received an invitation from that dis-
tinguished relative of yours. Thy father will not
go ; let 's flit off*, thou and I, to * * * ; that gentle-
man has invited thee also, thou knowest. For
thou seest what sort of weather has set in here;
but we will have a drive, we '11 take a look at the
town. We '11 lounge about five or six days, and
—basta!''

" And wilt thou return here from there? "

" No, I must go to my father. Thou knowest
he is thirty versts from * * *. I have not seen him
for a long time, nor my mother either; I must
comfort the old folks. They are good people,
especially my father : he 's very amusing. And
I 'm their only child."

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FATHERS AND CHILDREN

"And wilt thou remain long with them?"

" I think not. I shall be bored, I fancy.'*

" And wilt thou drop in to see us on thy way
back?"

" I don't know. . . I shall see. Come, how is it
to be? Shall we go?"

" If thou wishest,"— remarked Arkady lazily.

At heart, he was greatly delighted at his
friend's proposal, but he considered himself
bound to conceal his feehng. Not for nothing
was he a nihilist.

On the following day, he drove off with Baza-
roff to * * *. The young people at Marino re-
gretted their departure; Dunyasha even fell to
weeping . . . but the older men breathed more
freely.

103

XII

The town of * * *, whither our friends had be-
taken themselves, lay in the jurisdiction of a gov-
ernor who belonged to the younger generation,
was progressive and a despot, as is often the case
in Russia. In the course of the first year of his
rule, he managed to quarrel, not only with the
Marshal of the Nobility for the Government, a
retired stafF-captain of cavalry in the Guards,
a horse-breeder and hospitable man, but also with
his own officials. The altercations which arose in
consequence finally attained to such dimensions
that the Ministry in Petersburg found it indis-
pensable to send a confidential person with a
commission to investigate everything on the spot.
The choice of the administration fell upon Mat-
vyei Ilitch Kolyazin, the son of that Kolyazin un-
der whose protection the Kirsanoff brothers had
once been. He, also, was one of the ** young gen-
eration," that is to say, he had only recently passed
his fortieth birthday; but he was already aiming
to become a statesman, and wore a star on each
side of his breast. One, to tell the truth, was of a
foreign Order, and of a petty Order, at that.
Like the Governor, whom he had come to judge,

104

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

he regarded himself as progressive, and, being
akeady a big-wig, did not resemble the majority
of big-wigs. He cherished the loftiest opinion of
himself; his vanity knew no bounds; but he bore
himself simply, his gaze was approving, he hs-
tened affably and smiled so good-naturedly that,
at first sight, he might have passed for a " splen-
did fellow." But, on important occasions, he
knew how to kick up a row, as the expression goes.
" Energy is indispensable, "—he was wont to say
then, — " Venergie est la premiere qualite d'un
homme d'etat"; but, notwithstanding this, he gen-
erally got left in the lurch, and any official who
was in the least degree experienced rode him at
will. Matvyei Ilitch referred with great respect
to Guizot, and tried to impress upon all and sun-
dry that he did not belong to the class of
routine men, and bureaucrats, who were be-
hind the times, that he let not a single important
phenomenon of social life escape his attention. . .
All such words were well known to him. He
even watched, with careless haughtiness, it is true,
the development of contemporary literature : like
a grown man who, on encountering upon the
street a procession of small boys, sometimes joins
their ranks. In reality, Matvyei Ilitch had not
got very far away from those statesmen of the
epoch of Alexander, who, when preparing to
spend the evening with Madame Svetchm, who
then resided in Petersburg, were accustomed to

105

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

read a page of Condillac in the morning: only,
his methods were different— more modern. He
was a clever courtier, a very artful blade, and
nothing more; he did not understand business,
he had no mind, but he knew how to manage his
own affairs; no one could saddle and ride him
in that quarter, and that is the chief thing, after
all.

Matvyei Ilitch received Arkady with the affa-
bility peculiar to an enlightened dignitary, — we
will say more : with playfulness. Nevertheless, he
was amazed when he learned that the relatives
whom he had invited had remained in the country.
" Thy papa was always a queer fish," he re-
marked, twirling the tassels of his magnificent
velvet dressing-gown ; and, all at once, turning to
a young official in the most well-intentioned,
closely-buttoned undress-uniform, he exclaimed,
with an anxious aspect, " What? " The young
man, whose lips were glued fast together through
prolonged silence, rose, and stared at his superior
with surprise. But, after having stunned his sub-
ordinate, Matvyei Ilitch paid no further atten-
tion to him. Our officials, in general, are fond of
stunning their subordinates, and the means to
which they resort for the attainment of this end
are decidedly varied. The following method,
among others, is frequently employed, — " is quite
a favourite," as the English say: the dignitary
suddenly ceases to understand the most simple

106

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

words, deafness descends upon him. He will ask,
for example: " What day is to-day? "

He is informed, in the most respectful man-
ner: " To-day is Friday, your 'c . . c'len . . . cy."

" How? What? What do you mean by Fri-
day? What Friday?"

" Friday, your 'c . . . . ccc . . . ccc

lency, is a day of the week."

" Come, now, hast thou taken it into thy laeend
to teach me? "

Matvyei Ilitch was a dignitary, all the same,
although he considered himself a liberal.

" I advise thee, my friend, to call upon the
Governor," — he said to Arkady: — " thou under-
standest, I give thee this advice, not because I am
wedded to antique conceptions as to the necessity
of going and making one's bow to the powers
that be, but simply because the Governor is a
nice man; moreover, thou art, probably, desirous
of making acquaintance with the local society. . .
For thou art not a bear, I hope? And he is going
to give a great ball the day after to-morrow."

" Shall you be at the ball? "—inquired Arkady.

" He is giving it in my honour," — said Matvyei
Ilitch, almost with compunction. " Dost thou
dance? "

" Yes, but badly."

" That is a mistake. There are pretty women
here, and it is a shame for a young man not to
dance. And again, I say this not in virtue of an-

107

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

tique ideas ; I do not, in the least, assume that the
brain must be located in the feet, but Byronism is
ridiculous, il a fait son temps/'

" Why, uncle, it is not in the least because of
Byronism that I "

" I will introduce thee to the young ladies here,
I will take thee under my wing," — interrupted
Matvyei IHtch, and laughed in a self-satisfied
way. " Thou wilt find it warm, hey? "

A servant entered and announced the arrival
of the chairman of the Court of Exchequer, a
soft-eyed old man, with wrinkled lips, who was ex-
tremely fond of nature, especially on a summer
day, when, according to his words, " every little
bee takes a bribe from every little blossom. . . "
Arkady withdrew.

He found BazaroiF in the inh where they had
put up, and tried for a long time to persuade him
to go to the Governor. " There 's nothing to be
done!" said Bazaroff" at last, — "as you have made
your bed, so you must lie upon it. We have come
to inspect the landed gentry, so let 's inspect
them I "

The Governor received the young men cour-
teously, but did not invite them to sit down,
and did not sit down himself. He was forever
bustling and hurrying; he donned his tight un-
dress-uniform in the morning, and an excessively
tight neck-cloth, never ate or drank his fill, was
forever giving orders. He had been nicknamed

108

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

in the Government " Bourdaloue, " the allusion
not being to the famous French preacher, but to
bur da. ^ He invited Kirsanoff and Bazaroff to
his ball, and a couple of minutes later he invited
them a second time, under the impression that
they were brothers, and calling them " Kaisa-
roff."

They were on their way home from the Gov-
ernor's when, suddenly, from one of the passing
drozhkies there sprang out a man of short stature,
in a Slavyanophil hussar jacket, and with the
shout, " Evgeny Vasihtch! " flung himself on Ba-
zaroff.

" Ah! so it 's you, Herr Sitnikoff,"— said Ba-
zaroff, and he continued to stride along the side-
walk:— " how do you happen to be here? "

"Just imagine! quite by accident,"— replied
the other, and, turning toward the drozhky, he
waved his hand five times, and shouted: " Follow
us, foUow us! My father has business here," — he
went on, as he sprang across the gutter:—" well,
and so he invited me. ... I learned to-day of
your arrival, and have already been to see you."
(In fact, the friends, on their return to their
room, found there a card with the corners turned
down, and the name of Sitnikoff in French on
one side and in Slavonic script on the other.) " I
hope you are not coming from the Governor? "

" Do not hope,— we are straight from him."

1 A bad, muddy beverage. — Tbanslatob.

109

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

" Ah! in that case I shall call upon him also. . .
Evgeny Vasflitch, introduce me to your . . . ^
him. . ."

" Sitnikoff—Kirsanoff,"— growled Bazaroflf,
without halting.

" I feel greatly flattered,"— began Sitnikoff,
walking sideways, grinning, and hastily pull-
ing off his far too elegant gloves. — " I have
heard a great deal .... I am an old acquain-
tance of Evgeny Vasihtch, and, I may say, his
disciple. I am indebted to him for my regenera-
tion "

Arkady looked at Bazaroff 's disciple. An agi-
tated and stupid expression lay upon the small
but agreeable features of his smoothly-hcked
face ; his small eyes, which had the appearance of
being crushed in, stared intently and uneasily,
and he laughed uneasily, with a sort of curt,
wooden laugh.

"Would you believe it,"— he went on: "that
when Evgeny Vasflitch said, for the first time,
in my presence, that one ought not to respect the
authorities, I experienced such rapture .... I
fairly seemed to have recovered my sight I Here,
said I to myself, I have found a man, at last ! By
the way, Evgeny Vasflitch, you must, without
fail, caU on one of the ladies here, who is thor-
oughly in a position to understand you, and for
whom your visit will constitute a veritable festi-
val; you have heard of her, I think? "

110

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

** Who is she? "—articulated Bazaroff unwill-
ingly.

" Madame Kukshin, Eudoxie,— Evdoksiya
Kukshin. She is a remarkable nature, emanci-
pee in the true sense of the word, a leading
woman. Do you know what? Let 's go to her
now, all together. She hves a couple of paces
from here. We will breakfast there. You have
not breakfasted yet, of course? "

" Not yet."

" Well, that 's fine. She has separated from
her husband, you understand; she is not depen-
dent on anybody."

" Is she pretty? " interrupted Bazaroff.

" N . . . no, I cannot say that she is."

" Then, why the devil do you invite us to go
to her? "

" WeU, you jester, you jester! . . . She will
set us up a bottle of champagne."

" You don't say so! The practical man is vis-
ible at once. By the way, is your father stiU en-
gaged in revenue-farming? "

" Yes,"— said Sitnikoff hastily, and emitted a
shrill laugh. " Well, how is it to be ? Is it a go? "

" I really do not know."

" Thou hast desired to observe people, so go,"
— remarked Arkady in an undertone.

" But what of you, Mr. Kirsanoff ? " inter-
posed Sitnikoff. "Pray come also; we cannot
get along without you."

Ill

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

" But how can we all descend upon her at
once? "

" Never mind. Kukshina ^ is a splendid fel-
low."

" Will there be a bottle of champagne? " in-
quired Bazaroff.

"Three bottles!" exclauned Sitnikoff.— ** I
guarantee that."

" How? "

" By my own head."

" By your father's purse would be better.
However, we will go."

* The feminine form of the surname, without prefix, is sometimes
used, as well as the masculine. — TaAKSLAToa.

112

XIII

The tiny house of nobility, after the Moscow
fashion, in which dwelt Avdotya ^ Nikitishna, or
Evdoksiya Kukshin, was situated on one of the
recently-burned streets of the town of * * *; (it
is a well-known fact that our provincial capitals
burn down every five years) . At the door, over a
visiting-card nailed up askew, the bell-handle was
visible, and in the anteroom the visitors were met
by a woman, who was either a servant or a com-
panion, in a cap,— plain tokens of the house-mis-
tress's progressive tendencies. SitnikofF inquired
whether Avdotya Nikitishna was at home.

" Is that you, Victor? " — rang out a shrill voice
from the adjoining room. — " Come in."

The woman in the cap immediately vanished.

" I am not alone,"— said SitnikofF, briskly
flinging aside his Hungarian cloak, under which
appeared something in the nature of a waistcoat,
or a sack-coat, and casting a daring glance at Ar-
kady and BazaroiF.

"No matter,"— replied the Yoice.—" Entrez! "

The young men entered. The room in which
they found themselves resembled a working-

* Avddtya is the vulgar, popular form of Evdoksiya. — Tbanslatob.

113

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

study rather than a drawing-room. Documents,
letters, thick numbers of Russian journals, chiefly-
uncut, were scattered about on the dusty tables;
everywhere the discarded butts of cigarettes
gleamed whitely. On the leather couch half-
reclined a lady, young, fair-haired, rather dishev-
elled, in a silk gown which was not quite clean,
with big bracelets on her short arms, and a lace
kerchief on her head. She rose from the divan,
and carelessly drawing up on her shoulders a vel-
vet cloak lined with ermine which had grown yel-
low, she languidly said, " Good morning, Victor,"
and shook SitnikofF by the hand.

" Bazaroff, Kirsanoff,"— said he abruptly, in
imitation of Bazaroff.

" You are welcome," — replied Madame Kuk-
shm ; and riveting upon Bazaroff her round eyes,
between which, hke an orphan, her tiny, snub nose
gleamed redly, she added:—" I know you,"— and
shook hands with him also.

Bazaroff knit his brows. There was nothing
monstrous about the tiny and homely figure of the
emancipated woman; but the expression of her
face had an unpleasant effect on the spectator.
One involuntarily wanted to ask her: " What 's
the matter? Art thou hungry? or bored? or
afraid? Why art thou so gloomy?" Her
soul, like that of Sitnikoff, was always aching.
She talked and moved in a very free-and-easy
way, but, at the same time, awkwardly : evidently

114

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

she regarded herself as a good-natured and sim-
ple being, and yet, no matter what she did, it con-
stantly seemed to you that that was not precisely
what she meant; everything turned out with her,
as the children say, done " on purpose "—that is
to say, not simply, not naturally.

" Yes, yes, I know you, BazaroflF,"— she re-
peated. ( She had a habit, peculiar to many pro-
vincial and Moscow ladies, of calling men by their
surnames on first acquaintance.) " Will you
have a cigar? "

" A cigar is all well enough,"— chimed in Sit-
nikoff , who had managed to throw himself into an
arm-chair, in a lolling posture, and stick his foot
up in the air; — " but pray give us some breakfast.
We are frightfully hungry ; and order them to set
up a bottle of champagne."

" Sybarite," — said Evdoksiya, and laughed.
(When she laughed her upper gum was laid bare
above her teeth.) —" He 's a Sybarite, isn*t he,
BazarofF? "

" I love comfort, hfe,"— remarked Sitnikoff
pompously. — "That does not prevent my being
a liberal."

"Yes, it does— it does prevent!" — exclaimed
Evdoksiya; but, nevertheless, she ordered her
maid-servant to attend to the breakfast and the
champagne. — " What do you think about it? " —
she added, addressing Bazaroff.— " I am con-
vinced that you share my opinion."

115

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

" Well, no,"— returned Bazaroff :— " a piece
of meat is better than a piece of bread, even from
the chemical point of view."

" And do you occupy yourself with chemistry?
It is my passion. I have even invented a mastic
myself."

"A mastic? You?"

" Yes, I. And do you know with what object?
In order to make dolls, and heads which shall not
break. For I am practical too. But all is not
yet ready. I must still read Liebig. By the way,
have you read KislyakofF's article about woman's
work, in the Moscow News? Read it, please.
You are interested in the woman question, of
course? And in schools also? What does your
friend do? What is his name? "

Madame Kukshin dropped all her questions,
one after another, with enervated carelessness,
without waiting for answers ; spoiled children talk
to their nurses in the same way.

" My name is Arkady Nikolaevitch Kirsa-
noif,"— said Arkady:— "and I do nothing."

Evdoksiya laughed aloud. — " Isn't that nice?
What, don't you smoke? Victor, you know that
I am angry with you."

" What for? "

" I hear that you have begun to praise Georges
Sand again. She 's out of date, and that 's all
there is about it! How is it possible to compare

116

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

her with Emerson! She has no ideas whatever
as to education, or physiology, or anything. I am
convinced that she never even heard of embry-
ology; and in our time— how can you get along
without that? " (Evdoksiya even flung her hands
apart.) " Akh, what a wonderful article Elisye-
vitch has written on that subject! He is a tal-
ented gentleman." (Evdoksiya constantly used
the word " gentleman " instead of " man.") —
" Bazaroff , sit down beside me on the divan. Per-
haps you do not know that I am frightfully afraid
of you."

" Why so, permit me to inquire."

" You are a dangerous gentleman ; you are such
a critic. Akh, my God! I am ridiculous, I am
talking like some landed proprietress on the
steppe. However, I really am a landed proprie-
tress. I manage my own estate, and just imag-
ine! my superintendent, Erofei, is a wonderful
type, just hke Cooper's Pathfinder: there is some-
thing direct about him. I have settled down here
for good. The town is intolerable, is n't it? But
what is one to do? "

" The town is just like the average town," — re-
marked BazarofF coolly.

" All the interests are so petty,— that is what is
so dreadful! I used to live in Moscow during the
winter . . . but now my spouse, M'sieu Kukshin,
lives there. And then, too, Moscow is now ... 1

117

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

don't know what,— but not what it should be. I
think of going abroad; I was on the very point
of going last year."

" To Paris, of course? "—asked Bazaroff.

" To Paris, and to Heidelberg."

" Why to Heidelberg? "

" Good gracious!— why, Bunsen is there."

Bazaroff found no answer to this.

" Pierre SapozhnikofF ... do you know him? "

" No, I do not."

" Good gracious!— Pierre Sapozhnikoff . .
he 's forever at Lydie Khostatoff's house."

" I do not know her, either."

" Well, he offered to escort me. Thank God,
I am free, I have no children. . . What was that
I said: thank God! — However, it makes no dif-
ference."

Evdoksiya rolled a cigarette with her fingers
which were stained brown with tobacco, passed
her tongue across it, sucked it, and lighted it. A
maid-servant entered with a tray.

" Ah, here is breakfast ! WiU you have some
appetiser? Victor, uncork the bottle. That 's in
your line."

" It is, it is,"— murmured SitnikofF, and again
he laughed shrilly.

" Are there pretty women here? "—inquired
Bazaroff, as he drained his third glass.

" Yes,"— replied Evdoksiya:— " but they are
all such empty-headed things. For instance, mon

118

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

amiej Madame Odintzoff, is n't bad-looking.
It 's a pity that her reputation is rather .... But
that would be nothing, only she has no freedom
of views, no breadth, no ... . you know what.
The whole system of education must be changed.
I have already given thought to that subject; our
women are very badly brought up."

" You can do nothing with them," — interposed
Sitnikoff. — " One must scorn them, and I do
scorn them, wholly and completely! " (The pos-
sibiUty of scorning and expressing his scorn was
a most agreeable sensation for Sitnikoff; he at-
tacked women in particular, without a suspicion
that, a few months later, he was doomed to cringe
before his own wife, merely because she had been
born a Princess DurdoleosoiF.) — " Not one of
them has ever been in a condition to comprehend
our conversation; not one of them is worth it —
that we, serious men, should talk about her I "

" And they have no need whatever to compre-
hend our conversation," — said Bazaroff.

"Of whom are you speaking? "—put in
Evdoksiya.

" Of pretty women."

"What? So you share the opinion of
Prud'hon?"

Bazaroff drew himself up haughtily. " I share
no one's opinions: I have my own."

"Down with authority! "—shouted Sitnikoff,
delighted at the opportunity to express himself

119

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

harshly in the presence of a man before whom he
cringed.

" But Macaulay himself . . ." began Madame
Kukshin. . .

"Down with Macaulay! "—thundered Sitni-
koff . — " Do you stand up for those mean peasant
women? "

" Not for the peasant women, but for the rights
of women, whom I have sworn to defend to the
last drop of my blood."

" Down with them!"— But here Sitnikoff came
to a halt.—" But I do not deny them,"— said he.

" Yes, I see that you are a Slavyanophil ! "

" No, I am not a Slavyanophil, although, of
course . . . ."

"Yes, yes, yes! You are a Slavyanophil!
You are the continuer of ' The Household Regu-
lations.' * You ought to have a whip in your
hand."

" A whip is a good thing," — remarked Baza-
roiF: " but here we have got to the last drops. . ."

" Of what? "—interrupted Evdoksiya.

" Of the champagne, most respected Avdotya
Nikitishna,— of the champagne— not of your
blood."

" I cannot listen with indifference when you
attack women,"— went on Evdoksiya.—" It is

1 "The Domostr6y" ("The House Regulator"; or, "The House-
hold Regulations"): reputed to be by Priest Sylvester, the famous
Confessor of Ivfin the Terrible in his youth. Its precepts concerning
women and their treatment are of patriarchal rigour. —Translator.

120

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

dreadful, dreadful. Instead of attacking them,
you had better read Michelet's ' De 1' Amour.'
It 's wonderful ! Gentlemen, let us talk of love,"
— added Evdoksiya, languidly dropping her hand
on the crumpled pillow of the divan.

A sudden silence ensued. — " No, why talk
about love?" — remarked BazaroiF: — "but you
mentioned Madame Odintzoff a while ago — I be-
lieve that is what you called her? Who is that
lady?"

" A charming, charming creature! " squeaked
Sitnikoff. " I will introduce you. She is clever,
wealthy, a widow. Unfortunately, she is not yet
sufficiently developed. She ought to become more
intimately acquainted with our Evdoksiya. I
drink to your health, Eudoxie! Let us clink
glasses ! ' Et toe, et tin-tin-tin. Et toe, et toe, et
tin-tin-tin!'". . . .

" Victor, you are a scapegrace."

Breakfast lasted a long time. The first bottle
of champagne was followed by a second, a third,
and even a fourth. . . . Evdoksiya chattered in-
cessantly; Sitnikoff seconded her. They talked
a great deal on the subjects: what is marriage —
a prejudice or a crime? and how are people born
— all alike or not? and in what, precisely, does
individuality consist? At last, the discussion
reached a point where Evdoksiya, all flushed crim-
son with the wine she had drunk, and tapping
the keys of a discordant piano with her flat nails,

121

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

began to sing, at first gipsy songs, then the ro-
mance of Seymour-SchifF, " Sleepy Granada
slumbers " ; and Sitnikoif bound up his head with
a scarf and represented the dying lover, at the
words :

" And melt my mouth with thine
In a burning kiss."

At last Arkady could endure it no longer.
" Gentlemen, this has come to resemble Bedlam,"
he remarked aloud. Bazaroff, who had only in-
terjected a sneering word now and then into the
conversation,— he was mainly occupied with the
champagne,— yawned loudly, rose, and without
taking leave of the hostess, went away, in com-
pany with Arkady. Sitnikoif rushed after them.

" Well, what do you think, — well, what do you
think? "—he kept asking, obsequiously running
now to the right, now to the left:—*' did n't I tell
you she 's a remarkable . person ! We ought to
have more women of that sort! In her way, she
is a highly -moral phenomenon."

"And is that establishment of thy father a
moral phenomenon also? "—said Bazaroff, jerk-
ing his finger in the direction of a dram-shop
which they were passing at the moment.

Again Sitnikoff emitted a squealing laugh.
He was very much ashamed of his origin, and did
not know whether to feel flattered or insulted by
Bazaroff 's unexpectedly addressing him as thou.

122

XIV

A FEW days later the ball came off at the Gov-
ernor's. Matvyei flitch was the real " hero of the
festival " ; the Marshal of Nobility for the Gov-
ernment announced to all and sundry that he had
come especially out of respect for him, and the
Governor, even at the ball, even although he still
remained impassive, continued to " issue orders."
Matvyei Ilitch's softness of manner was equalled
only by his stateliness. He flattered every
one— some with a touch of fastidiousness, others
with a touch of respect ; he lavished his attentions
upon the ladies, "' en vrai chevalier fran^ais" and
laughed incessantly, with a ringing, isolated
laugh, as was befitting a dignitary. He slapped
Arkady on the back, and loudly called him his
" dear little nephew ": conferred upon Bazaroff,
who was dressed in a rather old dress suit, a pre-
occupied but condescending, sidelong glance
across his cheek, and an unintelligible but cour-
teous bellow, in which the only sounds distinguish-
able were " I " and " ss'ma "; gave one finger to
Sitnikoff, and smiled at him, but with his head
already turned away ; even to Madame Kukshin,
who made her appearance at the ball without any

123

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

crinoline whatever, and in dirty gloves, but with
a bird of paradise in her hair, — even to Madame
Kukshm he said " 'Enchante." There was a mul-
titude of people, and of cavaliers there was no
lack; the civilians chiefly congregated along the
wall, but the military men danced assiduously,
especially one of them who had spent six weeks
in Paris, where he had learned divers audacious
exclamations, such as: "Zui" "Ah fichtrrrej*
" Pst, pstj, mon hibi" and so forth. He pro-
nounced them to perfection, with genuine Pa-
risian chic, and, at the same time, he said "si
faurais " instead of " si j'avaisf' " absolument "
in the sense of "without fail"; in a word, ex-
pressed himself in that Great Russian-French
dialect at which the French laugh so heartily
when they are under no necessity to assure us that
we speak their language like angels — " comme des
anges.'*

Arkady danced badly, as we already know, and
BazarofF did not dance at all: both of them en-
sconced themselves in a corner, where SitnikoiF
joined them. With a sneering smile depicted on
his face, and emitting venomous comments, he
stared insolently around, and seemed to be gen-
uinely enjoying himself. All at once, his face
underwent a change, and turning to Arkady, he
said, as though discomfited: " Madame Odint-
zoff has arrived."

Arkady looked about him, and descried a wo-
124

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

man of lofty stature, in a black gown, who was
standing at the door of the hall. She impressed
him by the dignity of her carriage. Her bare
arms hung beautifully along her stately figure;
hght sprays of fuchsia fell, along with her gleam-
ing hair, upon her sloping shoulders; her bright
eyes gazed calmly and intelHgently — that was ex-
actly it, calmly, not thoughtfully— from beneath
her somewhat overhanging white brow, and her
hps were wreathed in a barely perceptible smile.
A sort of soft, caressing force emanated from her
face.

" Do you know her? " — Arkady asked Sitni-
koif.

" Intimately. Would you like to have me in-
troduce you? "

" Pray do ... . after this quadrille."

Bazaroff also turned his attention to Madame
OdintzofF.

" What sort of a figure is that? "—he said.—
" She does not resemble the other women."

Having awaited the end of the quadrille, Sitni-
kofF led Arkady up to Madame Odintzoff ; but he
did not seem to be intimately acquainted with her,
and got tangled up in his speech, and she stared
at him in some surprise. But her face assumed a
cordial expression when she heard Arkady's sur-
name. She asked him whether he was not the son
of Nikolai Petrovitch?

" Yes."

125

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

" I have seen your father a couple of times ; and
I have heard a great deal about him,"— she con-
tinued;— " I am very glad to make your acquain-
tance."

At that moment, some adjutant or other flew
up to her, and invited her for a quadrille. She
accepted.

"Do you dance? "—asked Arkady respect-
fully.

" Yes. But what makes you think that I do
not? Is it that I seem to you too old? "

" Good gracious, how can you ! ... In that
case, permit me to invite you for the mazurka."

Madame Odintzoff smiled graciously. " Very
well," — she said, and looked at Arkady, not ex-
actly with condescension, but as married sisters
look at very youthful brothers. Madame Odin-
tzoif was a little older than Arkady, — she was
nine-and-twenty,— but in her presence he felt
himself a school-boy, a student, as though the dif-
ference of years between them were much greater.
Matvyei IHtch approached her with a majestic
mien and obsequious speeches. Arkady stepped
to one side, but continued to observe her : he never
took his eyes from her during the entire course of
the quadriUe. She chatted with her partner as un-
constrainedly as with the dignitary; she moved
her head and eyes softly, and laughed softly a
couple of times. Her nose, as is the case with
most Russians, was rather thick, and her com-

126

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

plexion was not perfectly clear ; notwithstanding
this, Arkady made up his mind that he had never
yet met so charming a woman. The sound of her
voice did not quit his ears; it seemed as though
the very folds of her gown fell differently from
those of other women, in broader, more stately
wise, and her movements were particularly flow-
ing and natural, at one and the same time.

Arkady felt a certain timidity at heart when,
at the first sounds of the mazurka,^ he seated him-
self by the side of his lady, and, preparing to
enter into conversation, merely passed his hand
over his hair, and could find not a single word to
say. But he did not remain quaking and agitated
long; Madame OdmtzofF's composure communi-
cated itself to him : a quarter of an hour had not
elapsed before he was telling her about his father,
his uncle, life in Petersburg and in the country.
Madame OdintzofF listened to him with polite in-
terest, Hghtly opening and shutting her fan; his
chit-chat ceased when cavaliers led her out ; Sitni-
kofF, among others, invited her twice. She re-
turned, sat down again, took up her fan, and her
bosom did not even heave more rapidly, while Ar-
kady began again to chatter, all permeated with
happiness to find himself near her, to talk with
her, gazing into her eyes, at her beautiful brow,
at the whole of her lovely, dignified, and clever

1 The mazurka greatly resembles the cotillon ; but differs in the
animated, graceful step peculiar to it, and its spirited abandon, when
properly danced. — Translatob.

127

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

countenance. She herself talked little, but know-
ledge of life was revealed in her words ; from some
of her remarks, Arkady inferred that this young
woman had already succeeded in feeling and
thinking a great deal. ...

" Who was that you were standing with,"—
she asked him, — " when Mr. Sitnikoff led you up
tome?"

" Did you notice him? "—asked Arkady in his
turn.—" He has a splendid face, has n't he? He
is a certain BazarofF, my friend."

Arkady began to talk about " his friend."

He talked about him in such detail, and with
such enthusiasm, that Madame OdintzofF turned
toward him, and looked attentively at him. In
the meantime, the mazurka was drawing to its
close. Arkady was sorry to part from his lady:
he had passed about an hour so pleasantly with
her! To tell the truth, during the whole course
of that time he had constantly felt as though she
were condescending to him, as though he ought to
be grateful to her . . . but young hearts are not
oppressed by that feeling.

The music stopped. " Merd, ^^— said Madame
Odintzoif, rising.—" You have promised to call
on me: bring your friend with you. I have a
great curiosity to see a man who has the boldness
not to believe in an3i;hing."

The Governor approached Madame Odintzoff,
announced that supper was ready, and, with a

128

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

careworn countenance, offered her his arm. As
she walked away, she turned round to bestow a
last smile and nod on Arkady. He bowed low,
gazed after her (how slender her figure seemed to
him, bathed in the greyish lustre of the black
silk!) , and thinking, " At this moment she has al-
ready forgotten my existence," — he felt in his
soul a sort of exquisite submission. . . .

" Well, what now? " — Bazaroff asked Arkady,
as soon as the latter returned to him in his corner.
— " Hast thou had pleasure? A gentleman has
just been telling me that that lady — oi, oi, o'l; but,
apparently, the gentleman is a fool. Well, and,
in thy opinion, what is she, — really ' oi', o'l, oi' '? "

" I do not in the least understand that defini-
tion,"— replied Arkady.

" The idea! What innocence ! "

" In that case, I do not understand your gentle-
man. Madame Odintzoff is very lovely,— that is
indisputable,— but she bears herself so coldly and
strictly, that "

"Still waters . . . thou knowest!" — put in
Bazaroff. " Thou say est she is cold. That 's
precisely where the savour comes in. Thou art
fond of ice-cream, art thou not? "

" Perhaps," starmnered Arkady. — " I cannot
judge as to that. She wishes to make thy ac-
quaintance, and has asked me to bring thee to
her."

" I can imagine How thou hast described me I
129

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

However, thou hast done well. Take me. What-
ever she may be, a simple provincial lioness, or
an ' emandpee ' after the style of Madame Kuk-
shm, I have not seen such shoulders as hers in a
long time."

Arkady writhed at Bazaroff *s cynicism; and, as
frequently happens, he reproved his friend, but
not for the precise thing which he did not like in
him. . . .

" Why art not thou willing to admit freedom
of thought in women? " — he said in a low voice.

" Because, brother, according to my observa-
tions, only the monsters among women think
freely."

At this the conversation terminated. Both
young men went away immediately after supper.
Madame Kukshin laughed behind their backs, in
a nervously-venomous way, but not without trep-
idation : her vanity had been profoundly wounded
by the fact that neither of them had paid her any
attention. She remained later than any one else
at the ball, and at three o'clock in the morning
danced the polka-mazurka with Sitnikoff, in the
Parisian style. And with this edifying spectacle
the gubernatorial festival wound up.

180

XV

" Let us see to what class of mammals these
persons belong,"— said Bazaroff to Arkady on
the following day, as, in company with him, he as-
cended the stairs of the hotel in which Madame
Odintzoff was stopping.—" My nose scents out
that everything is not quite as it should be."

" I am amazed at thee! "—exclaimed Arkady.
— " What? Thou, thou, Bazaroff, art wedded to
that narrow morality which "

" What a queer fellow thou art! " — interrupted
Bazaroff carelessly. — " Is it possible that thou
dost not know that in our jargon, and with the
Hke of us, * not quite as it should be ' signifies * as
it should be ' ? It means there is something to be
gained out of it. Didst not thou thyself say to-
day that she had married strangely?— although,
in my opinion, to marry a wealthy old man is not
at all a strange affair, but, on the contrary, sen-
sible. I do not believe the town gossip ; but I like
to think, as our cultured Governor says, that it
is just."

Arkady made no reply and knocked at the door
of the room. A young footman in livery con-
ducted both friends into a large room, badly fur-

Idl

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

nished, like all rooms in Russian hotels, but filled
with flowers. Madame OdintzofF soon made her
appearance in a simple morning gown. She
seemed still younger, in the light of the spring
sunshine. Arkady presented Bazaroif to her, and
observed, with secret surprise, that the latter ap-
peared to be disconcerted, while Madame Odin-
tzoff remained perfectly tranquil, as on the pre-
ceding evening. BazarofF himself felt that he
was confused, and he grew vexed. " There thou
goesti— thou art afraid of a woman!" he
thought ; and lolling in an arm-chair, in a manner
quite equal to Sitnikoff"s, he began to talk with
exaggerated freedom, while Madame Odintzoff
never took her bright eyes off him.

Anna Sergyeevna OdintzofF was the daugh-
ter of Sergyei Nikolaevitch LoktefF, a famous
beauty, speculator, and gambler, who, after hav-
ing held out and brawled for fifteen years in Pe-
tersburg and Moscow, had ended by utterly ruin-
ing himself at cards, and being compelled to settle
down in the country, where, however, he speedily
died, leaving a diminutive property to his two
daughters, Anna, aged twenty, and Katerma,
aged twelve years. Their mother, from the pov-
erty-stricken race of the Princes X. . . . , had
died in Petersburg while her husband was still in
full feather. The position of Anna, after her
father's death, was very painful. The brilliant
education which she had received in Petersburg

132

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

had not prepared her for the endurance of cares
connected with housekeeping and the house, — for
dull country life. She knew positively no one in
the whole neighbourhood, and had no one with
whom to take counsel. Her father had endeav-
oured to avoid relations with the neighbours; he
scorned them and they scorned him, each after
his fashion. But she did not lose her head, and
immediately wrote to her mother's sister, Princess
Avdotya Stepanovna X. . . . , a malicious and
conceited old woman, who, when she settled
down in her nieces' house, appropriated to herself
the best rooms, grumbled and growled from
morning till night, and never walked, even in the
garden, otherwise than attended by her solitary
serf, a surly lackey in a threadbare, yellowish-grey
livery, with blue galloons and a three-cornered
hat. Anna patiently endured all her aunt's
whims, occupied herself somewhat with her sis-
ter's education, and, apparently, had already rec-
onciled herself to the idea of withering away in
the wilds. . . . But fate decreed differently for
her. A certain Odintzoff saw her by accident, a
very rich man of six-and-f orty, an eccentric, a hy-
pochondriac, plump, heavy, and sour, but not
stupid, and not bad-tempered ; he fell in love with
her, and offered her his hand. She consented to
be his wife, — and he lived with her six years, then
died, having bequeathed his entire property to
her. Anna Sergyeevna did not leave the coun-

183

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

try at all, for about a year after his death; then
she and her sister went abroad, but sojourned only
in Germany: she was bored, and returned to re-
side in her beloved Nikolskoe, which was situated
about forty versts from the town of * * *. There
she had a magnificent, well-furnished house, and
a beautiful park, with hothouses: the late Odin-
tzoff had denied himself nothing. Anna Ser-
gyeevna very rarely made her appearance in
town, and then chiefly on business, and that not
for long. She was not liked in the Government;
there had been a great outcry over her marriage
with Odmtzoif ; all sorts of idle tales were nar-
rated about her : it was asserted that she had aided
her father in his cheating scrapes, that she had
not gone abroad without a cause, compelled
thereto to conceal the unfortunate consequences
. . . . "You understand of what?"— the in-
dignant narrators were wont to wind up. —
*' She has been through fire and water," they
said of her; and the familiar governmental wit
generally added : " and through brass trumpets."
All these comments reached her ; but she let them
pass: she had a free and rather decided
character.

Madame Odintzoff sat, leaning against the
back of her arm-chair, and, clasping her hands,
she listened to BazaroiF. Contrary to his wont, he
talked a good deal, and evidently made efforts to

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

interest his interlocutor, which again surprised
Arkady. He could not make up his mind whether
Bazaroif was attaining his object or not. It was
difficult to divine from Anna Sergyeevna's face
what impressions she was receiving: it preserved
one and the same expression, courteous, refined;
her beautiful eyes beamed with attention, but un-
perturbed attention. BazarofF's airs during the
first moments of his visit had acted unpleasantly
on her, like a bad smell or a harsh sound ; but she
immediately comprehended that he was suffering
from confusion, and this was even flattering to
her. Only the commonplace repelled her, and no
one could have accused Bazaroff of being com-
monplace. It was Arkady's fate to be kept in a
constant state of wonderment on that day. He
had anticipated that Bazaroff would talk to Mad-
ame Odintzoff, as she was a clever woman of his
convictions and views : she herself had expressed a
desire to listen to a man " who has the audacity to
believe in nothing"; but, instead of that, Bazaroff
talked of medicine, of homoeopathy, of botany.
It turned out that Madame Odintzoff had not
wasted her time in her isolation : she had read sev-
eral good books, and expressed herself in correct
Russian. She turned the conversation on music,
but perceiving that Bazaroff did not recognise
art, she quietly returned to botany, although Ar-
kady had started in to discuss the significance of

185

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

popular melodies. Madame Odintzoff continued
to treat him like a younger brother; apparently,
she prized in him the goodness and simple-mind-
edness of youth — and that was all. The conver-
sation lasted more than three hours, leisurely,
varied, and animated.

At last the friends rose and began to take leave.
Anna Sergyeevna gazed cordially at them, of-
fered each of them her beautiful, white hand, and,
after brief reflection, she said, with a decided but
agreeable smile: — " If you are not afraid of
being bored, gentlemen, come to visit me at
Nikolskoe."

" Really, Anna Sergyeevna," — exclaimed Ar-
kady,—" I shall regard it as a special happi-
ness. . . ."

" And you, Monsieur Bazaroff ? "

Bazaroff merely bowed, — and Arkady was
obliged, for the last time, to marvel: he had ob-
served that his friend was blushing.

" Well? "—said he to him in the street: — *' art
thou still of the same opinion, that she is — ' oi,
01,01'?"

" Who knows! Thou seest how she froze her-
self!"— retorted Bazaroff, and, after a pause,
he added: — "A duchess, a reigning personage.
All she needs is to wear a train behind her and a
crown on her head."

" Our duchesses do not speak Russian like
that," — remarked Arkady.

13Q

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

" She has been made over, my dear fellow; she
has eaten our bread."

" And, nevertheless, she is charming," — said
Arkady.

" Such a rich body!" — went on Bazaroff: —
" she might go straight into the anatomical
theatre."

" Stop, for God's sake, Evgeny! Who ever
heard the like!"

" Well, don't get angry, softy. I have said it
— she 's first class. We must go to her house."

" When? "

" Why, suppose we make it the day after to-
morrow. What is there for us to do here ! Drink
champagne with Madame Kukshin? Listen to
thy relative, the liberal big-wig? So let 's flit out
there the day after to-morrow. By the way, too,
my father's little manor-house is not far from
there. That Nikolskoe is on the * * * road,
is n't it?"

" Yes."

" Optime. There's no use in hesitating ; only
fools hesitate— and wise men. I tell thee: 't is a
rich body! "

Three days later, both friends were driving
along the road to Nikolskoe. The day was bright,
and not too hot, and the fat posting-horses trotted
briskly, slightly twitching their twisted and
plaited tails. Arkady gazed at the road, and
smiled, without himself knowing why.

137

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

" Congratulate me,"— exclaimed Bazaroff sud-
denly,—" to-day is the twenty-second of June,
the day of my guardian angel. Let us see how
he takes care of me. They are expecting me at
home to-day," he added, lowering his voice. . . .
" Well, let them wait; it's of no great impor-
tance!"

188

XVI

The manor-house in which dwelt Anna Ser-
gyeevna stood on a sloping, open hill, not far from
a yellow stone church with a green roof, white
pillars, and an al fresco painting over the prin-
cipal entrance, representing the " Resurrection
of Christ," in the " ItaHan " taste. Especially
noteworthy for his rounded contours was a
swarthy warrior, in a short jacket, who sprawled
over the foreground. Behind the church, in two
long rows, extended the village, with chimneys
peeping above the straw thatches here and there.
The manor-house was spacious, in the same style
with the church — the style which is known among
us by the name of the Alexandrine ; this house also
was painted yellow, and had a green roof and
white pillars, and a pediment with a coat of arms.
The governmental architect had erected both
buildings, with the approbation of the deceased
Odintzoff, who could not tolerate any empty and
new-fangled caprices, as he expressed it. Close
to the house on both sides lay the dusky trees of
the ancient park; an avenue of clipped firs led
to the entrance.

Our friends were received in the anteroom by
139

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

two robust footmen in livery ; one of them imme-
diately ran for the butler. The butler, a fat man
in a black dress-coat, immediately presented him-
self, and directed the guests over the rug-covered
staircase to a special room, where already stood
two beds, with all the accessories of the toilet. It
was evident that order reigned in the house:
everything was clean, and there was some agree-
able perfume everywhere about, just as in minis-
terial receptions.

" Anna Sergyeevna begs that you will come
to her in half an hour," — announced the but-
ler:— " have you no orders to give in the mean-
while? "

" We have no orders, my most respected," — re-
phed Bazaroff : — " unless you will be so good as
to bring a glass of vodka."

" I obey, sir,"— said the butler, not without sur-
prise, and retired, with squeaking boots.

"What grand genre!''— TGmsLTked Bazaroff:
— " I believe that is what it is called in your lan-
guage? A duchess, and that 's all there is
about it."

"A good duchess,"— replied Arkady;— "the
very first time she met such mighty aristocrats as
thou and I, she invited us to her house."

" Especially I, who am a medical man, the son
of a medical man, the grandson of a chanter. . . .
Of course thou knewest that I am the grandson
of a chanter? "

140

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

" Like Speransky," ^— added Bazaroff, after a
brief silence and curling his lips. " But she has
indulged herself, all the same ; okh, how this lady
has indulged herself. Ought not we to don our
dress-suits? "

Arkady merely shrugged his shoulders; . . .
but he, too, felt some agitation.

Half an hour later Bazaroff and Arkady en-
tered the drawing-room. It was a spacious, lofty
room, furnished with considerable luxury, but
without any particular taste. The heavy, costly
furniture stood in the customary aflFected order
along the walls, which were covered with light-
brown paper with gilded flowers. Odmtzoif had
ordered it from Moscow through his friend and
commissioner, a liquor dealer. Over the central
divan hung the portrait of a shrivelled, fair-haired
man, — and it seemed to be staring at the visitors
in a hostile manner. "It must be he," whispered
Bazaroff, and wrinkling up his nose, he added,
" Shan't we decamp? "

But at that moment the hostess entered. She
wore a light barege gown; her hair, brushed
smoothly behind her ears, imparted a virginal ex-
pression to her pure, fresh face.

" Thank you for having kept your word,"— she
began; — " stay a while with me: it really is not
bad here. I will introduce you to my sister ; she

1 Speransky rose to be a Count, and a Minister of
Alexander I. — ^TRANstAXOR.

141

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

plays well on the piano. That makes no differ-
ence to you, M'sieu Bazaroff ; but I think you are
fond of music, M'sieu Kirsanoff ; in addition to
my sister, my old aunt lives with me, and a neigh-
bour sometimes drops in to play cards : that is our
entire society. But now let us sit down."

Madame OdintzofF uttered this little speech
with peculiar distinctness, as though she had com-
mitted it to memory; then she turned to Arkady.
It appeared that her mother had known Arkady's
mother, and had even been the confidante of her
love for Nikolai Petrovitch. Arkady began to
talk with fervour about the dead woman; and, in
the meantime, Bazaroif occupied himself with in-
specting the albums. " What a meek individual
I have become," he said to himself.

A handsome greyhound, with a blue collar, ran
into the drawing-room, clattering his claws on the
floor, and after him entered a young girl of eigh-
teen, with black hair and brown complexion, a
rather chubby but pleasing face, and small dark
eyes. She held in her hand a basket filled with
flowers. " Here is my Katya," said Madame
Odintzoff', indicating her by a movement of the
head.

Katya made a slight curtsey, placed herself be-
side her sister, and began to sort over her flowers.
The greyhound, whose name was Fifi, approached
each visitor in turn, wagging his tail, and thrust
his cold nose into the hand of each of them.

142

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

" Didst thou pluck all those thyself? "—asked
Madame Odintzoff .

" Yes," — replied Katya.

" And is aunty coming to tea? "

" Yes."

When Katya spoke she smiled very prettily,
bashfully, and candidly, and looked upwards from
below in a comically-grim manner. Everything
about her was still extremely youthful : her voice,
and the fine down all over her face, and her rosy
hands, with whitish circles on the palms, and her
rather cramped shoulders. . . She was inces-
santly blushing and hastily catching her breath.

Madame Odintzoff turned to Bazaroff. —
" You are looking at those pictures out of polite-
ness, Evgeny Vasilitch," — she began. — " They do
not interest you. You had better move up nearer
us, and we will get into an argument over some-
thing or other."

Bazaroff approached. — *' What shall we argue
about? " — he said.

" About anything you like. I warn you that
I am a frightfully quarrelsome person."

"You?"

" Yes, I. That seems to surprise you. Why? "

" Because, so far as I can judge, you have a
calm and cold nature, and for dispute enthusiasm
is necessary."

" How is it that you have succeeded in finding
me out so promptly? In the first place, I am im-

143

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

patient and persistent: ask Katya if I am not;
and, in the second place, I am very easily aroused
to enthusiasm."

Bazaroff looked at Anna Sergyeevna. — " Per-
haps you ought to know best. So you would like
to dispute, — very well. I have been looking over
the views of the Saxon Switzerland in your
album, and you have remarked to me that that
could not interest me. You said that because you
do not suspect me of having artistic sense, — and,
is a matter of fact, I have not ; but I might take
an interest in those pictures from a geological
point of view — from the point of view of the for-
mation of mountains, for example."

" Excuse me; as a geologist you would be more
likely to have recourse to a book, to a special work,
and not to a drawing."

" The drawing presents to me at a glance
that which in the book is set forth in ten whole
pages."

Anna Sergyeevna was silent for a while.

" And have you really not a tiny drop of artis-
tic sense? " — she said, setting her elbows on the
table, and by that very movement bringing her
face closer to Bazaroff. — " How do you get along
without it?"

" What is the use of it, permit me to inquire? "

" Why, if for nothing else, that one may learn
how to understand and study people."

Bazaroff laughed. — " In the first place, the ex-
144

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

perience of life exists for that purpose; and, in
the second place, I must inform you that it is not
worth while to study separate individuals. All
people resemble one another, in soul as in body;
each one of us has brain, spleen, heart, lungs, of
identical structure ; and the so-called moral quali-
ties are exactly alike in all: the slight difference
of aspect signifies nothing. One specimen of hu-
manity is sufficient to enable us to judge of all the
rest. Men are like the trees in a forest — not a
single botanist will busy himself with each sepa-
rate birch."

Katya, who was matching flower to flower in
a leisurely way, raised her eyes to Bazaroff* in sur-
prise,— and encountering his swift and careless
glance, flushed crimson to her very ears. Anna
Sergyeevna shook her head.

" The trees in the forest," — she repeated. —
" So, according to you, there is no difference be-
tween a stupid and a clever man, between a good
one and a bad one."

'' Yes, there is : as there is between a well man
and a sick one. The lungs of the consumptive
are not in the same conditions as yours and mine
are, although they are constructed in the same
manner. We know, approximately, whence come
bodily ailments ; but moral ailments proceed from
a bad education, from all sorts of nonsense with
which people's heads are stuffed from their in-
fancy, from the abnormal condition of society — in

145

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

a word, reform society, and there will be no dis-
ease."

Bazaroff said all this with an aspect which
seemed to indicate that, at the same time, he was
saying to himself: " Whether you believe me or
not, it 's all one to me ! " He slowly drew his long
fingers through his side-whiskers and his eyes
wandered about the corners of the room.

" And you assume,"— said Anna Sergyeevna,
— " that when society shall have been reformed
there will be no more stupid, no more wicked,
men?"

"At all events, with a regular arrangement
of society, it will not matter whether a man is
stupid or clever, wicked or good."

"Yes, I understand; all will have identically
the same spleen."

" Precisely that, madam."

Madame OdintzofF turned to Arkady.—" And
what is your opinion, Arkady Nikolaevitch? "

" I agree with Evgeny,"— he replied.

Katya cast a sidelong glance at him.
, " You amaze me, gentlemen," — said Madame
Odintzoff; — "but we will discuss this later on.
And now I hear my aunt coming to drink tea; we
must spare her ears."

Anna Sergyeevna's aunt, Princess X . . . , a
thin, small woman, with a face about the size of
one's fist, and staring, malicious eyes beneath her
grey wig, entered, and hardly saluting the visitors,

146

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

dropped down in a capacious velvet arm-chair, in
which no one except herself had a right to sit.
Katya placed a stool under her feet; the old
woman did not thank her, did not even look at
her, only moved her hands about under the yeUow
shawl, which covered almost the whole of her
puny body. The Princess loved yellow: she also
had bright yellow ribbons on her cap.

" How have you slept, aunty? " — asked Ma-
dame Odintzoff , lowering her voice.

" There 's that dog here again,"— growled the
old woman in response; and noticing that Fifi
took a couple of undecided steps in her direction,
she cried out: " Scat! scat! "

Katya called Fifi, and opened the door for him.

Fifi rushed joyously forth, in the hope that
he would be taken for a walk, but on finding him-
self alone outside the door, began to scratch and
whine. The Princess frowned. Katya started to
go out. . . .

"Tea is ready, I think?"— said Madame
Odintzoff. — "Come, gentlemen; aunty, please
come and drink tea."

The Princess rose in silence from her chair and
left the drawing-room first. All followed her to
the dining-room. A page-boy in livery noisily
moved away from the table a chair garnished with
piUows, also sacred to her use, in which the Prin-
cess seated herself; Katya, when she poured the
tea, served her first in a cup with a painted coat

147

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

of arms. The old woman put honey in her cup
(she thought it sinful to drink tea with sugar,*
and expensive, although she herself did not spend
a farthing on this), and suddenly inquired, in a
hoarse voice: "And what does Prance Ivan
write? "

No one answered her. Bazaroff and Arkady
speedily divined that no one paid any attention to
her, although they treated her respectfully. " For
the sake of maintaining their dignity, because she
is a princely sprig," thought BazarofF. . . After
tea Anna Sergyeevna suggested that they should
go for a stroll, but a fine rain began to fall, and
the whole company, with the exception of the
Princess, returned to the drawing-room. The
neighbour who was fond of cards, by name Por-
firy Platonitch, arrived, — a fat, grey -haired man,
with short legs, which looked just as though they
had been turned in a lathe, a very pohte and
entertaining person. Anna Sergyeevna, who had
been chatting principally with BazarofF, asked
him whether he would not like to have an old-fash-
ioned battle at preference with him. Bazaroff
consented, saying that he must prepare himself
in advance for the duties of a country doctor
which awaited him.

" Take care,"— remarked Anna Sergyeevna,—

^ Probably, on the same ground that the devout do not use sugar
during the Church fasts, viz., because it is clarified with blood — ^an
animal substance. — Tbanslatob.

148

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

" Porfiry Platonitch and I shall beat you. And
do thou, Katya," — she added, — " play something
for Arkady Nikolaevitch ; he is fond of music,
and we will listen also."

Katya went unwillingly to the piano ; and Ar-
kady, although he really was fond of music, un-
willingly followed her : it seemed to him that Ma-
dame OdintzofF was sending him away, — and in
his heart, as in the heart of every young man of
his age, there was seething an agitated and op-
pressive feeling, resembling a presentiment of
love. Katya raised the lid of the piano, and,
without looking at Arkady, said in an undertone :

" What shall I play for you? "

" Whatever you like,"— replied Arkady indif-
ferently.

" What sort of music do you prefer? " — re-
peated Katya, without changing her position.

" Classical,"— replied Arkady, in the same
tone.

"Do you like Mozart?"

" Yes."

Katya got Mozart's Sonata-Fantasia in C
minor. She played very well, although rather se-
verely and dryly. She sat motionless and stiff,
never taking her eyes from her notes, and with
lips tightly compressed, and only toward the end
of the sonata did her face grow flushed, and a lit-
tle strand of uncurled hair fall on her forehead.

Arkady was particularly struck by the last
149

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

part of the sonata— by that part in which, through
the enchanting mirth of the care-free melody,
bursts of such mournful, almost tragic woe, sud-
denly penetrate. . . But the thoughts evoked in
him by the strains of Mozart did not refer to
Katya. As he gazed at her he merely thought:
" Really, this young lady does not play badly, and
she herself is not bad-looking."

When she had finished the sonata Katya in-
quired, without removing her hands from the
keys, " Is that enough? " Arkady declared that he
did not dare to inconvenience her further, and be-
gan to talk to her about Mozart; he asked her
whether she had chosen that sonata herself, or had
some one recommended it to her? But Katya an-
swered him in monosyllables : she had hidden her-
self , retreated into herself. When that happened
with her she did not speedily come to the surface ;
at such times her very face assumed an obstinate,
almost stupid expression. She was not precisely
shy, but distrustful and rather terrified by her
sister, who had reared her, which the latter, of
course, did not even suspect. Arkady ended by
calling up Fifi, who had returned, and, by way of
keeping himself in countenance, began to stroke
his head, smiling benevolently. Katya betook
herself again to her flowers.

And, in the meantime, Bazaroff kept losing
and losing. Anna Sergyeevna played a masterly
hand at cards; Porfiry Platonitch also could

150

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

stand up for himself. BazarofF was the loser,
and although not to any considerable extent, yet
it was not altogether pleasant for him. After
supper Anna Sergyeevna turned the conversation
upon botany again.

" Let us go for a walk to-morrow morning," —
she said to him; — " I wish to learn from you the
Latin names of the field-plants and their proper-
ties."

" What do you want with the Latin names? "
— asked Bazar off.

" One must have order in everything,"— she re-
pUed.

" What a marvellous woman Anna Sergye-
evna is," — exclaimed Arkady, when he was
alone with his friend in the chamber assigned to
them.

" Yes,"— rephed BazaroiF,— " a woman with a
brain. Well, and she has seen sights."

" In what sense dost thou say that, Evgeny
Vasilitch? "

" In a good sense, a good sense, my dear Ar-
kady Nikolaevitch ! I am convinced that she
manages her estate excellently. But the marvel
is not she, but her sister."

" What? That brown-faced little thing? "

" Yes, that brown-faced little thing. She 's
fresh, and unsullied, and timid, and taciturn, and
anything you like. That 's a person one can get
interested in. You can make of her anything you

151

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

take it into your head to make; but the other — is
a shrewd creature."

Arkady made no reply to Bazaroff, and both
of them lay down to sleep with special thoughts
in their heads.

And Anna Sergyeevna on that same evening
was thinking of her guests. She liked BazarofF
— his absence of coquetry and the very harshness
of his judgments. She discerned in him some-
thing new which she had not hitherto chanced to
encounter, and she was curious.

Anna Sergyeevna was rather a strange being.
Devoid of prejudices, devoid even of any strong
beliefs, she yielded to no one and followed no one.
She saw much clearly, much interested her, and
nothing completely satisfied her; and complete
satisfaction was hardly what she wanted. Her
mind was inquisitive and indifferent at one and
the same time : her doubts were never appeased to
forgetfulness and never increased to alarm. Had
she not been wealthy and independent, she might
possibly have flung herself into the fray and have
known passion. . . But life was easy for her, al-
though she was sometimes bored; she continued
to pass day after day in a leisurely man-
ner, only growing agitated now and then. Rain-
bow hues sometimes flashed up before her eyes
also, but she breathed more freely when they had
faded away, and she did not regret them. Her
imagination carried her even beyond the bounds

152

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

of that which, according to the ordinary laws of
morahty, is considered permissible ; but even then
her blood flowed as quietly as ever in her entranc-
ingly-stately and tranquil body. There were
times when, on emerging from a perfumed bath,
all warm and enervated, she took to meditating
upon the insignificance of life, its woe, toil and
evil. . . Her soul would be filled with sudden au-
dacity, would seethe with noble aspiration; but
let a draught blow through the half -open
window and Anna Sergyeevna would shrink to-
gether, and complain and almost wax angry, and
she wanted only one thing at such moments:
that that hateful wind should not blow upon
her.

Like all women who have not managed to fall
in love, she wanted something — precisely what she
did not know. As a matter of fact, she wanted
nothing, although it seemed to her that she wanted
everything. She had barely tolerated the late
Odintzoff^ (she had married him from calculation,
although, in all probability, she would not have
consented to be his wife if she had not regarded
him as a kind man) , and had acquired a secret dis-
gust for all men, whom she pictured to herself as
dirty, heavy and indolent, impotently tiresome
beings. Once, somewhere abroad, she had met a
young man, a handsome Swede, with a knightly
expression of countenance, with honest blue eyes
beneath an open brow ; he had made a strong im-

153

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

pression upon her, but this had not prevented hei
returning to Russia.

*'A strange man, that doctor!" she thought,
as she lay down in her magnificent bed on her lace
pillows under a light silken coverlet. . . . Anna
Ser^j^^eevna had inherited from her father a por-
tion of his inclination for luxury. She had been
very fond of her sinful but kind father, and he
had idolised her, had jested with her in friendly
wise as with an equal, and had trusted her utterly
— had taken counsel with her. She hardly remem-
bered her mother.

" That doctor is a strange fellow! " she re-
peated to herself. She stretched herself, smiled,
threw her arms behind her head, then ran her eyes
over the pages of a couple of dull French ro-
mances— and fell asleep, all pure and cold, in her
clean and perfumed linen.

On the following morning Anna Sergyeevna,
immediately after breakfast, went off to botanise
with BazarofF, and returned home just before din-
ner; Arkady did not go off anywhere, and spent
about an hour with Katya. He did not find him-
self bored in her society; she offered of her own
accord to repeat for him the sonata she had played
on the day before; but when, at last, Madame
OdintzofF returned, when he beheld her— his
heart instantly contracted within him. . . . She
was walking through the garden with a some-
what fatigued step; her cheeks were of a vivid

154

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

scarlet, and her eyes were shining more brilliantly
than usual beneath her round straw hat. She was
twirling in her fingers the slender stem of a wild
flower, her light mantilla had sHpped down to her
elbows, and the broad grey ribbons of her hat
clung closely to her bosom. BazarofF was walk-
ing behind her in a self-confident, careless way,
as always, but the expression of his face, although
it was cheerful and even bland, did not please
Arkady. Muttering through his teeth, " Good
morning! " — Bazaroff went off to his room, and
Madame Odintzoff shook hands with Arkady in
a preoccupied way, and also walked on past him.
" Good morning," — thought Arkady. . . .
" But have we not seen each other already to-
day?"

155

XVII

It is a familiar fact that time sometimes flies like
a bird, Sometimes crawls like a worm; but a man
is particularly happy when he does not notice
whether it is passing swiftly or slowly. In pre-
cisely this manner did Arkady and BazarofF
spend a fortnight at Madame OdintzofF's. This
result was contributed to by the order which she
had introduced into her household and her life.
She adhered strictly to it, and made others con-
form to it also. Throughout the whole day every-
thing was done at an appointed time. In the
morning, exactly at eight o'clock, the whole com-
pany assembled for tea ; from tea until breakfast
each one did whatever he wished, and the hostess
busied herself with her steward (the estate was
managed on the quit-rent system) , with her but-
lers, and with the head-housekeeper. Before din-
ner the company again assembled for conversa-
tion or reading; the evening was devoted to
strolls, cards, music; at half -past ten Anna Ser-
gyeevna retired to her own room, issued orders
for the following day, and went to bed. Bazaroff
did not like this measured, somewhat solemn reg-
ularity of daily life: " You roll along as though

1,56

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

on rails," he asserted; the liveried lackeys, the
stately butlers, offended his democratic feehng.
He thought that if it had come to that then they
ought to dine in English fashion, in dress-suits
and white ties. One day he stated his views on
this point to Anna Sergyeevna. She bore herself
in such a manner that any man could, without cir-
cumlocution, express his opinions in her presence.
She heard him out, and said : " From your point
of view, you are right — and, perhaps, in that case,
— I am a gentlewoman; but one cannot live with-
out order in the country, — one would be bored to
death," — and went on in her own way. Bazaroff
grumbled, but he and Arkady found life easy
at Madame Odintzoff 's, because everything in her
house did " run as though on rails." Neverthe-
less, both young men underwent a change from
the very first days of their stay at Nikolskoe. A
trepidation hitherto non-existent made its appear-
ance in Bazaroff, whom Anna Sergyeevna ob-
viously favoured: he was easily irritated, talked
unwillingly, wore an angry aspect, and could not
sit still in one place, just as though something
made him uneasy; and Arkady, who had finally
decided in his own mind that he was in love with
Madame Odintzoff, began to surrender himself
to gentle melancholy. However, this melancholy
did not prevent his becoming intimate with
Katya; it even aided him to enter into friendly,
affectionate relations with her. "She does not

157

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

appreciate me ! So be it! . . . But here is a kind
being who will not spurn me," he thought, and
his heart again tasted the sweetness of magnani-
mous sentiments. Katya dimly comprehended
that he was seeking some sort of consolation in her
society, and did not refuse to him or to herself
the innocent gratification of a half -bashful, half-
confiding friendship. They did not talk to each
other in the presence of Anna Sergyeevna : Katya
always contracted beneath her sister's keen
glance, and Arkady, as was befitting a man in
love, in the presence of his adored object could
not devote any attention to anything else ; but he
was happy alone with Katya. He felt that he was
not capable of interesting JNIadame Odintzoif ; he
became timid and lost his presence of mind when
he was left alone with her ; and she did not know
what to say to him : he was too young for her. On
the other hand, with Katya Arkady was at home,
as it were ; he treated her condescendingly, did not
interfere with her expressing the impressions
awakened in her by music, the perusal of novels,
of poetry, and by other trifles, without himself
perceiving or acknowledging that these trifles in-
terested him. Arkady was at ease with Katya,
Madame Odintzoff with Bazaroif, and conse-
quently this was the usual order of things: the
two couples after remaining a short time together
went their separate ways, especially during ram-
bles. Katya adored nature, and Arkady loved it,

158

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

although he did not dare to confess it; Madame
Odintzoff was quite indifferent to it, as was also
Bazaroff. The almost constant separation of our
friends did not remain without results: the rela-
tions between them began to undergo a change.
Bazaroff ceased to talk to Arkady about Madame
Odintzoff, ceased even to revile her " aristocratic
habits" ; it is true that he lauded Katya as before,
and only advised that her sentimental tenden-
cies should be checked, but his praises were hasty,
his advice curt, and, in general, he talked much
less to Arkady than of yore: ... he seemed to
shun him, as though he were ashamed in his pres-
ence. . . .

Arkady observed all this, but kept his observa-
tions to himself.

The real cause of all this " novelty " was the
sentiment with which Madame Odintzoff had in-
spired Bazaroff — a sentiment which tortured and
enraged him, and which he would have spurned
on the instant, with scornful laughter and cynical
sneers, had any one hinted, even distantly, at the
possibility of that which had taken place in him,
Bazaroff. Bazaroff was very fond of women
and of feminine beauty, but love in the ideal, or,
as he expressed it, the romantic sense, he called
balderdash, unpardonable folly; regarded chival-
rous sentiments as a sort of deformity or malady,
and had more than once given utterance to his
amazement at their not having put Toggenburg,

159

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

along with all his minnesingers and troubadours,
in a mad-house! " If a woman pleases you," he
had been wont to say, " try to get to the bottom
of the business; but if that is impossible,
well, you don't want her; turn away, she's not
the only one in the world." Madame Odintzoff
pleased him : the rimiours in circulation about her,
the freedom and independence of her thoughts,
her indubitable liking for him, — everything, ap-
parently, spoke in his favour; but he speedily
comprehended that with her one could not " get
to the bottom of the business," and that, to
his own amazement, he had not the strength
to turn away from her. His blood began to
boil as soon as he called her to mind; he
could easily have controlled his blood, but some-
thing else had taken up its abode in him, which
he in nowise admitted, over which he was forever
sneering, which revolted his pride. In his conver-
sations with Anna Sergyeevna he more than ever
expressed his indifferent scorn for everything ro-
mantic ; and when he was left alone he recognised
with wrath the romantic in himself. Then he
went oiF to the forest and roamed about it in huge
strides, breaking the boughs which came in his
way, and cursing in an undertone both her and
himself; or he ensconced himself in the hay-loft,
in a shed, and, obstinately shutting his eyes, he
forced himself to sleep, which, as a matter of
course, he did not always succeed in doing, All

160

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

at once it would seem to him as though those
chaste arms were encircling his neck, those proud
lips were responding to his kisses, those intelligent
eyes were riveted tenderly, — yes, tenderly, — on
his eyes, and his head would begin to reel, and he
would forget himself for a moment until indigna-
tion again flared up within him. He caught him-
self in all sorts of "shameful" thoughts, as though
a demon were tormenting him. It sometimes
seemed to him that a change was taking place in
Madame Odmtzoff*, that in the expression of her
face something peculiar had made its appearance,
but that possibly. . . . But at this point he gen-
erally stamped his foot, or gnashed his teeth, and
menaced himself with his clenched fist.

Nevertheless, Bazaroif was not mistaken. He
had struck Madame OdintzofF's imagination; he
interested her, and she thought a great deal about
him. She was not bored in his absence, she did not
wait for him, but his appearance immediately
imparted animation to her ; she willingly remained
alone with him, and hked to talk with him, even
when he angered her, or offended her taste, her
elegant habits. She seemed to be desirous of both
testing him and sounding herself.

One day as he was strolling in the garden with
her he suddenly said, in a surly voice, that he
intended soon to go away to the village to his
father. . . She turned pale, as though something
had stung her heart, and stung it in such wise that

161

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

she was surprised, and meditated for a long time
what this might mean. Bazaroif had informed
her of his departure, not with the idea of putting
her to the test to see what would come of it: he
never " invented." On the morning of that day
he had had an interview with his father's man-
ager, his former valet, Timofeitch. This Timo-
feitch, an experienced and alert old man, with
faded yellow hair, weather-beaten red face, and
tiny tear-drops in his blinking eyes, had unex-
pectedly presented himself to Bazaroif in his
short overcoat of thick, greyish-blue cloth, girt
with a fragment of leather, and in tarred boots.

"Ah, old man, how art thou! "—exclaimed
Bazaroif.

" Good morning, dear little father Evgeny Va-
sflitch," — began the little old man, and smiled
joyously, which caused his whole face suddenly to
be covered with wrinkles.

" Why art thou come? Have they sent thee
forme?"

" Good gracious, dear little father, how can you
think that! "—lisped Timofeitch (he called to
mind the strict orders he had received from his
master when he set out).— "I was going to
town on business and heard about your grace, so
I turned aside on the way, that is — to have a look
at your grace ; . . . . but how could any one feel
uneasy? "

" Come, don't lie,"— Bazaroif interrupted him.
162

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

— " Dost thou mean to say that thy road to town
lies here ? " Timof eitch hesitated and made no re-
ply.—" Is my father well? "

" Yes. Glory to God, sir."

"And my mother?"

" And Arina Vlasievna also, glory to Thee, O
Lord."

" I suppose they are expecting me! "

The little old man hung his tiny head on one
side,—" Akh, Evgeny Vasilievitch, how can they
help expecting you, sir! As you believe in God,
my heart has ached as I looked at your parents."

" Well, very good, very good! Don't describe
it. Tell them that I will come soon."

" I obey, sir,"— replied Timof eitch, with a sigh.

As he emerged from the house he banged his
cap down on his head with both hands, cHmbed
into the mean racing drozhky which he had left
at the gate, and drove off at a trot, only not in the
direction of the town.

On the evening of the same day Madame
Odintzoff was sitting in her room with Bazaroif ,
while Arkady was pacing the music-room and lis-
tening to Katya's playing. The Princess had re-
tired to her own room up-stairs; in general, she
could not bear visitors, and in particular these
" sans culottes," as she called them. In the state
apartments she did nothing but pout; on the other
hand, in her own room, in the presence of her
maid, she sometimes broke out into such abuse

163

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

that her cap flew off her head in company with
her wig. Madame Odintzoff was aware of this.

" Why are you preparing to leave," — she be-
gan;— " and how about your promise? "

Bazaroff started. — " What promise, madam? "

*' Have you forgotten? You were to give me
a few lessons in chemistry."

" What is to be done, ma'am? My father ex-
pects me; I can delay no longer. However, you
can read : Pelouze et Fremy, * Notions Generales
de Chimie ' ; it is a good book and clearly written.
In it you will find everything that is necessary."

" But remember you assured me that a book
cannot take the place .... I have forgotten how
you expressed yourself, but you know what I
want to say, .... do you remember? "

" What is to be done, ma'am? " — repeated Ba-
zaroff.

" Why go? "—said Madame Odintzoff, lower-
ing her voice.

He glanced at her. She had thrown her head
against the back of the arm-chair and had crossed
her hands — her arms were bare to the elbow — on
her lap. She seemed paler by the light of the soU-
tary lamp, shaded by a network of cut paper.
Her ample white gown almost completely covered
her with its soft folds ; the tips of her feet, which
were also crossed, were barely visible.

" And why stay? "—replied Bazaroff.

Madame Odintzoff turned her head shghtly.—
164.

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

" What do you mean by asking why? Don't you
find things cheerful in my house? Or do you
think that no one will regret you here? "

" I am convinced of that."

Madame Odintzoff was silent for a space. —
" You are mistaken in thinking so. However, I
do not believe you. You cannot have said that
seriously."

Bazaroff continued to sit there motionless. —
" Evgeny VasiHevitch, why do not you speak? "

" But what can I say to you? It is not worth
while to regret people in general, and me in par-
ticular."

" Why so? "

" I am a sedate, uninteresting man. I do not
know how to talk."

" You are begging for a compliment, Evgeny
VasiHevitch."

" That is not my habit. Do not you know your-
self that the elegant side of hf e is inaccessible to
me, the side which you value so highly? "

Madame Odintzoff nibbled the corner of her
handkerchief.—" Think what you like, but I
shall find it dull when you are gone."

" Arkady will remain,"— remarked Bazaroff.

Madame Odintzoff shrugged her shoulders
sHghtly. — " I shall find it dull,"— she repeated.

" Really? In any case, you will not be bored
long."

" Why do you assume that? "
165

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

" Because you yourself have told me that you
are bored only when your order is disturbed. You
have arranged your life in such an impeccably-
regular manner that there can be no room in it
for irksomeness or dulness ... or for any pain-
ful feelings."

*' And you think that I am impeccable? . . .
that is to say, that I have arranged my hf e in such
a regular manner? "

" Certainly ! Here, for example : in a few min-
utes the clock will strike ten, and I know before-
hand that you will drive me away."

" No, I shall not drive you away, Evgeny Va-
silievitch. You may stay. Open that window. . .
I feel stifled for some reason."

BazarofF rose and pushed the window. It im-
mediately flew open with a bang. . . He had not
expected that it would open so readily ; moreover,
his hands were trembhng. The dark, soft night
peered into the room with its almost black sky,
faintly rustling trees, and fresh odour of the open,
pure air.

" Pull down the shade and sit down,"— said
Madame Odintzoff :— " I want to have a chat with
you before your departure. Tell me something
about yourself; you never talk about yourself."

" I try to talk to you about useful subjects,
Anna Sergyeevna."

" You are very modest. . . But I should like to
know something about you, about your family,
. 166

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

about your father, for whom you are abandon-
ing us."

" Why does she say such words? " thought Ba-
zarofF.

" All that is not in the least interesting," — ^he
articulated aloud: — " especially for you; we are
ordinary people "

" And I, in your opinion, am an aristocrat? "

Bazaroff raised his eyes to Madame Odintzoff.
— " Yes," he said, with exaggerated sharpness.

She laughed. — " I see that you know me very
little, although you assert that all people are
alike, and that it is not worth while to study
them. I will narrate the story of my life to you

some day; but first you must tell me

yours."

" I know you very httle,"— repeated Bazaroff.
—"Perhaps you are right; perhaps, in reality,
every human being is — a riddle. Just take your-
self, for example : you shun society, it is a burden
to you, — and you have invited two students to re-
side with you. Why do you, with your mind, with
your beauty, live in the country? "

" What? What is that you said? "—Madame
Odintzoff caught him up with animation—" With
my beauty? "

Bazaroff frowned.—" That is nothing," — ^he
muttered;—" I wanted to say that I do not thor-
oughly understand why you have settled down in
the country."

167

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

1 " You do not understand that. . . . But you

explain it to yourself in some way or other? "

"Yes; I suppose you remain con-
stantly in one place because you have indulged
yourself, because you love comfort, ease, and are
very indifferent to everything else."

Madame Odintzoff laughed again.—" You are
positively determined not to believe that I am
capable of being carried away? "

Bazaroff cast a sidelong glance at her. — " By
curiosity, — perhaps, but not otherwise."

" Really? Well, now I understand why you
and I have become friends; for you are just such
a person as myself."

" We have become friends . . . ." said Baza-
roff, dully.

"Yes! .... but I had forgotten that you
want to go away."

Bazaroff rose. The lamp burned dimly in the
centre of the shadowy, perfumed, isolated room;
through the curtain, which fluttered now and
then, the exhilarating freshness of the night was
wafted in, its mysterious whispering was audible.
Madame Odintzoff did not move a single mem-
ber, but a secret agitation was gradually seizing
hold upon her. ... It communicated itself to
Bazaroff. She suddenly became conscious that
he was alone with a young and beautiful
woman. . . .

" Where are you going? " — she said slowly.
168

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

He made no reply and dropped into a chair.

" So you regard me as a calm, eiFeminate,
spoiled being,"— she went on ki the same tone,
never taking her eyes from the window. — " But
as for me, I know as to myself that I am un-
happy."

" You are unhappy 1 Why? Is it possible that
you can attach any significance to vile gossip? "

Madame OdintzofF knit her brows. She was
vexed that he had understood her in that way.

" That gossip does not even disturb me, Ev-
geny Vasilievitch, and I am too proud to permit
it to worry me. I am unhappy because ... I
have no wish, no desire to live. You look at me
incredulously ; you are thinking : An * aristocrat,'
all covered with lace and seated in a velvet arm-
chair, is saying iJiat. And I do not dissimulate:
I do love what you call comfort, and, at the same
time, I have very little desire to live. Accept
this contradiction as you like. However, all this
is romanticism in your eyes."

Bazaroff shook his head.—" You are healthy,
independent, rich; what more do you require?
What do you want? "

" What do I want? "—repeated Madame
Odintzoff, and sighed.—" I am very weary; I
am old ; it seems to me that I have been living for
a very great while. Yes, I am old,"— she added,
gently drawing the ends of her mantilla over her
bare arms. — Her eyes encountered BazaroiF's

169

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

eyes, and she blushed faintly.—" There are so
many memories behind me: life in Petersburg,
wealth, then poverty, then my father's death, mar-
riage, then a trip abroad, as was proper. . . .
Many memories, but it is not worth while to recall
them; and before me — is a long, long road, but
I have no goal. . . And I do not want to go
on."

" Are you so disenchanted? "—asked Bazaroff .

" No,"— rejoined Madame OdintzofF bro-
kenly,— " but I am dissatisfied. I think that if I
could become strongly attached to anything . ."

" You want to fall in love," — Bazaroff inter-
rupted her, — "and you cannot fall in love;
therein lies your misfortune."

Madame Odintzoff inspected the sleeve of her
wrap.

" Cannot I fall in love? "—she said.

" Hardly ! Only I erred in calling that a mis-
fortune. On the contrary, he is rather deserving
of compassion to whom that fate befalls."

"Befalls, -what?"

" To fall in love."

" And how do you know that? "

" By hearsay," — replied Bazaroff angrily.

"Thou art flirting," he thought; "thou art
bored and art teasing me for the lack of some-
thing to do, and I . . . ." In fact, his heart was
fairly breaking.

" Besides, you may be too exacting,"— he said,
170

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

bending his whole body forward and playing with
the fringe on the arm-chair.

" Possibly. According to my view, it is all or
nothing. A Hf e for a life. Thou hast taken mine,
hand over thine, and then we can proceed without
regret and without return. Otherwise, better let
it alone."

" What then? "—remarked BazarofF.— " That
condition is perfectly just, and I am surprised
that up to this time you .... have not found
what you want."

" But do you think it is easy to surrender one's
self entirely to anything whatever? "

"It is not easy if one takes to reflecting and
waiting and sets a value on one's self — esteems
one's self, that is ; but to surrender one's self with-
out reflection is very easy."

" But how can one help valuing one's self? If
I have no value, who wants my devotion? "

" That is no aff'air of mine; it is the aff'air of
some one else to examine into the question of my
value. The principal thing is to know how to sur-
render one's self."

Madame Odintzofi^ separated herself from the
back of her chair.—" You speak,"— said she—
" as though you had gone through all that."

" It was a slip of the tongue, Anna Sergye-
evna: all that, as you know, is not in my line."

" But would you know how to surrender your-
self? "

171

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

" I do not know how ; I will not boast."

Madame Odintzoff said nothing, and BazarofF
relapsed into silence. The sounds of the piano
were wafted to them from the drawing-
room.

" What makes Katya play so late? " — re-
marked Madame Odintzoff.

Bazaroff rose. " Yes, it really is late ; it is
time for you to go to bed."

" Wait. Whither are you hastening. . . I
must say one word more to you."

" What word? "

" Wait,"— whispered Madame Odintzoff.—
Her eyes rested on Bazaroff; she seemed to be at-
tentively inspecting him.

He paced the room, then suddenly approached
her, said hastily " Farewell," gripped her hand so
that she almost screamed aloud, and went out.
She raised her fingers, which stuck together, to
her lips, blew upon them, and rising suddenly, im-
pulsively from her chair, walked to the door with
rapid steps, as though desirous of recalling Baza-
roff. . . . Her maid entered the room with a carafe
on a silver salver. Madame Odintzoff stopped
short, ordered her to leave the room, seated
herself again, and again fell into thought.
Her hair uncoiled and fell on her shoulder like a
dark-hued serpent. The lamp burned for a long
time still in Anna Sergyeevna's chamber, and for
a long time she remained motionless, only now

172

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

and then passing her fingers over her arms, which
the night air stung rather sharply.

But BazarofF two hours later returned to his
room with boots damp from the dew, dishevelled
and surly. He found Arkady at the writing-
table with a book in his hands and his coat but-
toned to the throat.

" Thou art not yet in bed? "—he said, as though
in vexation.

" Thou hast sat a long time this evening with
Anna Sergyeevna," — remarked Arkady, without
replying to his question.

" Yes, I was sitting with her all the while that
you and Katerina Sergyeevna were playing on
the piano."

" I was not playing . . . ." began Arkady,
and stopped short. He felt the tears welling up
in his eyes and he did not wish to weep in the pres-
ence of his jeering friend.

173

XVIII

On the following day, when Madame Odintzoff
made her appearance at tea, BazaroiF sat for a
long time bent over his cup, then suddenly cast a
glance at her. . . She turned toward him, as
though he had nudged her, and it seemed to him
that her face had grown somewhat paler over-
night. She soon went away to her own room and
did not appear again until breakfast. From early
morning the weather had been rainy, and walking
was impossible. The whole company assembled
in the drawing-room. Arkady got the last num-
ber of the newspaper and began to read aloud.
The Princess, according to her wont, first ex-
pressed amazement on her face, exactly as though
he were plotting something improper, then riveted
her eyes maliciously upon him ; but he paid no at-
tention to her.

" Evgeny Vasilievitch," — said Anna Sergye-

evna,— " come to my room I want to ask

you .... you mentioned yesterday a guide ..."

She rose and went toward the door. The Prin-
cess glanced around with an expression which
seemed to say, " Look, look, how astonished I
am! " and again bored her eyes into Arkady, but

174

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

he raised his voice, and exchanging a glance with
Katya, beside whom he was sitting, went on
reading.

Madame Odfntzoff, with hasty steps, betook
herself to her boudoir. Bazaroif briskly followed
her, without raising his eyes, and merely catching
with his ear the faint whirr and rustle of her
silken gown, which was gliding on in front of him.
Madame Odintzoff dropped into the same arm-
chair in which she had sat on the preceding even-
ing, and Bazaroff resumed his former place.

" So what is the title of that book? " — she be-
gan, after a brief silence.

" Pelouze et Fremy, ' Notions Generales,' "...
rephed BazarofF.— " But I can also reconmiend
to you Ganot, ' Traite elementaire de Physique
Experimentale.' In this work the illustrations are
exact, and, on the whole, that manual "

Madame Odintzoff stretched out her hand. —
" Evgeny Vasilievitch, pardon me, but I have not
summoned you hither for the purpose of discus-
sing manuals. I wished to renew our conversa-
tion of last night. You went away so suddenly.
. . You will not find it irksome? "

" I am at your service, Anna Sergyeevna.
But, dear me, what was it we were talking about
last night?"

Madame Odintzoff cast a sidelong glance at
Bazaroff. — " We were talking about happiness,
I beheve. I was telling you about myself. By

175

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

the way, I have mentioned the word ' happiness. '
Tell me why, even when we are enjoying music,
for example, a fine evening, a conversation with
sympathetic persons,— why does it all seem rather
a hint of some illimitable happiness, which exists
somewhere or other, than real happiness — that is,
the sort such as we ourselves possess? Why is
this? Or, perhaps, you do not feel anything of
that sort? "

" You know the adage : * That place is fair
where we are not,' " — returned BazarofF; — " be-
sides, you yourself said last night that you are
dissatisfied. And, as a matter of fact, such
thoughts do not enter my head."

" Perhaps they seem ridiculous to you? "
" No, but they do not enter my head."
" Really? Do you know, I should very much
like to know what you think about? "
" What? I do not understand you."
" Listen, I have long wanted to have an expla-
nation with you. There is no necessity for teUing
you — you know that yourself — that you do not
belong to the class of ordinary men : — you are still
young — all life is before you. For what are you
preparing yourself? What future awaits you?
I mean to say — what goal do you wish to attain?
whither are you going? what have you in
your soul?— in a word, who are you? what are
you? "

" You amaze me, Anna Sergyeevna. You
176

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

know that I am occupied with the natural sciences.
And as to who I am . . . ."

" Yes, who are you? "

" I have already informed you that I am to be
a country doctor."

Anna Sergyeevna made a movement of im-
patience.— " Why do you say that? You do not
believe that yourself. Arkady might answer me
in that manner, but not you."

" But why should Arkady "

" Will you stop ? Is it possible that you are sat-
isfied with so humble an activity, and are not you
5^ourself forever asserting that medicine does not
exist for you? You — with your pride — a district
doctor ! You answer me in that way with the ob-
ject of getting rid of me because you have no
confidence in me. But do you know, Evgeny
Vasilitch, I have learned to understand you:
I myself have been poor and proud, like you;
I have passed, perhaps, through the same trials
as you."

" All that is very fine, Anna Sergyeevna, but
you must excuse me ; ... in general, I have not
been used to expressing myself ; and between you
and me there is such a gulf "

" What gulf? — Are you going to tell me again
that I am an aristocrat? Enough. Evgeny Va-
silitch; it seems to me that I have demonstrated
to you "

" Yes, and in addition to thftt,"— interrupted

177

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

Bazaroff,— " what is the use of discussing a
future, which, in the main, does not depend on
us? If an opportunity to do something fine
should turn up — very good; and if it does not turn
up — at all events, one can be satisfied that one has
not prated uselessly in advance. . ."

" You call a friendly chat prating .... or,
perhaps, you do not regard me as a woman worthy
of your confidence ? You scorn us all, you know."

*' I do not scorn you, Anna Sergyeevna, you
know that."

" No, I know nothing. . . . But let us assume
that I understand your reluctance to talk about
your future vocation ; but what is taking place in
you at the present moment "

"Taking place! "—repeated Bazaroff,— " as
though I were some kingdom or other, or a soci-
ety ! In any case, it is not in the least interesting ;
and, moreover, can a man always say aloud every-
thing that is ' taking place in him'? "

" But I do not see why it is impossible to speak
out everything which one has on one's soul."

" Can you? ^'—inquired Bazaroff.

" I can," — replied Anna Sergyeevna, after a
slight hesitation.

Bazaroff bowed his head.—" You are more for-
tunate than I."

Anna Sergyeevna looked inquiringly at him. —
"As you like," — she went on; — "but, neverthe-
less, something tells me that it is not for nothing

178

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

that we have become intimate, that we shall be
good friends. I am convinced that— how shall I
say it— this intensity, this reserve of yours, will
vanish in the end."

" And have you noticed in me reserve . . . how
was it you expressed it . . . intensity? "

" Yes."

Bazaroff rose and went to the window.—" And
you would like to know the cause of that reserve?
—you would like to know what is taking place in
me?"

" Yes,"— repeated Madame Odintzoff, with a
certain alarm, which had hitherto been unknown
to her.

" And you will not be angry? "

" No."

" No? "— BazarofF was standing with his back
to her. — " Then you must know that I love you
stupidly, madly. . . That is what you have been
trying to get."

Madame OdintzofF stretched both arms out in
front of her, but Bazaroff leaned his brow against
the window-pane. He was suffocating ; his whole
body was visibly quivering. But this was not the
quiver of youthful timidity, not the sweet terror
of the first confession, which had taken possession
of him; it was passion throbbing in him, strong
and heavy — passion resembling wrath, and, per-
haps, allied to it Madame Odintzoff

was terrified at him, and sorry for him.

179

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

" Evgeny Vasilitch,"— she said, and invol-
untary tenderness resounded in her voice.

He wheeled hastily round, flung a devouring
glance at her,— and seizing both her hands, sud-
denly drew her to his breast.

She did not immediately free herself from his
embrace ; but a moment later she was standing far
away in a corner and gazing thence at BazarofP.
He rushed toward her. . . .

" You have not understood me aright," — she
whispered in swift alarm. It seemed to her that
if he took another step she should shriek. — Baza-
roff bit his lip and left the room.

Half an hour later a maid handed Anna Ser-
gyeevna a note from BazarofF; it consisted of
only a single line: " Am I to go away to-day—
or may I stay until to-morrow? "— " Why go
away? I did not understand you — you did not
understand me," — Anna Sergyeevna replied to
him, and thought to herself, " And I did not un-
derstand myself either."

She did not show herself until dinner, and kept
pacing back and forth in her room with her hands
crossed behind her, halting from time to time,
now in front of the window, then in front of the
mirror, and slowly passing her handkerchief over
her neck, on which she still seemed to feel a burn-
ing spot. She asked herself what had made her
" try to get," to use Bazaroff*'s expression, his
frankness, and whether she had not suspected any-

180

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

thing. ..." I am to blame," — she said aloud,
" but I could not foresee this." She fell into
thought, and blushed, as she recalled BazarofF's
almost fierce face when he had rushed at her. . . .

"Or? " — she suddenly articulated, and halted
and shook her curls. . . . She beheld herself in
the mirror; her head thrown back, with a smile
on the half -parted, half -closed eyes and lips,
seemed, at that moment, to be saying something
to her which reduced her to confusion. . . .

" No," she decided at last, — " God knows
whither that would have led; I must not jest with
that ; after all, tranquillity is better than anything
else in the world."

Her composure was not shaken; but she grew
sad and even wept once, not knowing herself why,
only not from the insult which had been dealt her.
She did not feel herself insulted : she felt herself,
rather, culpable. Under the influence of divers
confused sensations, the consciousness of vanish-
ing life, the desire for novelty, she forced herself
to toe the appointed mark, made herself look fur-
ther— and beheld beyond it not even a chasm,
but a void .... or a horror.

181

XIX

MiSTEESS of herself as she was, high as she stood
above all prejudices, yet Madame Odintzoff felt
awkward when she presented herself in the din-
ing-room for dinner. However, it passed off
quite successfully. Porfiry Platonitch came and
told various anecdotes; he had only just returned
from the town. Among other things, he informed
them that the governor, Bourdaloue, had ordered
his officials for special commissions to wear spurs,
by way of expediting matters, in case he should
despatch them anywhere on horseback. Arkady
chatted with Katya in a subdued voice and lis-
tened diplomatically to the Princess. Bazaroff
preserved a sullen and persistent silence. Ma-
dame Odintzoff looked twice — not stealthily, but
directly— at his face, stern and bitter, with low-
ered eyes, with the stamp of scornful decision on
every feature, and thought, " No . . . . no . . .
no. . . ." After dinner she and the entire com-
pany went into the garden, and, perceiving that
Bazaroff wanted to speak with her, she went a
few paces aside and stopped. He approached
her, but even then he did not raise his eyes, and
said dully:

182

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

" I have a confession to make to you, Anna
Sergyeevna. You cannot but be angry with me."

" No, I am not angry with you, Evgeny Va-
silitch,"— rephed Madame Odintzoif ; *' but I am
grieved."

" So much the worse. In any case, I am suffi-
ciently punished. My position, as you will prob-
ably agree with me, is extremely stupid. You
have written to me: ' Why go? ' But I cannot
and will not stay. To-morrow I shall be gone."

" Evgeny Vasilitch, why are you . . . ."

" Why am I going? "

" No, that was not what I meant to say."

" The past cannot be brought back, Anna Ser-
gyeevna ; . . . and sooner or later this must have
happened. Consequently, I must go. I under-
stand only one condition under which I could re-
main ; but that condition will never come to pass.
For you — pardon my audacity — do not love me,
and will never love me."

Bazaroff 's eyes flashed for a moment beneath
his gloomy brows.

Anna Sergyeevna did not answer him. " I am
afraid of this man," flashed through her head.

" Farewell, madam," said Bazaroff", as though
divining her thought, and wended his way to the
house.

Anna Sergyeevna quietly followed him, and
calling Katya, took her arm. . . She did not de-
tach herself from her until evening. She did not

183

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

play cards, and laughed a great deal, which did
not match at all with her pallid, agitated face.
Arkady was nonplussed and watched her, as
young men watch; that is to say, he incessantly
asked himself: " What is the meaning of this? "
BazarofF locked himself up in his room; but he
came out for tea. Anna Sergyeevna tried to utter
some kind word to him, but she did not know how
to begin the conversation with him. . . .

An unforeseen incident extricated her from her
dilemma : the butler announced the arrival of Sit-
nikofF.

It is difficult to convey in words the quail-like
manner in which the youthful progressist flew
into the room. Having made up his mind, with
the audacity peculiar to him, to drive to the coun-
try-house of a woman whom he hardly knew, who
had never invited him, but who was entertaining
— according to the information he had gathered —
persons who were so clever and so near to him,
he was, nevertheless, intimidated to the very mar-
row of his bones, and, instead of uttering, to begin
with, the conventional excuses and greetings, he
stammered out some nonsense or other, to the
eff'ect that Evdoksiya Kukshin had sent him to
inquire after the health of Anna Sergyeevna, and
that Arkady Nikolaevitch also had always ex-
pressed himself to him in the most laudatory
terms. . . . At this point he broke down and be-
came confused to such a degree that he sat down

184

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

on his own hat. But, as no one drove him out,
and Anna Sergyeevna even introduced him to
her aunt and her sister, he speedily recovered him-
self and chattered away famously. The appear-
ance of the commonplace is often useful in Hfe:
it relieves the tension of chords too highly strung,
its sobers self -conceited or self-f orgetf ul feelings
by reminding them of their close connection with
it. With Sitnikoff's arrival everything became
more stupid and more simple ; every one even ate
a more hearty supper, and they went off to bed
half an hour earlier than usual.

" I can repeat to thee now," — said Arkady, as
he got into bed, to BazarofF, who was also un-
dressed,— " that which thou saidst to me one day:
* Why art thou so sad? assuredly, thou hast ful-
filled some sacred duty? ' " — for some time past
a sort of hypocritically free and easy jesting had
been established between the two young men,
which always serves as a sign of secret displeasure
or of unuttered suspicions.

" I 'm going off to my father to-morrow," —
said Bazaroff.

Arkady half sat up and propped himself on
his elbow. For some reason or other, he was
both astonished and delighted. — "Ah!" — he
ejaculated. — " And is that what makes thee
sad? "

Bazaroff yawned. — " If thou knowest too
much, thou wilt grow old."

185

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

" And how about Anna Sergyeevna? " — went
on Arkady.

" What dost thou mean about Anna Sergye-
evna? "

" I mean to say, is it possible that she will allow
thee to go? "

" I have not tied myself to her."

Arkady reflected, but Bazaroff got into bed
and turned his face to the wall.

Several minutes elapsed in silence. " Evgeny I "
— exclaimed Arkady suddenly.

" WeU? "

" I 'm going away with thee to-morrow."

BazaroiF made no answer.

" Only I am going home," — pursued Arkady.
— " We will go together as far as the Khokhlofl"
settlement, and there thou canst get horses from
Feodot. I should be glad to make the acquain-
tance of thy people, but I am afraid of incom-
moding them and thee. Thou wilt come back to
us later on, wilt thou not? "

" I left my things at thy house," — repHed Ba-
zaroff", without turning round.

" Why does n 't he ask me why I am going?
and as suddenly as himself? " thought Arkady.
" As a matter of fact, why am I going? and
why is he going? " he pursued his medita-
tions. He could not give a satisfactory re-
ply to his own question, but his heart was
filled to overflowing with a caustic sensation.

186

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

He felt that it was painful to him to part
with that Hf e to which he had grown so accus-
tomed ; but to remain alone would seem somewhat
strange. " What has taken place between
them? "—he argued the matter with himself;
" and why should I show myself before her after
his departure? I shall make her tired of me for
good and all; and I shall lose my last hold." He
began to picture to himself Anna Sergyeevna,
and then other features gradually pierced their
way through the lovely image of the young
widow.

" I 'm sorry for Katya, too ! " — whispered Ar-
kady to his pillow, on which a tear had already
fallen. . . . He suddenly flung back his hair and
said aloud:

" What the devil did that blockhead Sitnikoff
come for? "

Bazaroff first moved in his bed and then emit-
ted the following:—" Thou, brother, art still
stupid, I perceive. Sitnikoffs are indispensable
to us. I— mark this — I need such dolts. Really,
it is not the business of the gods to bake pots I . ."

"Aha, ha I . . . ." thought Arkady to himself,
and only then was the whole bottomless abyss of
Bazaroff 's pride disclosed to him for an instant.
" So thou and I are gods? that is— thou art a god,
and am I the dolt, I wonder? "

" Yes,"— repeated Bazaroff grimly,—" thou
art still stupid."

187

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

Madame OdintzoiF did not manifest any par-
ticular surprise when, on the following day, Ar-
kady told her that he was going away with Baza-
roff ; she seemed preoccupied and weary. Katya
gazed silently and seriously at him, the Princess
even crossed herself under her shawl, so that he
might not perceive it, but Sitnikoif , on the other
hand, was thoroughly alarmed. He had just
come to breakfast in a new, dandified outfit,
which, on this occasion, was not Slavyanophil ; on
the previous evening he had astonished the man
appointed to wait on him by the amount of body-
linen he had brought, and, all of a sudden, his
comrades were abandoning him! He danced up
and down a little and rushed about like a hunted
hare at the edge of the forest, — and suddenly,
almost with terror, almost with a shriek, an-
nounced that he intended to leave. Madame
Odintzoff did not attempt to dissuade him.

" I have a very easy calash,"— added the un-
happy young man, turning to Arkady. — " I can
drive you, and Evgeny Vasilitch can take your
tarantas, as it will be more convenient that way."

" But good gracious, it is not on your road at
all, and I live far away."

" That makes no difference, no difference ; I
have plenty of time, and, moreover, I have busi-
ness in that direction."

" Connected with the liquor monopoly? "—in-
quired Arkady, quite too disdainfully.

188

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

But Sitnikoff was in such a state of despair
that, contrary to his wont, he did not even smile.
—"I assure you my calash is extremely easy,"
— he stammered, — " and there will be room
for aU."

" Do not grieve Monsieur Sitnikoff by refus-
ing,"—said Anna Sergyeevna. . . .

Arkady glanced at her and significantly bowed
his head.

The visitors took their departure after break-
fast.

As she bade Bazaroff good-bye, Madame
Odintzoff offered him her hand and said,—" We
shall see each other again, shall we not? "

" At your command,"— replied Bazaroff.

" In that case, we shall meet again."

Arkady was the first to emerge upon the porch :
he chmbed into Sitnikoff's calash. The butler
respectfully assisted him, but it would have given
him great satisfaction to beat the man, or to weep.
Bazaroff took his place in the tarantas. When
they reached the Khokhloff settlement, Arkady
waited until Feodot, the keeper of the posting-
station, had harnessed the horses, and, approach-
ing the tarantas, said to Bazaroff with his smile
as of old, " Evgeny, take me with thee ; I want
to go to thy house."

" Get in,"— articulated Bazaroff between his
teeth.

Sitnikoff, who was walking up and down, whis-

189

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

tling energetically around the wheels of his calash,
merely gaped when he heard these words, but Ar-
kady coolly took his things out of the calash,
seated himself beside Bazaroff,— and, politely sa-
luting his previous travelling companion, shouted,
" Drive on! " The tarantas rolled off and soon
disappeared from view. . . . Sitnikoff, thor-
oughly discomfited, looked at his coachman, but
the latter was making the tail of his whip-lash
play over the side horse. Then Sitnikoff sprang
into his calash, and thundering out at two passing
peasants: "Put on your caps, you fools!"—
dragged himself off to the town, where he arrived
very late, and where, on the following day at
Madame Kukshin's, the two " disgusting, proud
boors " caught it heavily.

As he took his seat in the tarantas beside Baza-
roff, Arkady pressed his hand warmly, and for a
long time said nothing. Bazaroff appeared to
understand and value both the pressure and the
silence. He had not slept all the preceding night,
and for several days past he had not smoked,
and had eaten almost nothing. His haggard
profile stood out gloomily and sharply from be-
neath his cap, which was pulled down over his
eyes.

" Well, brother,"— he said at last,—" give me
a cigar. . . . And look, see if my tongue is
yellow."

" It is,"— replied Arkady.
190

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

" Well, yes, and the cigar has no

flavour. The machine is out of order."

" Thou really hast changed of late,"— re-
marked Arkady.

" Never mind! we shall right ourselves. One
thing is a bore,— my mother is such a tender-
hearted woman: if your paunch has n't grown big
and you don't eat ten times a day, she simply
pines. Well, my father is all right; he has been
through all sorts of things himself. No, it
is impossible to smoke," — he added, and flung his
cigar into the dust of the highway.

" It is twenty-five versts to thy estate? "—asked
Arkady.

" Yes. But ask that wiseacre there."— He
pointed at the peasant on the box, Feodot's hired
man.

But the wiseacre replied: " Who knows?— the
versts are not measured," — with his queer accent,
and went on reviling the shaft-horse because it
jerked its head.

" Yes, yes,"— began Bazaroff*,— " a lesson for
you, my young friend, a sort of edifying example.
The devil knows what nonsense it is ! Every man
hangs on a hair, the abyss may yawn beneath him
at any moment, and he invents all sorts of un-
pleasant things for himself to boot; he ruins his
own life.'*

" At what art thou hinting? "—inquired Ar-
kady.

19]

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

" I 'm not hinting at anything ; I 'm saying
straight out that both you and I have been be-
having very stupidly. What 's the use of explain-
ing! But I have already observed in the clinic
that if any one gets angry at his pain, that man in-
faUibly conquers it."

" I do not understand thee in the least,"— said
Arkady.—" I should not think thou hadst any
cause to complain."

" And if thou dost not understand me in the
least, then I will tell thee this : In my opinion, it
is better to break stones on the highway than to
permit a woman to take possession of even so
much as the tip of thy finger. That 's all. . ."

Bazaroff came near uttering his favourite
word, " romanticism"— but restrained himself,
and said, " nonsense. — Thou wilt not believe me
now, but I will tell thee: thou and I have fallen
into feminine society, and we have found it agree-
able; but to abandon such society is like drench-
ing one's self with cold water on a hot day.— A
man has no time to occupy himself with such
trifles ; a man ought to be ferocious, says a capital
Spanish proverb. I suppose, wiseacre," — he
added, addressing the peasant on the box,—" that
thou hast a wife? "

The peasant exhibited his flat, mole-eyed face
to the two friends.

" A wife? Yes. How could I be without a
wife?"

192

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

" Dost thou beat her? "

" My wife? All sorts of things happen. We
don't beat her without cause."

" And that is well. Well, and does she beat
thee?"

The peasant twitched the reins. — " What a
word thou hast said, master. Thou wilt keep jest-
ing. . . ." Obviously, he was offended.

Arkady laughed in a constrained way, and Ba-
zarofF turned aside and never opened his mouth
again the whole way.

The five and twenty versts seemed to Arkady
fully fifty. But at last, on the declivity of a slop-
ing hill, a tiny hamlet was revealed to view, where
dwelt the parents of Bazaroff. Alongside of it,
in a young birch grove, a small manor-house with
a thatched roof was visible. By the first cottage
stood two peasants with their caps on quarrelling.
" Thou art a big hog," — said one to the other. —
" But thou art worse than a small sucking-pig."
— " And thy wife is a witch," retorted the other.

" From the unceremoniousness of their inter-
course,"— remarked Bazaroff to Arkady, — " and
from the playful turns of their speech, thou canst
judge that my father's serfs are not too much op-
pressed. But yonder is he himself coming out
on the porch of his dwelling. He must have
heard the carriage-bell. 'T is he, 't is he, — I rec-
ognise his figure. Ehe, he! but how grey he has
grown, poor man! "

193

XX

Bazaroff leaned out of the tarantas, and Arkady
thrust his head out behind his friend's back and
perceived on the little porch of the manor-house
a tail, thin man, with dishevelled hair, and a thin,
aquihne nose, clad in an old military coat open on
the breast. He was standing with his legs far
apart smoking a long pipe and blinking at the
sun.

The horses came to a halt.

" Thou art come, at last,"— said Bazaroff's
father, still continuing to smoke, although his
chibouque fairly leaped in his fingers.—" Come,
get out, get out, we will embrace and kiss."

He began to embrace his son. ..." Eniusha,
Eniusha," rang out a quavering female voice.
The door flew open and on the threshold appeared
a plump, short old woman, in a white cap, and a
short, motley-hued jacket. She cried out and
staggered, and certainly would have fallen had
not Bazaroff supported her. Her plump arms
instantly twined themselves around his neck, her
head pressed close to his breast, and all became
still. Nothing was audible, save her broken sobs.

Old Bazaroff drew deep breaths and blinked
worse than before.

194)

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

" Come, enough, enough, Arishal stop,*'— he
said, exchanging a glance with Arkady, who stood
motionless by the tarantas, while the peasant on
the box even turned away:—" This is not in the
least necessary ! please stop."

" Akh, Vasfly Ivanitch," — stammered the old
woman,—" it 's an age since I have seen my dar-
ling, my Eniiishenka . . ." and, without releas-
ing her arms, she turned her face, all wet with
tears, agitated and moved, from Bazaroff, gazed
at him with bhssful and comical eyes, and again
fell upon his breast.

" Well, yes, of course, this is all in the nature of
things,"— said Vasfly Ivanitch,— " only we had
better go into the house. A visitor has come with
Evgeny. Excuse me,"— he added, turning to
Arkady, and with a slight scrape of the foot,—
" you understand woman's weakness ; well, and
the mother's heart "

But his own Hps and eyebrows were twitching
and his chin was quivering ; . . . . but he was evi-
dently trying to control himself and to appear
almost indifferent. Arkady saluted him.

" Come, mother, really now,"— said Bazaroff,
and led the feeble old woman into the house.
After seating her in a comfortable arm-chair, he
once more hastily embraced his father, and intro-
duced Arkady to him.

" I am heartily glad to make your acquain-
tance,"—said Vasfly Ivanovitch,— " only be not

195

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

exacting: everything here in my house is simple,
on a military footing. Arina Vlasievna, do me
the favour to calm thyself: what pusillanimity is
this? Our guest must think hardly of thee."

" Dear little father,"— said the old woman,
through her tears:— "I have not the honour to
know your name and patronymic "

" Arkady Nikolaitch," Vasily Ivanitch pom-
pously prompted her, in an undertone.

" Excuse me, I 'm stupid." The old woman
blew her nose and, bending her head now to the
right, now to the left, carefully wiped first one
eye, then the other. " You must excuse me. You
see I thought I should die before I saw my
da ... a ... a . . arling."

" But now you have lived to see him, madam,"
—put in Vasily Ivanitch. — " Taniushka," he said,
addressing a barefooted girl of thirteen, in a
bright scarlet print gown, who was peeping tim-
idly from behind the door,—" fetch the mistress
a glass of water— on a salver, dost thou hear?—
and you, gentlemen,"— he added, with a certain
old-fashioned playfulness,—" allow me to invite
you into the study of a veteran in retreat."

" Let me hug thee just a little more, Eni-
lishetchka,"— moaned Arina Vlasievna. Baz-
aroif bent over her. " But what a beauty thou
hast grown to be I "

" Well, he 's not exactly a beauty,"— remarked
Vasily Ivanitch;—" but he 's a man; as the say-

196

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

ing is, homme fait. But now, I hope, Arina
Vld,sievna, that, after having satiated thy ma-
ternal heart, thou wilt attend to the feeding
of thy dear guests, because, as thou knowest, it is
not fitting to feed a nightingale on fables." ^

The old woman rose from her chair. — " This
very moment, Vasily Ivanitch, the table will be
set; I will run to the kitchen myself and order
the samovar to be prepared ; they shall have every-
thing, everything. Why, it 's three years since I
saw him, fed him, gave him to drink, and is that
easy to bear? "

" Well, see to it, housewife ; bustle about and
do not put thyself to shame ; and do you, gentle-
men, be so good as to follow me. Here 's Timo-
feitch has presented himself to greet thee, Ev-
geny. And he 's delighted, I think, the old
watch-dog. What? thou art delighted, art thou
not, old watch-dog? I pray you to follow me."

And Vasily Ivanitch bustled on ahead, shuffling
and dragging his patched slippers.

His entire little house consisted of six tiny
rooms. One of them, the one into which he led
our friends, was called the study. A fat-legged
table, with an accumulation of dust which had
turned black with age, with documents which
looked as though they had been smoked, occupied
the entire space between the two windows ; on the
walls hung Turkish guns, kazak whips, sabres,

1 *'Fair words butter no parsnips."— Thakslatob.

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FATHERS AND CHILDREN

two maps, several anatomical drawings, a portrait
of Hufeland, a monogram of hair in a black
frame, and a diploma under glass; a leather-
covered couch, crushed down and tattered in
spots, stood between two huge cupboards of Kare-
lian birch wood; on the shelves, in disorder, were
crowded books, small boxes, stuffed birds, bottles
and phials ; in one corner stood a broken electrical
machine.

" I warned you, my dear visitor,"— began
Vasily Ivanitch,— " that we live here, so to speak,
in bivouac. . ."

" Come, stop that, why dost thou make apolo-
gies ? " — interrupted Bazaroff . — " Kirsanoff is
very well aware that thou and I are not Croesuses,
and that thou hast not a palace. Where are we to
put him, that 's the question? "

" Good gracious, Evgeny ; there is a capital
chamber yonder in my wing; he will be very com-
fortable there."

" So thou hast set up a wing? "

" Of course, sir; where the bath is, sir,"— put in
Timofeitch.

" That is to say, alongside the bath,"— hastily
subjoined Vasily Ivanitch.—" But it is sunmier
now. ... I '11 run over there at once and arrange
things; and, in the meantime, Timofeitch, thou
hadst better bring in their things. Of course I
place my study at thy disposal, Evgeny. Suum
cuique"

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FATHERS AND CHILDREN

" There you have it 1 A very amusing old man,
and as kind as possible," — added Bazaroif, as
soon as Vasily Ivanitch left the room. — " Just
such another eccentric as thy father, only after
another fashion. He chatters a great deal."

"And thy mother, apparently, is a very fine
woman,"— remarked Arkady.

" Yes, she 's a guileless creature. Just watch
what a dinner she '11 give us I "

" You were not expected to-day, dear little
father; they have brought no beef,"— said Timo-
f eitch, who had just dragged in Bazaroif 's trunk.

" We '11 get along without the beef; if there is
none, it cannot be helped. Poverty, as the adage
goes, is no crime."

" How many souls * has thy father? "—sud-
denly inquired Arkady.

" The estate does not belong to him, but to my
mother; there are fifteen souls, if I remember
rightly."

" There are twenty-two in all,"— remarked
Timof eitch with displeasure.

The scuffling of slippers became audible, and
Vasily Ivanitch made his appearance again. " In
a few minutes your chamber will be ready to re-
ceive you," — he exclaimed triumphantly, — " Ar-
kady .... Nikolaitch? I believe that is what
you deign to be called? And here 's a servant for
you," — he added, pointing at a boy with closely-

* Male serfs.— Tbanslatob.

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FATHERS AND CHILDREN

clipped hair in a blue kaftan which was torn on
the elbows, and some one else's shoes, who had
entered with him.—" His name is Fedka. Again
I repeat it, — although my son forbids me, — be not
exacting. However, he knows how to fill a pipe.
You smoke, of course? "

" I smoke chiefly cigars," — replied Arkady.

" And you behave very sensibly. I myself give
the preference to cigars, but in our remote region
it is extremely difficult to obtain them."

" Come, have done with singing Lazarus,"— in-
terrupted Bazar off once more. " Thou hadst
better sit down there on the couch and let me have
a look at thee.

Vasily Ivanitch laughed and sat down. He
greatly resembled his son in face, only his fore-
head was lower and narrower and his mouth some-
what wider, and he kept in incessant motion,
twitched his shoulders as though his coat cut him
under the arms, winked, coughed and twiddled his
fingers, while his son was distinguished from him
by a certain careless impassivity.

" Singing Lazarus! "—repeated Vasfly Ivan-
itch. " Thou must not think, Evgeny, that I am
trying to move our guest to pity, so to speak; as
much as to say, — just see in what a desolate hole
we Uve. On the contrary, I hold the opinion that
for a rational man there is no such thing as a deso-
late hole. At all events, I try, to the extent of my

200

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

ability, not to get moss-grown, as the saying is,
not to lag behind the age."

Vasfly Ivanitch pulled from his pocket a new
yellow bandana handkerchief, which he had con-
trived to catch up as he ran to Arkady's room,
and proceeded as he flourished it in the air:— " I
am not speaking of the fact that I, for example,
not without sensible sacrifices on my own part,
have put my peasants on quit-rent and have given
them my lands by halves. I regarded that as my
duty, conmion sense itself commands it in this
case, although other proprietors are not even
thinking of it: I am speaking of the sciences of
culture."

" Yes ; I see thou hast yonder * The Friend of
Health ' for 1855," remarked Bazaroff".

" A comrade sent it to me, for old acquain-
tance's sake," — said Vasfly Ivanitch; — "but we
have some conception of phrenology," — he added,
addressing himself, however, more particularly to
Arkady, and pointing at a small plaster head
which stood on the cupboard broken up into num-
bered squares. — " Schonlein also has not re-
mained unknown to us — and Rademacher."

" And do people still believe in Rademacher in
the * * * Government? " asked BazarofF.

Vasfly Ivanitch began to cough. — " In the
Government .... Of course, gentlemen, you
know best; how can we vie with you? You have

201

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

come to supersede us, you see. And in my time,
also, a certain humouralist Hoffman, and a cer-
tain Brown, with his vitalism, seemed very ridicu-
lous, but they had made a great noise once upon a
time. Some new person has taken Rademacher's
place with you; you bow down before him, and
twenty years hence, probably, people will laugh at
him also."

" I will tell thee, for thy consolation," — said
Bazaroff, — " that nowadays we laugh at medi-
cine in general, and we bow down before no one."

" How is that? Surely thou art going to be a
doctor? "

" I am, but the one does not prevent the other."

Vasily Ivanitch poked his third finger into his
pipe, where a httle burning ashes still hngered.—
*' Well, perhaps, perhaps — I will not contradict.
For what am I?— A retired staff -doctor, voila
tout J, and now turned agriculturist. — I served in
your grandfather's brigade," — he addressed him-
self once more to Arkady.—" Yes, sir; yes, sir;
I have seen many sights in my day. And in what
company have not I been, with whom have not I
consorted!— I, this very I, whom you are pleased
to see before you, I have felt the pulse of Prince
Wittgenstein and of Zhukovsky I I used to know
every one of those men, in the army of the South,
in the year 'fourteen, you understand " (here
Vasily Ivanitch pursed up his lips significantly).
" Well, and of course my business lay apart ;

202

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

know how to use your lancet and that 's enough I
But your grandfather was a very greatly re-
spected man, a genuine warrior."

" Confess, he was a good deal of a blockhead,"
— said BazarofF lazily.

" Akh, Evgeny, how thou dost express thyself 1
do show mercy. . . Of course General KirsanoiF
did not belong to the number . . . ."

" Well, drop him," — interrupted BazarofF.—
" As I drove hither I rejoiced at thy birch grove;
it has spread splendidly."

Vasfly Ivanitch grew animated.— "And see
what a nice little garden I have now I I planted
every tree myself. There are fruits in it and ber-
ries, and all sorts of medicinal herbs. Be as art-
ful as you may, young gentlemen, nevertheless
old Paracelsus uttered the sacred truth : in herhis,
verbis et lapidihus. . . For I, as thou knowest,
have given up practice and am obliged to recall
my youth a couple of times a week. People come
for advice, — one cannot turn them out neck and
crop. It sometimes happens that poor people
come for aid. And there are no doctors at all
here. One of the neighbours, just fancy, a retired
major, also makes cures. I ask about him: has
he studied medicine? I am told: no, he has not
studied; he does it mainly from philanthropic
motives. . . . Ha, ha, from philanthropic mo-
tives! Hey? What do you think of that? Ha,
ha I Ha, ha I"

203

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

" Fedka! fill my pipe! " said Bazaroff sharply.

" And sometimes another doctor here comes to
the patient," — went on Vasfly Ivanitch, with a
sort of desperation, — " but the patient has already
departed ad patres; and his servant does not ad-
mit the doctor; he says: * You 're not needed now.'
The doctor has not expected that; he gets con-
fused, and asks : * Did your master hiccough be-
fore his death? '— * He did, sir.'—* And did he hic-
cough a great deal? '— ' Yes.'—' Ah, well, that 's
good,' — and right about face back. Ha, ha, ha! "

The old man was the only one who laughed;
Arkady indicated a smile on his face. Bazaroff
merely stretched himself. The conversation was
prolonged after this fashion for about an hour;
Arkady managed to get away to his room, which
proved to be the anteroom of the bath, but very
comfortable and clean. At last Taniusha entered
and announced that dinner was ready.

Vasily Ivanitch was the first to rise. — " Come,
gentlemen! Be so generous as to forgive me,
if you have been bored. Perhaps my housewife
will satisfy you better than I have done."

The dinner, although hastily prepared, turned
out to be very good, even abundant ; only the wine
was rather bad: the almost black sherry, pur-
chased by Timofeitch in the town from a mer-
chant of his acquaintance, had a flavour which was
not precisely that of brass, nor yet of resin ; and
the flies too were a nuisance. At ordinary times

204

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

the boy house-serf drove them off with a big green
bough; but on this occasion Vasily Ivanitch had
sent him away for fear of criticism on the part of
the younger generation. Arina Vlasievna had
succeeded in arraying herself; she had donned a
tall cap with silken ribbons, and a blue shawl with
a flowered pattern. She fell to weeping again as
soon as she caught sight of her Eniusha, but her
husband was not obliged to exhort her : she wiped
her tears away as promptly as possible, lest she
should spoil her shawl. The young men alone
ate: the master and mistress of the house had
dined long before. Fedka waited on them, evi-
dently oppressed by his unwonted boots, and he
was assisted by a woman with a masculine face,
who was also blind of one eye, Anfisushka by
name, who discharged the duties of housekeeper,
poultry-woman and laundress. Vasfly Ivanitch
paced up and down the room during the whole
duration of the dinner, and with a thoroughly
happy and even blissful aspect talked about the
grave apprehensions with which the policy of Na-
poleon inspired him and the complications of the
Italian question. Arina Vlasievna did not per-
ceive Arkady, did not urge him to eat ; with her fist
propping up her round face, to which her puffy,
cherry-coloured lips and the moles on her cheeks
and above her eyebrows imparted a very good-
natured expression, she never took her eyes off
her son, and sighed constantly; she was dying

205

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

to find out for how long a time he had come, but
she was afraid to ask him. " Well, he will say—
* For a couple of days,' " she thought, and her
heart died within her. After the roast, Vasily
Ivanitch disappeared for a moment and returned
with an uncorked half bottle of champagne.
"Here," — he exclaimed, — "although we do hve
in the wilds, still, on festive occasions, we have
something wherewith to cheer ourselves I " He
poured out three glasses and a wine-glass full,
proposed the health " of our inestimable visitors,"
and having tossed off his glass at once in miUtary
fashion, he made Arina Vlasievna drain her wine-
glass to the last drop. When the preserves were
brought on, Arkady, who could not endure any-
thing sweet, nevertheless considered it his duty to
taste four different sorts, the more so as Bazaroff
flatly declined them, and immediately hghted a
cigar. Then tea made its appearance on the
scene, accompanied by cream, butter and crack-
nels; then Vasfly Ivanitch led them all into the
garden, to enjoy the beauty of the evening. As
they passed a bench he whispered to Arkady,—
" On this spot I love to philosophise, as I gaze
at the sunset: that is befitting a hermit. And
further on, yonder, I have planted several of the
trees beloved by Horace."

" What sort of trees? "—asked Bazdroff, who
was listening.

" Why .... acacias, of course."
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FATHERS AND CHILDREN

Bazaroff began to yawn.

" I suppose it is time for the travellers to be-
take themselves to the arms of Morpheus,"— re-
marked Vasfly Ivanitch.

" That is to say, it is time to go to bed," — put
in Bazaroff. — " That reasoning is correct. It is
time, in fact."

When he bade his mother good-night, he kissed
her on the brow,— and she embraced him and
blessed him thrice with the sign of the cross
stealthily behind his back. Vasfly Ivanitch
escorted Arkady to his chamber and wished
him " the same sort of beneficent repose which
I used to enjoy at your age." And, in fact,
Arkady slept capitally in his bath vestibule.
It was redolent of mint, and two crickets vied
with each other in chirping away soporifically
behind the stove. Vasfly Ivanitch, on leav-
ing Arkady, went to his study, and curling
himself up on the couch at his son's feet, prepared
to have a chat with him; but Bazaroff inmiedi-
ately sent him away, saying that he felt sleepy;
but he did not get to sleep until morning. With
widely-opened eyes he stared angrily into the
darkness: memories of his childhood had no do-
minion over him, and, moreover, he had not yet
succeeded in detaching himself from his last bit-
ter impressions. Arfna Vlasievna first prayed to
her heart's content ; then she had a long, long con-
ference with Anf fsushka, who, standing in front

207

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

of her mistress as though rooted to the spot and
with her solitary eye riveted upon her, commu-
nicated to her in a mysterious whisper all her ob-
servations and conclusions regarding Evgeny
Vasilievitch. The old lady's head was all in a
whirl from joy, wine, and cigar-smoke; her hus-
band tried to talk to her, but gave it up in despair.
Arina Vlasievna was a genuine Russian gentle-
woman of the petty nobility of days gone by ; she
ought to have lived a couple of hundred years ear-
lier, in the times of ancient Moscow. She was very
devout and sentimental, she believed in all sorts
of omens, divinations, spells, dreams ; she believed
in holy simpletons,^ in house-demons, in forest-
demons, in evil encounters, in the evil eye, in pop-
ular remedies, in salt prepared in a special man-
ner on Great Thursday ^ in the speedy end of
the world; she believed that if the tapers did not
go out at the Vigil Service at Easter the buck-
wheat would bear a heavy crop, and that a mush-
room will not grow any more if a human eye
descries it; she believed that the devil is fond of
being where there is water, and that every Jew
has a bloody spot on his breast ; she was afraid of
mice, snakes, frogs, sparrows, leeches, thunder,
cold water, draughts, horses, goats, red-haired
people, and black cats, and regarded crickets and

^ Half-witted men were formerly regarded in Russia as divinely
inspired, almost in the light of prophets.— Translator.

- The Thursday before Good Friday : called Maundy Thursday in
Uie Western Church.— Translator.

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FATHERS AND CHILDREN

dogs as unclean animals ; she ate neither veal, nor
pigeons,^ nor crabs, nor cheese, nor asparagus, nor
artichokes, nor watermelons, because a water-
melon when it is cut reminds one of the head of
John the Baptist; and she never mentioned oys-
ters otherwise than with a shudder ; she was fond
of eating — and fasted strictly; she slept ten hours
a day — and never went to bed at all if Vasily
Ivanitch had a headache; she had never read a
single book, except " Alexis, or the Cottage in the
Forest " ; she wrote one letter, at the most two let-
ters, a year; but she was an expert in dried and
preserved fruits, although she never put her own
hand to anything, and, in general, was reluctant
to move from one spot. Arina Vlasievna was
very good-natured, and, in her own way, not at
all stupid. She knew that there are in the world
gentlemen whose duty it is to command, and com-
mon people whose duty it is to obey, — and there-
fore she did not disdain either obsequiousness or
lowly reverences to the earth ; but she treated her
inferiors graciously and gently; she never let a
beggar pass without a gift, and she never con-
demned any one, although she did occasionally
indulge in gossip. In her youth she had been
very pretty, had played on the clavichord, and had
spoken a little French; but in the course of wan-
derings, which extended over many years, with her

^ The dove being the symbol of the Holy Spirit, the majority of
Russians will neither kill nor eat pigeons. — Trakslator.

209

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

husband, whom she had married against her will,
she had deteriorated and had forgotten her music
and her French. She loved and feared her son
unspeakably ; she allowed Vasily Ivanitch to man-
age her estate, — and never required an accounting
for anything: she groaned, waved the subject
away with her handkerchief and kept raising her
eyebrows higher and higher, as soon as Vasily
Ivanitch began to explain impending reforms
and his plans. She was given to forebodings, was
constantly expecting some great catastrophe, and
fell to weeping the moment she called to mind
anything mournful. . . Such women are now be-
coming extinct. God knows whether we ought
to rejoice at it I

210

XXI

When he got out of bed Arkady opened the win-
dow,—and the first object which met his eyes was
Vasfly Ivanitch. Clad in a dressing-gown from
Bukhara, girt with a handkerchief, the old man
was engaged in digging assiduously in his vege-
table garden. He caught sight of his young vis-
itor, and leaning on his spade, he exclaimed: — " I
wish you health ! How have you been pleased to
sleep?"

*' Splendidly," answered Arkady.

" And here am I, as you see, Hke some sort of
a Cincinnatus, preparing a bed for late radishes.
The times are such — and glory to God for it! —
that every one is bound to earn his living with his
own hands; no hopes are to be placed on others:
one must toil for himself. And it turns out that
Jean- Jacques Rousseau was right. Half an hour
ago, my dear sir, you would have beheld me in a
totally different attitude. There was a peasant-
woman who complained of gneika, — that 's what
they call it, but we call it dysentery, — and I

how shall I best express it . . I poured

opium into her ; and I have pulled a tooth for an-
other woman. I proposed to the latter that she
should take ether, . . . but she would not consent.

211

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

I do all this graXis—en amateur j but that is no
marvel; for I am a plebeian, homo novus—l *m
not a member of the ancient nobility, like my
spouse. . . . But will not you come hither into
the shade to get a breath of the morning fresh-
ness before tea? "

Arkady went out and joined him.

"Welcome, once morel"— said Vasily Iva-
nitch, putting his hand, in military fashion, to the
greasy skull-cap which covered his head.—" You
are accustomed to luxury, I know, to pleasures,
but even the great ones of this world do not dis-
dain to spend a short time under the roof of the
cottage."

" Good gracious! " — shouted Arkady, — " what
do you mean by calling me one of the great ones
of this world? And I am not accustomed to
luxury."

" Pardon me, pardon me,"— retorted Vasily
Ivanitch with a pohte grin. — " Although I am
now relegated to the archives, I also have rubbed
elbows with society — I know the bird by its flight.
I am also a psychologist, in my own way, and a
physiognomist. Had I not that gift, I venture
to say that I would have perished long ago; such
a small man as myself would have stood no chance
at all. I will tell you, without compliments: the
friendship which I observe between you and my
son affords me great joy. I have already seen
him ; he, according to his habit, of which you are

212

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

probably aware, got up very early, and scoured
the neighbourhood. Permit me to inquire, — Have
you known my Evgeny long? "

" Since this last winter."

" Exactly so, sir. And permit me to ask you
another question, — but will not you sit down? —
Permit me to ask you, as a father, in all frank-
ness : What opinion do you hold of my Evgeny? "

" Your son is one of the most remarkable men
whom I have ever met,"— remarked Arkady with
animation.

Vasily Ivanitch's eyes suddenly dilated, and a
faint flush overspread his cheeks. The spade fell
from his hands.

" So you assume . ." he began

" I am convinced," — interposed Arkady, —
" that a great future awaits your son, that he will
glorify your name. I have been convinced of that
since the very first time I met him."

" How . . . how was that? "—Vasily Ivanitch
barely articulated. A rapturous smile parted his
broad lips and did not again depart from them.

" You want to know how we met? "

" Yes . . and in general . . . ."

Arkady began to narrate and talk about Baza-
roff with even more fervour, with even more en-
thusiasm, than on the evening when he had danced
the mazurka with Madame Odmtzoff .

Vasfly Ivanitch listened to him— listened, blew
his nose, dandled his handkerchief in both hands,

213

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

coughed, ruffled up his hair— and, at last, could
contain himself no longer: he bent toward Ar-
kady and kissed him on the shoulder.^ — "You
have made me perfectly happy,"— he said, with-
out ceasing to smile.—*' I am bound to teU you
that I . . . adore my son ; I need say nothing as
to my old woman: she 's his mother— everybody
knows what that means! — but I dare not express
my feelings in his presence, because he does not
like that. He is averse to all effusions ; many per-
sons even condemn him for that firmness of char-
acter, and discern in it a sign of pride, or absence
of feeling; but people hke him must not be mea-
sured with the ordinary yard-stick, is n't that so?
Take this, for example: any other man in his
place would have drawn and drawn on his par-
ents; but he, will you believe it? has never taken
an extra kopek from us in his life, as God is my
witness ! "

" He is an unselfish, honourable man," — re-
marked Arkady.

" Precisely so, unselfish. And I not only adore
him, Arkady Nikolaitch, I am proud of him,
and my whole pride consists in this, that in course
of time these words will stand in his biography:
* he was the son of a simple staff -doctor, who,
nevertheless, understood how to divine him early
in life, and spared no expense on his educa-
tion. . .' " The old man's voice broke.

1 As serfs were wont to do to their masters.— Tbanslatob.

214

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

Arkady squeezed his hand.

" What think you,"— asked Vasily Ivanitch,
after a brief silence,—" assuredly he will not
attain in the medical career that fame which you
prophesy for him? "

" Of course not in the medical career, although
in that respect also he will be one of the leading
lights."

" In what career then, Arkady Nikolaitch? "

" That is difficult to say at present, but he will
become famous."

" He will become famous! "—repeated the old
man, and became immersed in meditation.

" Arma Vlasievna has ordered me to ask you
to drink tea,"— said Anfisushka as she passed
them with a huge dish of ripe raspberries.

Vasfly Ivanitch started — " And will there be
chilled cream for the raspberries? "

" There will, sir."

" See to it that it is cold ! Do not stand on cere-
mony, Arkady Nikolaitch, — take a lot. I won-
der why Evgeny does not come."

" Here I am,"— rang out Bazaroff's voice from
Arkady's room.

Vasfly Ivanitch wheeled hastily round. " Aha I
thou hast wished to visit thy friend, but thou wert
belated, amice, and he and I have already had a
long conversation. Now we must go and drink
tea : thy mother summons us. By the way, I must
have a talk with thee."

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FATHERS AND CHILDREN

"What about?"

" There is a wretched peasant here; he is suf-
fering from icterus. ..."

" In other words, from jaundice? "

" Yes, from chronic and very obstinate icterus,
I have prescribed for him centaury, and Saint
John's wort, I have made him eat carrots, I have
administered soda; but all these are palliatives;
something more decisive is necessary. Although
thou jeerest at medicine, yet I am persuaded that
thou canst give me practical advice. But we will
talk of that later. And now let us go and drink
tea."

Vasily Ivanitch sprang up briskly from the
bench and began to sing from Robert le Diable :

" We '11 make a law, a law, a law unto ourselves
In joy ... in joy ... in joyfulness to dwell! "

"What remarkable vitality!" — said Bazaroff
and he withdrew from the window.

Midday arrived. The sun blazed from behind
a thin veil of continuous, whitish clouds. Silence
reigned: only the cocks crowed provokingly at
each other in the village, arousing in every one
who heard them a strange sensation of drowsiness
and weariness ; and somewhere aloft in the crests
of the trees resounded like a wailing call the un-
intermitting squeak of a young hawk. Arkady
and Bazaroff were lying in the shade of a small
hay-stack, having placed beneath themselves a

216

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

couple of armf uls of the rustlingly-dry, but still
green and fragrant grass.

" Yonder aspen-tree," — began Bazaroff, " re-
minds me of my childhood ; it grows on the brink
of a pit, the relic of a brick-shed, and at that time
I was convinced that that pit and the aspen pos-
sessed a peculiar talisman: I never felt bored
when I was by their side. I did not understand
then that I was not bored, because I was a child.
Well, now I am grown up, and the talisman does
not work."

" How much time hast thou spent here alto-
gether? "—asked Arkady.

" Two years in succession ; then we used to come
here occasionally. We led a wandering life; we
used to haunt the towns chiefly."

" And has this house been standing long? "

" Yes. My grandfather built it, my mother's
father."

" Who was he— thy grandfather? "

" The deuce knows. Some Second-Major or
other. He served under Suvoroff , and was for-
ever telling about crossing the Alps. He lied, I
suppose."

" That 's why there is a portrait of Suvoroff
hanging in your drawing-room. I like such little
houses as yours, old and warm ; and there is a cer-
tain peculiar odour in them."

*' It smacks of olive oil from the shrine-lamp,
and sweet clover," — articulated Bazaroff with a

217

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

yawn.—*' But what a lot of flies there are in these
charming httle houses phew I"

" Tell me,"— began Arkady, after a brief
silence,—" wert thou oppressed in thy child-
hood? "

" Thou seest what my parents are like. —
They 're not strict folks."

" Dost thou love them, Evgeny? "

"Yes, Arkady!"

"They love thee so!"

BazarofF said nothing for a while.—" Dost
thou know what I am thinking about? " — he said
at last, throwing his hands behind his head.

"No. What is it?"

" I am thinking: my parents have a jolly good
time in the world ! My father, at the age of sixty,
fusses about, talks about ' palliative ' remedies,
doctors people, is generous to his peasants, — in a
word, he leads a hfe of dissipation; and my
mother finds life pleasant also: her day is so
crammed with all sorts of occupations, with akhs !
and okhs! that she has no time to bethink herself;
while I "

"While thou?"

" While I think: here I lie now under a hay-
stack .... the space I occupy is small, so tiny
in comparison with the surrounding expanse,
where I am not, and where no one cares about me ;
and the portion of time which I shall manage to
live through is so insignificant, in comparison with

218

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

eternity, where I have not been and shall not be.
. . . But in this atom, this mathematical point,
the blood is circulating, the brain is working, it
wants something also. . . . What a monstrosity !
What nonsense! "

*' Permit me to remark that what thou art say-
ing is applicable to all men in general. ..."

" Thou art right,"— chimed in Bazaroif.—
" What I wanted to say is that they, that is, my
parents, are occupied, and do not bother about
their own insignificance ; it does not stink in their
nostrils . . . while I . . , feel simply bored and
wrathful."

" Wrathful? Why wrathful? "

"Why? What dost thou mean by 'why'?
Can it be that thou hast forgotten? "

" I remember everything, but nevertheless I do
not acknowledge that thou hast a right to be
angry. Thou art unhappy, I admit, but . . . ."

" Eh ! I perceive that thou, Arkady Nikolae-
vitch, understandest love like all the most modern
young men: cheep, cheep, cheep, chicken, but just
as soon as the chicken begins to approach, make
off as fast as you can!— I am not Hke that. But
enough on that score. It is shameful to talk about
what cannot be helped." He turned over on his
side. — "Aha! yonder is a bold ant dragging a
half -dead fly. Drag it along, brother, drag it
along ! Don't mind its resistance, take advantage
of the fact that thou, in thy quality of an animal,

219

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

hast a right not to recognise the feeling of suffer-
ing, which is quite the reverse of the case with one
of us, who is ' self -broken ' ! "

" That is not the thing for thee to say, Evgeny !
— When hast thou broken thyself? "

Bazaroff raised his head. — " That 's the only
thing I am proud of. I have not broken myself,
and a woman shall not break me. Amen ! Done
with! Thou wilt never hear another word about
it from me.*'

The two friends lay for some time in silence.

" Yes," — began Bazaroff, — " man is a strange
being. When one gazes thus from one side, and
from a distance, at life in the wilds, such as our
' fathers * lead, it seems to him : What could be
better? Eat, drink, and know that thou art act-
ing in the most regular, most sensible manner.
But no; melancholy seizes hold upon one. One
wants to consort with people, even if it be to re-
vile them, but to consort with them."

" One must arrange life in such a way that
every moment in it will be significant," — said Ar-
kady thoughtfully.

" Who says so ! The significant, although it is
sometimes false, is sweet, but it is also possible to
reconcile one's self to the insignificant .... but
there 's the empty tittle-tattle, the empty tittle-
tattle — ^that 's the trouble."

" Tittle-tattle does not exist for a man, if only
he refuse to recognise it."

220

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

" H'm ... thou hast uttered the opposite com'
monplace/*

" What?— What dost thou call by that name? "

" Why, this : to say, for example, that civilisa-
tion is useful,— that is a commonplace; but to say
that civilisation is harmful is the opposite com-
monplace. It appears to be more elegant, but, in
reaHty, it is identical."

" But where is the truth, on which side? "

"Where? I will answer thee like Echo:
* Where? ' "

" Thou art in a melancholy mood to-day,
Evgeny."

" Really? The sun must have stewed me, and
one should not eat so many raspberries."

" In that case, it would not be a bad idea to have
a nap,"— remarked Arkady.

" All right ; only don't look at me : every man
has a stupid face when he is asleep."

" But is n't it a matter of indifference to thee
what people think of thee? "

" I don't know what to say to thee. A genuine
man ought not to worry about that; a gen-
uine man is the one for whom it is not worth
while to think, but whom one must obey or
hate."

" It is strange! I do not hate any one," — said
Arkady, after reflection.

" And I hate so many. Thou art a tender soul,
a sluggish man, why shouldst thou hate I— Thou

221

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

art timid, thou hast little confidence in thy«
self. . . ."

"And thou,"— interrupted Arkady,— " hast
thou confidence in thyself? Hast thou a lofty
opinion of thyself? "

BazarofF remained silent for a while. — " When
I meet a man who will not sing small before me,"
— he said with breaks and pauses, — " then I will
alter my opinion of myself.— Hate! Why, here,
for example, thou didst say to-day, as we passed
the cottage of our overseer, Philip, — it is so fine
and white, — here thou didst say, — that Russia
would attain to perfection when the last peasant
should have such a dwelling, and every one of us
ought to promote it. . . . But I hated that last
peasant, Philip or Sidor, for whom I am to toil
and moil, and who will not even say ' thanks ' to
me .... and what do I want with his thanks,
an5rway? Well, he will live in a white cottage,
but burdocks will be growing out of me. — Well,
and what comes next? "

" Enough, Evgeny . . . when one Ustens to
thee to-day, one involuntarily agrees with those
who accuse us of a lack of principles."

" Thou art talking like thy uncle. In general,
there are no principles — hast thou not discovered
that yet I but there are sensations. Everything
depends on them."

" How so? "

"Why, because. — Take me; for example: I

222

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

hold to the negative tendency, — by virtue of sen-
sation. It is agreeable to me to deny my brain is
constructed in that way — and that's enough!
Why do I Hke chemistry? Why dost thou hke
apples ?— also by virtue of the sensation. All that
is identical. Deeper than that, men will never
penetrate. Not every one will tell thee that, and I
shall not tell thee that again."

" What? and is honour also a sensation? "

" I should say so! "

" Evgeny! "—began Arkady in a sad voice.

"Ah? What? Isn'tittothy taste?"— inter-
rupted Bazaroff.— " No, brother! If thou hast
made up thy mind to mow down everything — lay
thyself by the heels also ! . . . . But we have phi-
losophised enough. * Nature incites to the silence
of slumber,' says Pushkin."

" He never said anything of the sort," — said
Arkady.

" Well, if he did n't say it, he might and should
have said it in his quahty of a poet. By the way,
he must have been in the military service."

" Pushkin never was a miHtary man."

" Upon my word, he shows it on every page:—
* To battle, to battle ! For the honour of
Russia!'"

" What fables thou dost invent! Why, that is
downright calumny."

" Calumny? Much I care about that! He has
undertaken to scare me with a word! Whatever

223

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

calumny you impute to a man he really deserves
something twenty times worse."

" We 'd better go to sleep,"— said Arkady
with vexation.

" With the greatest pleasure," — replied Baza-
roff. But neither of them got to sleep. A cer-
tain almost hostile f eeHng had seized possession of
the hearts of both young men. Five minutes later
they opened their eyes and exchanged a glance
in silence.

" Look,'* — said Arkady at last,—" a dry
maple-leaf has broken loose and falls to the
ground; its movement is exactly like that of a
butterfly. Is n't it strange ? The most melan-
choly and dead resembles the most merry and
lively."

"Oh, my friend, Arkady Nikolaitch! "—
cried BazarofF, — " I make one request of thee:
don't use fine language."

" I talk as I can. . . And this is despotism, in
short. An idea has come into my head : why not
utter it?"

"Precisely; but why should not I utter my
thought also? I think that to use fine language
is improper."

" What is proper then? To swear? "

" Eh, eh! But I perceive that thou really art
bent upon following in the footsteps of thy uncle.
How that idiot would rejoice if he could hear
thee!"

224

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

" What was that thou didst call Pavel Petro-
vritch? "

" I called him what he deserves — an idiot."

" But this is unbearable! " exclaimed Arkady.

"Aha! the sentiment of consanguinuity has
spoken," — remarked Bazaroff tranquilly. — "I
have noticed that it stands its ground very per-
sistently in people. A man is ready to reject
everything, he will part with every prejudice; but
to admit that his brother, who steals other people's
handkerchiefs is a thief —is beyond his strength.
Yes, and in fact : my brother, mine is not a genius
... is that possible? "

" What spoke in me was the simple sentiment
of justice, and not that of consanguinuity at all,"
— retorted Arkady vehemently. — " But since
thou hast not that sensation ^ thou canst not judge
of it."

" In other words, Arkady KirsanofF is too
lofty for my comprehension ; I bow my head and
hold my tongue."

" Please stop, Evgeny ; we shall end by quar-
relling."

" Akh, Arkady! do me that favour: let us have
a good quarrel for once — to the point of peeling
off our coats to extermination."

" Well, if we go on like this, probably we shall
wind up by . . . ."

" By fighting? " — interpolated Bazaroff. —
" What of that? Here on the hay, in such idyllic

225

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

surroundings, far from the world and the gaze of
men— it does n't matter. But thou wilt not get
the better of me. I shall instantly clutch thee by
the throat "

Bazaroif spread wide his long, tough fin-
gers. . . Arkady turned over and made ready, as
though in jest, to oflFer resistance. . . . But his
friend's face struck him as so malevolent, there
seemed to him to be something so far from a jest
in the wry smile on his lips, in his blazing eyes, —
that he felt an involuntary timidity. . . .

" Ah! so this is where you 've got to! "—rang
out Vasily Ivanitch's voice at that moment, and
the old regimental staff -surgeon stood before the
young men, clad in a home-made Hnen pea-jacket
and with a straw hat, also of domestic manufac-
ture, on his head.—" I have been hunting and
hunting for you. . . But you have chosen a cap-
ital place and are devoting yourselves to a very
fine occupation. Lying on the * earth ' to gaze
at * heaven.' . . Do you know, there is a certain
special significance in that! "

" I gaze at heaven only when I want to sneeze,"
—growled Bazaroff , and, turning to Arkady, he
added, in an undertone : " It 's a pity he has dis-
turbed us."

" Come, enough of that,"— whispered Arkady,
and stealthily pressed his friend's hand. But no
friendship can long withstand such clashes.

" I look at you, my young companions," —
226

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

Vasily Ivanitch was saying in the meantime, as
he shook his head and rested his clasped hands on
an artfully twisted cane of his own manufacture,
with the figure of a Turk in place of a knob,—
" I look and cannot sufficiently admire you. How
much strength and the most vigorous youth, ca-
pacities, talents, you have! 'T is simply ....
Castor and Pollux!"

"See now — he makes pretensions to knowing
mythology! " — remarked Bazaroff. " 'T is im-
mediately evident that he was strong on Latin in
his day I I think I remember that thou wert given
the silver medal for composition— hey? "

" The Dioscuri, the Dioscuri! "—repeated
Vasily Ivanitch.

" Come, father, have done with that,— don't get
sentimental."

" It is permissible once in a way," — stammered
the old man. — " But I have not hunted you up,
gentlemen, for the purpose of paying you com-
pliments, but with the object, in the first place,
of informing you that we are to dine soon; and,
in the second place, — I wanted to warn thee,
Evgeny. . . . Thou art a sensible man, thou
knowest men and thou knowest women, and, con-
sequently, thou wilt pardon me. . . . Thy mother
wished to have a prayer-service celebrated in hon-
our of thy arrival. Don't imagine that I am sum-
moning thee to be present at that prayer-service :
it is already finished ; but Father Alexyei . . . ."

227

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

" The pope? "

"Well, yes, the priest; he is going to dine
with us. ... I had not expected it, and even
advised against it . . . but somehow it turned out

that way .... he did not understand me

Moreover, he is a very good and sagacious
man."

" He won't eat my portion at dinner, will he? *'
— asked Bazaroff.

Vasfly Ivanitch laughed—" Good gracious,
what dost thou mean? "

" I demand nothing more. I am ready to sit
down at table with any sort of man.'*

Vasily Ivanitch adjusted his hat.—" I was
convinced in advance," — he said, — " that thou art
above all prejudices. As for that, I am an old
man: I have lived for sixty years, and I have
none." (Vasfly Ivanitch did not dare to con-
fess that he himself had desired to have the
prayer-service. . . . He was no less devout than
his wife.) "And Father Alexyei was very
anxious to make thy acquaintance. Thou wilt
like him, as thou wilt see. He is not avferse to a
game of cards either, and even . . . . ' but that is
between ourselves ... he smokes a pipe."

" You don't say so? After dinner we '11 sit
down to whist and I '11 beat him."

" Ha— ha— ha, we shall seel That 's the ques-
tion."

" What 's that? Art thou going to recall the
228

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

pleasures of youth? " — said Bazaroif, with pecu-
liar emphasis.

Vasily Ivanitch's bronzed cheeks crimsoned
with confusion.

" Art not thou ashamed of thyself, Evgeny?—
What 's past is past. Well, and I am ready to
confess in his presence that I had that passion in
my youth— as a matter of fact; and I have paid
well for it, too! — But how hot it is. Allow me to
sit down beside you. I 'm not in the way, am I ? "

" Not in the least,"— replied Arkady.

Vasfly Ivanitch dropped down on the hay with
a grunt. — " Your present couch, gentlemen," — he
began,—" reminds me of my miUtary, bivouac
life, field hospitals, also somewhere close to a hay-
stack, thank God for that." — He sighed. — " I
have gone through a great deal — a great deal, in
my time. Now, for instance, if you will permit
me, I will tell you a curious episode of the plague
in Bessarabia."

" For which you received the Order of St.
Vladimir? " — interpolated BazarofF. " We know
about it — we know about it. . . . By the way,
why dost not thou wear it? "

" Why, I have told thee that I have no preju-
dices,"—stammered Vasily Ivanitch (only the
day before he had commanded that the red rib-
bon should be ripped off his coat), and he be-
gan to narrate the episode of the plague. —
" Why, he has fallen asleep,"— he suddenly

229

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

whispered to Arkady, pointing at Bazaroff, and
he winked good-humouredly. — "Evgeny! get
up! " — he added aloud.—" Come to dinner. . . ."
Father Alexyei, a stout and stately man, with
thick, carefuUy brushed hair, and an embroid-
ered belt over his lilac cassock, proved to be a very
adroit and ready-witted person. He hastened to
shake hands with Arkady and BazarofF, as
though he understood beforehand that they did
not need his blessing,^ and altogether he bore him-
self without constraint. He neither lowered his
own dignity, nor gave offence to others; he
laughed opportunely at seminary Latin and stood
up for his Bishop ; he drank two glasses of wine,
but refused a third; he accepted a cigar from Ar-
kady, but did not smoke it, saying that he would
carry it home. The only thing about him that
was not thoroughly agreeable was that he kept
slowly and cautiously Hf ting his hand to catch flies
on his face, and in so doing he sometimes crushed
them. He seated himself at the card-table with
a moderate show of satisfaction, and ended by
winning two rubles and a half from BazarofF in
bills; in Arina Vlasievna's house no one had the
least conception of reckoning in silver money. . .^
As before, she sat beside her son (she did not play

^ It is customary for priests and the higher ecclesiastics to bestow
their blessing upon laymen, and have their hand kissed in return,
instead of shaking hands. — Translator.

^ At the epoch referred to, silver was considerably more valuable
than bills.— Traksultok-

280

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

cards), as before she propped her cheek on her
fist, and only rose for the purpose of giving
orders to serve some fresh viand. She was afraid
to caress BazaroiF, and he did not encourage her,
did not challenge her to caresses, and, in addition,
Vasily Ivanitch had advised her not to " bother "
him too much.—" Young men don't like it,"—
he had inculcated upon her; (it is unnecessary to
say what the dinner was like that day: Timofeitch
had galloped off in person at early dawn for some
special Tcherkessian beef ; the overseer had gone
in another direction for burbot, perch and craw-
fish ; for mushrooms alone the peasant women had
been paid forty-two kopeks in copper money) ;
but Arina Vlasievna's eyes, immovably fastened
upon Bazaroff, expressed not alone devotion and
tenderness : in them there was visible also sadness
mingled with curiosity and terror : there was vis-
ible a sort of submissive reproach.

But Bazaroff was in no mood to decipher pre-
cisely what his mother's eyes expressed ; he rarely
addressed her, and then only with a curt question.
Once he asked her for her hand " for luck" ; she
gently laid her soft little hand on his hard, broad
palm.

" Well,"— she inquired, after waiting a while,
-"did n't it help?"

" Things went still worse,"— he rephed with a
careless smile.

" They are taking great risks,"— articulated
231

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

Father Alexyei, as though with compassion, and
stroked his handsome beard.

" Napoleon's rule, my good father. Napoleon's
rule,"— interpolated Vasily Ivanitch,— and led an
ace.

" And it led him to the island of St. Helena,"
—remarked Father Alexyei, and trumped with
the ace.

" Wouldst not thou hke some raspberry water,
Eniiishenka? " — asked Arina Vlasievna.

Bazaroff merely shrugged his shoulders.

" No! "—he said to Arkady on the following
day, — " I 'm going away to-morrow. It 's tire-
some; I want to work and it 's impossible here.
I '11 go back to the country with thee ; I have left
all my preparations there. In thy house at least
one can lock himself up. But here my father
keeps repeating to me : ' my study is at thy ser-
vice— no one will disturb thee,'— and he himself
never goes a step from me. And somehow, too,
I 'm ashamed to lock him out. And it 's the same
with my mother. I hear her sighing on the other
side of the wall, but if I go to her I have noth-
ing to say."

" She is greatly afflicted,"— said Arkady,—
'* and so is he."

" I '11 return to them."

" When? "

" Why, on my way to Petersburg."

" I am particularly sorry for thy mother."
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FATHERS AND CHILDREN

" Why so? Has she been treating thee to
berries? "

Arkady dropped his eyes. — " Thou dost not
know thy mother, Evgeny. She is not only an
excellent woman, she is very clever, really. This
morning she talked to me for half an hour — so
practically, so interesting."

" She probably dilated upon me the whole
time?"

" The conversation was not about thee alone."

" Possibly ; things are more visible to thee as an
outsider. If a woman can maintain a half -hour's
conversation, that is a good sign. But I 'm going
away, nevertheless."

" Thou wilt not find it easy to impart that in-
formation to them. They are both discussing
what we are to do a fortnight hence."

"It is not easy. The devil prompted me to-
day to annoy my father: the other day he gave
orders that one of his serfs who pays him quit-
rent should be flogged — and he did quite right;
yes, yes, don't stare at me in such horror, — he did
quite right, because the man is the most frightful
thief and drunkard ; only my father did not in the
least expect that I should get wind of the affair,
as the expression is. He was very much discon-
certed, and now I must grieve him to boot. . .
Never mind! It won't kill him! "

Bazaroff said, " Never mind ! " but a whole day
elapsed before he could bring himself to inform

233

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

Vasily Ivanitch of his intention. At last, as he
was bidding him good-night in the study, he said,
with a forced yawn :

" Yes. . . I came near forgetting to tell thee.
. . Please order our horses to be sent on to Feodot
to-morrow for the relay."

Vasily Ivanitch was astounded. — " Is Mr. Kir-
sanoif going away from us? "

" Yes ; and I am going with him."

Vasfly Ivanitch whirled round where he stood.
— "Thou art going away? "

" Yes ... I must. Please make arrangements
about the horses."

" Very well ..." stammered the old man:—
" for the relay . . very good .... only .... only
.... What does it mean? "

" I must go to his house for a short time. Then
I will come back here."

"Yes I For a short time. . . Very good." —
Vasily Ivanitch pulled out his handkerchief, and
as he blew his nose he bent over almost to the
floor. . "Very well . . . all shall be done. I was
thinking that thou wouldst stay with us ... .
longer. Three days. . . . That . . that . . is
very httle, after three years; it is very httle,
Evgeny!"

" But I tell thee I am coming back soon.
It is indispensable that I should go."

" Indispensable. . . . What then? One must
do one's duty first of all. ... So I am to des-

234

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

patch the horses? Very good. Of course Arina
and I did not expect this. She has begged some
flowers from a neighbour ; she meant to embelhsh
thy room." (Vasfly Ivanitch made no mention
of the fact that very morning, as soon as it
was light, standing barefooted in his slippers,
he had taken counsel with Timofeitch, and
drawing forth, with trembling fingers, one bank-
note after another, had commissioned him to
make divers purchases, having special reference
to victuals and to claret, which, so far as he had
been able to observe, the young men greatly
liked.) " The main thing is freedom;— that is
my rule . . . one must not impede . . .
not . . ."

He suddenly relapsed into silence and went to-
ward the door.

" We shall see each other again soon, father,
really."

But Vasfly Ivanitch, without turning round,
merely waved his hand and left the room. On
reaching his bedroom he found his wife in bed,
and began to pray in a whisper, in order not to
waken her. But she awoke, nevertheless. — " Is it
thou, Vasfly Ivanitch? " — she asked.

" Yes, dear little mother."

" Comest thou from Eniiisha? Dost thou know
I am afraid : he does not sleep comfortably on the
couch. I ordered Anfisushka to give him thy
camp mattress and new pillows; I would have

235

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

given him our feather-bed, but I remember that
he does not like a soft bed."

" Never mind, dear little mother, don't worry.
He 's all right. O Lord, have mercy upon us
sinners," — he continued his prayer in a low voice.
Vasily Ivanitch was sorry for his old woman; he
did not like to tell her overnight what a sorrow
was in store for her.

Bazaroff and Arkady went away on the fol-
lowing day. From early morning everything in
the house grew melancholy; the dishes tumbled
out of Anf isushka's hands ; even Fedka was sur-
prised, and ended by pulling off his boots. Vasily
Ivanitch bustled about more than ever: he was
evidently keeping up his courage; he talked in a
loud voice and clumped with his feet, but his face
was haggard and his glances constantly sHpped
past his son. Arina Vlasievna wept quietly; she
was thoroughly distraught, and would not have
been able to control herself if her husband had not
argued with her for two whole hours early in the
morning. But when Bazaroff, after repeated
promises to return not later than a month hence,
tore himself at last from the restraining embraces,
and took his seat in the tarantas ; when the horses
started and the bell began to jingle and the wheels
began to revolve,— and there was no longer any
use in staring after him, and the dust had sub-
sided, and Timofeitch, all bowed and reeling as
he walked, dragged himself back to his kennel;

236

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

when the old folks were left alone in their house,
which also seemed suddenly to have shrunk to-
gether and grown decrepit : Vasily Ivanitch, who
only a few moments before had been bravely wav-
ing his handkerchief from the porch, dropped into
a chair and drooped his head upon his breast.
" He has abandoned, abandoned us,"— he stam-
mered,—" abandoned us; he found it tiresome
with us. Alone, solitary as a finger now, alone! "
he repeated several times, and every time he thrust
out his hand in front of him with the forefinger
standing apart. Then Arina Vlasievna went up
to him, and leaning her grey head against his grey
head, she said: " What is to be done, Vasya? A
son is a slice cut oif . He is hke the falcon : when
he would he flew hither, when he would he flew
away; thou and I are like mushrooms on a hol-
low tree : we sit in a row and never stir from our
places. Only I shall remain forever inalterable
to thee, as thou wilt to me."

Vasfly Ivanitch removed his hands from his
face and embraced his wife, his friend, as closely
as he had embraced her in their youth: she had
comforted him in his grief.

237

XXII

In silence, only now and then exchanging insig-
nificant words, our friends arrived at Feodot's.
Bazaroif was not wholly satisfied with himself.
Arkady was displeased with him. Moreover, he
felt in his heart that causeless melancholy which is
known to very young people alone. The coach-
man transferred the harness to the fresh horses,
and clambering to the box, inquired: " To the
right, or to the left? "

Arkady shivered. The road to the right led to
the town and thence home ; the road to the left led
to Madame Odmtzoff's.

He glanced at Bazaroff*.

" Evgeny,"— he asked,—" to the left? "

Bazaroff turned away. — " What folly is this? "
—he muttered.

" I know that it is folly," — replied Arkady. . . .
*' But where 's the harm in that? Would it be the
first time we have perpetrated it? "

Bazaroif pulled his cap down on his brow. —
" As thou wilt,"— he said at last.

" Turn to the left,"— shouted Arkady.

The tarantas rolled on in the direction of
Nikolskoe. But once having decided on the

238

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

folly, the friends maintained a more obsti-
nate silence than ever, and even appeared to be
angry.

From the very way in which the butler received
them on the porch of Madame Odintzoff 's house
the friends were enabled to divine that they had
not acted wisely in yielding to the whim which had
suddenly seized them. Evidently they were not
expected. They sat waiting for a fairly long time,
and with decidedly foolish faces, in the drawing-
room. Madame Odintzoff came at last. She
greeted them with the graciousness which was pe-
cuHar to her, but was surprised at their speedy re-
turn, and, so far as could be judged from the de-
Hberation of her movements and her speech, she
was not over dehghted by it. They hastened to ex-
plain that they had only dropped in on their way,
and four hours later they went on to the town. She
confined herself to a sHght exclamation, requested
Arkady to present her compHments to his father,
and sent for her aunt. The Princess made her
appearance in a very sleepy state, which imparted
still greater maUce to the expression of her wrin-
kled old face. Katya was indisposed ; she did not
leave her room. Arkady suddenly became con-
scious of the fact that he was, at least, as desirous
of seeing Katya as Anna Sergyeevna herself.
The four hours passed in insignificant chat about
this and that; Anna Sergyeevna both listened and
talked without a smile. Only just as they were

239

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

taking leave did her former friendliness seem to
stir in her soul.

" I have a fit of spleen just at present," —
she said, — " but you must pay no heed to that,
and come again — I am saying this to both of you,
— after a while."

Both Bazaroif and Arkady answered her by a
silent bow, seated themselves in their carriage, and
without halting again anywhere, drove oif home
to Marino, where they arrived in safety on the
following day at evening. During the whole
course of the journey neither of them so much as
mentioned Madame Odintzoif' s name; Bazaroff,
in particular, hardly opened his mouth, and kept
staring to one side away from the road with a cer-
tain obdurate intensity.

Every one at Marino was extremely glad to see
them. The prolonged absence of his son had be-
gun to trouble Nikolai Petrovitch. He cried out,
flung his legs about and bounced about on the
divan when Fenitchka ran into his room with
beaming eyes and announced the arrival of *' the
young gentlemen"; even Pavel Petrovitch felt a
certain agreeable agitation, and smiled conde-
scendingly as he shook hands with the returned
wanderers. They began to talk and ask ques-
tions ; Arkady did most of the talking, especially
at supper, which lasted until long after midnight.
Nikolai Petrovitch ordered several bottles of por-
ter to be served, which had just been brought from

240

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

Moscow, and he himself indulged in dissipation
to such an extent that his cheeks became deep
crimson, and he laughed incessantly in a way
which was not precisely childish nor yet precisely
nervous. The general exhilaration extended to
the servants also. Dunyasha ran back and forth
like one possessed, and kept slamming the doors,
and Piotr, even at two o'clock in the morning,
was still trying to play a kazak waltz on the
guitar. The strings resounded wailingly and
pleasingly in the motionless air ; but, with the ex-
ception of a little preliminary fioritura, the edu-
cated valet could get nothing out of his instru-
ment: nature had denied him musical talent, as
well as all other faculties.

Meanwhile, life did not arrange itself very com-
fortably at Marino, and poor Nikolai Petrovitch
fared badly. His anxieties about the farm aug-
mented with every passing day — cheerless, inex-
orable anxieties. His difficulties with his hired
labourers became unendurable. Some demanded
their pay or an increase, others went away after
they had received their earnest-money ; the horses
fell ill; the harness wore out as though burned
with fire; the work was heedlessly done; the
threshing machine which had been ordered from
Moscow turned out to be unsuitable, owing to its
weight; another was ruined the first time it was
used; half of the cattle-sheds burned down be-
cause a blind old woman, one of the house-serfs,

241

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

went in windy weather to fumigate her cow with
a firebrand. . . . The catastrophe occurred, it is
true, according to the assertion of that same old
woman, because the master had taken it into his
head to set up some unheard-of cheeses and dairy-
products. The overseer suddenly grew lazy, and
even began to grow fat, as every Russian man
does grow fat when " free bread " falls to his lot.
On catching sight from afar of Nikolai Petro-
vitch, in order to display his zeal, he would fling
a chip at a sucking-pig which was running by, or
menace a half -nude little boy; but the rest of the
time he spent chiefly in sleeping. The peasants
who had been placed on the quit-rent basis did
not bring their money at the appointed time and
stole wood in the forest; almost every night the
watchmen found, and sometimes captured after
a scrimmage, the peasants' horses in the meadows
of the " farm." Nikolai Petrovitch tried the plan
of inflicting a fine in money for the damage done
by this grazing, but the affair usually ended by
the horses being restored to their owners after
they had been fed at his expense for a day or
two. To crown all, the peasants began to
quarrel among themselves; brothers demanded a
division, their wives could not get along together
in one house; all at once a brawl began to rage,
and suddenly everything was in an uproar, as
though at the word of command every one was
rushing past the porch of the estate-office besieg-

242

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

ing the master, often with bruised faces, in an in-
toxicated condition, and demanding justice and
chastisement; clamour arose, and roars, and the
whimpering shrieks of women mingled with curses
from the men. It became necessary to examine
into the conflicting claims, to shout one's self
hoarse, knowing in advance that it was impossible,
nevertheless, to arrive at any correct decision.
There were not hands enough for the reaping: a
neighbouring peasant-proprietor, with the most
ingratiating countenance, had contracted to fur-
nish reapers at two rubles a desyatina, and had
cheated in the most unconscionable manner; his
peasant women demanded unheard-of prices, and,
in the meantime, the grain was falling from the
ear upon the ground, and while on the one hand
the reaping could not be managed, on the other
hand, the Council of Guardians was menacing
and demanding immediate and full payment of
interest on its loan

" It is beyond my strength! " — Nikolai Petro-
vitch more than once exclaimed with despair.—
" It is out of the question for me to fight myself,
and my principles do not permit me to send for
the chief of the rural police, and yet, without the
fear of punishment, nothing can be accom-
plished!"

" Du calme, du calme/'— 'Pavel Petrovitch re-
plied to this, but he himself purred and frowned
and tugged at his moustache.

243

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

Bazaroff held himself aloof from all these
" squabbles," and, moreover, as a guest it was not
his place to meddle with other people's affairs.
On the day after his arrival at Marino, he be-
took himself to his frogs, his infusorise, his chem-
ical compounds, and busied himself exclusively
with them. Arkady, on the contrary, regarded it
as his duty, if not to aid his father, at least to
display a mien of being ready to aid him. He
hstened patiently to him, and one day he offered
some piece of advice, not with the object of hav-
ing it followed, but for the sake of showing his
sympathy. Farming matters did not arouse re-
pugnance in him: he had even meditated with
pleasure on agricultural activity; but at that
period other thoughts were swarming in his brain.
Arkady, to his own amazement, thought inces-
santly of Nikolskoe ; formerly he would only have
shrugged his shoulders if any one had told him
that he could feel bored under the same roof with
Bazaroff, and under what roof to boot I—
that of his father; but he really was bored and
longed to get away. He took it into his head to
walk until he was tired out, but this was of no
avail. While chatting one day with his father he
learned that Nikolai Petrovitch had several de-
cidedly interesting letters written in former days
by Madame Odintzoff's mother to his dead wife,
and he did not leave him in peace until he had got
possession of these letters, in search of which

2U

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

Nikolai Petrovitch was obliged to rummage in a
score of different drawers and chests. On enter-
ing into possession of these half -decayed papers,
Arkady seemed to calm down, just as though he
perceived ahead of him the goal toward which it
behooved him to advance. " I will tell you both
about it," he kept constantly whispering, — add-
ing to himself: " I will go, I will go, devil
take it! " But he recalled his last visit, the cool
reception and the former awkwardness, and was
overcome with timidity. The " Perchance " of
youth, a secret desire to taste his happiness, to test
his powers all by himself, without the protection
of any one whomsoever — finally won the victory.
Ten days had not elapsed after his return to
Marino before he again galloped off to the town,
under the pretext of studying the mechanism of
the Sunday-schools,^ and thence to Nikolskoe.
Incessantly urging the postilion to greater speed,
he dashed thither like a young ofiicer to a battle:
he felt afraid and gay and suffocating with im-
patience. " The chief thing is not to think," he
kept repeating to himself. He had chanced upon
a wild postiHon; the man drew up in front of
every dram-shop, saying: "Have a drink?" or
" Don't we want a drink? " but, on the other hand,
when once he had got his drink he did not spare

1 For the instruction in reading, writing, and the common branches,
of those engaged in labor during the week : not schools for teaching
religion exclusively, as that subject occupies a prominent place in aU
schools in Russia.— Teansi^\tor.

245

FATHERS AND CHILDRElSr

the horses. ..." What am I doing? "—sud-
denly flashed through Arkady's head. " Well, I
can't turn back, anyway!" The troika rolled
briskly on; the postilion shouted and whistled.
And now the little bridge rumbled under the hoofs
and wheels— now the avenue of chpped firs made
its appearance. ... A woman's pink gown flashed
amid the dark verdure, a young face peeped out

from beneath the light fringe of a parasol

He recognised Katya and she recognised him.
Arkady ordered the postilion to stop the gallop-
ing horses, sprang out of the equipage, and went
up to her. " So it is you! "—she said, and a rosy
flush gradually overspread all her face:—" Let us
go to my sister; she is yonder in the garden; she
will be glad to see you."

Katya led Arkady to the garden. His meet-
ing with her seemed to him a pecuHarly happy
omen; she had been as delighted to see him as
though he were a member of the family. Every-
thing had turned out so capitally: neither butler
nor announcement. At the turn of the path he
caught sight of Anna Sergyeevna. She was
standing with her back to him. On hearing foot-
steps she gently turned round.

Arkady was on the point of feeling discon-
certed, but the first words she uttered immedi-
ately restored his composure. " Good-morning,
fugitive ! " she said in her even, gracious voice,
and advanced to meet him, smiHng and blinking

246

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

with the sun and the wmd: "Where didst thou
find him, Katya? "

" I have brought you something," — he began,
— " Anna Sergyeevna, which you were not in the
least expecting. .... . "

" You have brought yourself; that is the best
of aU."

247

XXIII

After seeing Arkady off with mocking sym-
pathy, and giving him to understand that he was
not in the sHghtest degree deceived as to the real
object of his journey, BazaroiF definitively iso-
lated himself: the fever of work had descended
upon him. He no longer argued with Pavel Pet-
rovitch, the more so, as the latter in his presence
assumed an extremely aristocratic mien and ex-
pressed his opinions more by sounds than by
words. Only once did Pavel Petrovitch enter into
a controversy with the nihilist on the question
which was then in fashion as to the rights of the
nobility of the Baltic Provinces, but he suddenly
checked himself, saying with cold courtesy:
" However, we cannot understand each other; I,
at least, have not the honour to understand you."

*' I should think not!" — exclaimed BazarofF.
— "A man is capable of understanding every-
thing—the pulsation of the ether and what is
going on in the sun; but how another man can
blow his nose in any other way than he blows his
own,— that he is not capable of understanding."

"Is that witty?"— said Pavel Petrovitch in-
quiringly, and withdrew to one side. However,

248

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

he sometimes asked permission to be present at
BazarofF's experiments, and once even he put his
face, perfmned and washed with an excellent
preparation, down to the microscope, in order to
watch a transparent infusoria swallow a green
particle and chew it up carefully with certain very
agile little fists which it had in its throat. Nikolai
Petrovitch visited BazarofF much more frequently
than did his brother ; he would gladly have come
every day " to study," as he expressed it, had not
the cares of his estate called him elsewhere. He
did not disturb the young naturalist; he seated
himself somewhere in a corner and watched at-
tentively, rarely permitting himself a cautious
question. During dinner and supper he endeav-
oured to turn the conversation on physics, geol-
ogy or chemistry, as all other subjects, even those
connected with farming, not to mention those con-
nected with politics, might lead if not to collisions,
at least to mutual dissatisfaction. Nikolai Petro-
vitch divined that his brother's hatred for Baza-
roff was not in the least diminished. One insig-
nificant incident, among many others, confirmed
him in his surmise. The cholera had begun to
make its appearance here and there in the neigh-
bourhood, and had even " culled " a couple of per-
sons from Marino itself. One night Pavel Petro-
vitch had a rather severe attack. He suffered
agonies until morning, but did not have recourse
to BazaroiF's art — and when he saw him on the

249

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

following day, to his query : " Why had not he
sent for him? "—he replied, still ghastly pale,
but with his hair already well brushed and face
carefully shaved:— " Why, I beheve you said
yourself that you did not believe in medicine."
Thus the days passed on; BazarofF toiled stub-
bornly and gloomily ... and meanwhile there was
in Nikolai Petrovitch's house a being with whom
he not only relieved his heart, but gladly con-
versed. . . That being was Fenitchka.

His interviews with her generally took place
early in the morning in the garden or in the yard ;
he did not go to her room, and she never went but
once to his door to ask him whether or not she
ought to bathe Mitya? She not only trusted him,
she not only did not fear him, but she bore herself
in his presence with more freedom and ease than
even with Nikolai Petrovitch himself. It is diffi-
cult to say whence this arose; perhaps from the
fact that she unconsciously felt in Bazaroff the
absence of everything savouring of the gentry
class, of all that loftiness which both attracts and
intimidates. In her eyes he was a capital doctor
and a simple man. Without feeling embarrassed
by his presence, she busied herself with her baby ;
and one day, when her head suddenly began to
reel and ache, she accepted a spoonful of medicine
from his hand. Before Nikolai Petrovitch she
seemed to shun Bazaroif : she did this not out of
craft, but from a certain sentiment of decorum.

250

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

Pavel Petrovitch she feared more than ever; for
some time past he had taken to watching her, and
was wont suddenly to make his appearance, as
though he had sprung out of the earth behind her
back in his English suit, with keen, immovable
face, and hands in his pockets. — " He fairly sends
a chill down your back," Fenitchka complained to
Dunyasha, and the latter in reply sighed and
thought of another " unfeeling " man. Bazaroff,
without himself suspecting the fact, had become
the cruel tyrant of her soul.

Fenitchka liked BazarofF and he also Uked her.
Even his face underwent a change when he talked
with her: it assumed a clear, almost kindly ex-
pression, and a certain playful attentiveness be-
came mingled with its wonted carelessness.
Fenitchka grew handsomer with every passing
day. There is a period in the life of young women
when they suddenly begin to blossom out and un-
fold like sunmier roses ; this period had arrived for
Fenitchka. Everything contributed thereto, even
the sultry July heat which then prevailed. Clad
in a thin white gown, she herself seemed whiter
and lighter: sunburn did not aifect her, and the
heat, from which she could not guard herself, com-
municated a faint rose tint to her cheeks and ears,
and infusing a gentle lassitude into all her body,
was reflected with dreamy languor in her beau-
tiful eyes. She could hardly work at all; her
hands simply fell into her lap. She hardly walked

251

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

at all and kept groaning and complaining with
amusing weakness.

" Thou shouldst bathe more frequently,"—
Nikolai Petrovitch said to her. He had built a
large bath-house, covered with canvas, in that one
of his ponds which had not already quite dried up.

*' Okh, Nikolai Petrovitch! But one would
die before getting to the pond, and to walk back
would kill one. There 's no shade in the garden,
you see."

" There is no shade, it is true,"— rephed Nikolai
Petrovitch, and mopped his brows.

One day, about seven o'clock in the morning,
Bazar off, as he was returning from a stroll, found
Fenitchka in the lilac arbour, long since out of
bloom, but still green and thick. She was sitting
on the bench with a white kerchief thrown over
her head, according to her custom ; beside her lay
a whole sheaf of red and white roses, still wet with
dew. He bade her good morning.

" Ah! Evgeny Vasilitch! " she said, and raised
the edge of her kerchief a little to look at him, in
which operation her arm was bared to the elbow.

" What are you doing here? " — said Bazaroff,
seating himself by her side. — " Are you binding
up a bouquet? "

" Yes ; for the breakfast table. Nikolai Petro-
vitch likes it."

" But it is still a long time to breakfast. What
a mass of flowers I "

252

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

" I picked them now because it will get hot,
and it will be impossible to go out. It is only at
this hour that one can breathe. I have lost all my
strength with this heat. I 'm beginning to be
afraid that I am falling ill."

"What a whimsical idea! Here, let me feel
your pulse."— BazarofF took her hand, sought the
evenly-beating artery, and did not even count its
pulsations.—" You will live a hundred years,"—
he said as he released her arm.

" Akh, God forbid ! " she exclaimed.

" Why? Don't you want to live a long time? "

" Yes, but a hundred years ! Our grandmother
was eighty -five years old— and what a martyr she
was I Black, deaf, bent, she coughed incessantly ;
she was only a burden to herself. What a life! "

" So it is better to be young? "

" Of course; why not? "

"But how is it better? Tell me."

" What do you mean by * how ' ? Here I am
young now, I can do everything,— I go and come,
and fetch and carry, and I am not obliged to ask
any one. . . What can be better? "

" Why, it 's all the same to me whether I am
young or old."

" What is it you say— that it is all the same?
What you say is impossible."

" Come, judge for yourself, Fedosya Niko-
laevna; of what use to me is my youth? I live

alone, a poor, wretched fellow "

253

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

" That always depends on you."

" That 's precisely the point, that it does not
depend on me! I wish somebody would take pity
on me."

Fenitchka gazed askance at Bazaroff, but said
nothing.— " What book have you there?"— she
asked after a pause.

" This? It is a learned, wise book."

"And you are always studying? Doesn't it
bore you? I think you must know everything by
this time."

" Evidently, I don't know everything. Try to
read a Httle of this."

" But I shall not understand an5i:hing. Is it in
Russian? "—asked Fenitchka, grasping the heav-
ily bound book with both hands.—" How thick
it is!"

" Yes, it is in Russian."

" That makes no difference ; I shall not under-
stand anything."

" But I am not giving it to you with the object
of having you understand it. I want to watch
you while you read. When you read, the tip of
your little nose moves very prettily."

Fenitchka, who was beginning to decipher in
an undertone the first article which came to hand
" about creosote," broke out laughing, and threw
aside the book ... it sHd from the bench to the
ground,

254

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

" I am also fond of seeing you laugh," — said
Bazaroff.

"Do stop I"

" I love to hear you talk. It is like the babbling
of a brook."

Fenitchka turned away her head.—" What a
queer man you are! " — she said, her fingers stray-
ing among the flowers. — " And why should you
care to Hsten to me ? You have had conversation
with such clever folks."

" Ekh, Fedosya Nikolaevna! believe me: all
the clever ladies in the world are not worth your
elbow."

" Come, now, you have invented something
else! "—whispered Fenitchka, and folded her
arms.

Bazaroff* picked the book up from the ground.
— " This is a medical book: why do you fling it
awayf

" A medical book? " — repeated Fenitchka, and
turned toward him. — " But do you know what?
Ever since you gave me those drops — you remem-
ber?— Mitya has slept so well! I can't think how
to thank you; you are so kind, really."

" Well, as a matter of fact, one should pay the
doctor," — remarked Bazaroff" with a grin. —
" Doctors are greedy fellows, you know."

Fenitchka raised her eyes to Bazaroff*, and they
seemed still darker than usual, owing to the whit-

255

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

ish reflection which fell upon the upper part of
her face. She did not know whether he was jest-
ing or not.

" If you like, we will pay you, with pleasure. . . .
I must ask Nikolai Petrovitch. . ."

" But do you think I want money? "— Bazaroff
interrupted her.—" No, I want no money from
you."

" What then? "—said Fenitchka.

" What? "—repeated Bazaroff.—" Guess."

*' I never can guess anything! "

" Then I will tell you; I want .... one of
these roses."

Again Fenitchka burst out laughing and even
clasped her hands, so amusing did BazaroiF's de-
sire seem to her. She laughed, and at the same
time she felt flattered. Bazaroff gazed intently
at her.

" Very well, very well," — she said at last, and
bending toward the bench she began to sort over
the roses.—" Which would you like— a red or a
white one? "

" A red one, but not too large."

She straightened herself up. — " Here, take it,"
— she said, but immediately drew back her out-
stretched hand, and biting her lip, cast a glance
at the entrance to the arbour — then began to
listen.

" What *s the matter? " — inquired Bazaroff.—
"Nikolai Petrovitch?"

266

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

" No. . . . He has gone to the fields . . . and
I 'm not afraid of him .... hut as for Pavel
Petrovitch It seemed to me "

" What? "

" It seemed to me that he was walking there.
No . . . there is no one. Take it."— Fenitchka
gave Bazaroff a rose.

" What makes you afraid of Pavel Petro-
vitch?"

"He always frightens me. Whether he says
anything or not, he looks queer. And certainly
you don't like him either. You remember you
used to be forever disputing with him. I don't
know what you were disputing about, but I could
see that you twisted him about so and so. . . ."

Fenitchka demonstrated with her hands how,
in her opinion, Bazaroff had twisted Pavel Petro-
vitch about.

Bazaroff smiled. — " And if there had been any
danger of his vanquishing me you would have
stood up for me? " — he inquired.

" How should I have stood up for you? Why,
no one can overcome you."

" Do you think so? But I know a hand which,
if it wished, could knock me over with one finger."

"What hand is that?"

" Is it possible that you do not know? — Smell
and see how splendid is the perfume of the rose
you have given me."

Fenitchka stretched out her neck and put her

26T

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

face close to the flower. . . The kerchief sHpped
from her head to her shoulders; a soft mass of
shining black hair, slightly dishevelled, was re-
vealed to view.

"Wait; I want to smell it with you," — said
BazarofF, and he bent over and kissed her firmly
on her parted lips.

She shuddered, and repelled him with both
hands against his breast, but her resistance was
weak, and he was able to repeat and prolong his
kisses.

A dry cough resounded behind the lilacs.
Fenitchka instantly moved to the other end of the
bench. Pavel Petrovitch made his appearance,
made a slight bow, and saying, with a sort of
malicious de j ection — ' ' Are you here ? " — with-
drew.

Fenitchka immediately gathered up all her
roses and went out of the arbour. " Shame on
you, Evgeny Vasflievitch," — she whispered as she
went. Unfeigned reproach was audible in her
whisper.

Bazaroif suddenly recalled another scene of re-
cent occurrence, and felt conscience-stricken and
scornfully vexed with himself. But he immedi-
ately shook his head, ironically congratulated him-
self on his " formal entrance on the career of a
Lovelace," and went off to his chamber.

But Pavel Petrovitch quitted the garden, and
strolling slowly, reached the forest. He remained

2&S

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

there for a rather long time, and when he returned
to breakfast Nikolai Petrovitch asked him with
anxiety whether he was well— so dark had his face
grown.

" As thou knowest, I sometimes suffer from an
overflow of bile," Pavel Petrovitch answered him
with composure.

259

XXIV

Two hours later he knocked at BazarofF's door.

" I must make my excuses for disturbing you
in your learned occupations," he began, as he
seated himself on a chair near the window and
rested both hands on a handsome cane with an
ivory handle— (he generally walked without a
cane) ,— " but I am compelled to request that you
wiU bestow upon me five minutes of your time—
no more."

" All my time is at your disposal,"— replied
Bazaroff , over whose face something had flitted
as soon as Pavel Petrovitch crossed the threshold
of the door.

" Five minutes wiU suffice for me. I have come
to propound one question to you."

" A question? What is it about? "

" Be so good as to hear me out. At the begin-
ning of your sojourn in my brother's house, when
as yet I had not denied myself the pleasure of
conversing with you, I chanced to hear you ex-
press your views on many subjects ; but so far as
my memory serves me, neither between us nor in
my presence did the conversation turn upon the
subject of duels or of duelling in general. Per-

260

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

mit me to inquire, what is your opinion on that
point?"

Bazaroif , who had risen at Pavel Petrovitch's
entrance, seated himself on the edge of a chair
and folded his arms.

" This is my opinion,"— said he:—" From the
theoretical point of view a duel is a piece of folly ;
but from the practical point of view, — it is quite
another matter."

" That is, you mean to say, if I have understood
you aright, that whatever may be your theoretical
views as to duelling in practice, you would not
allow yourself to be insulted without demanding
satisfaction."

" You have perfectly divined my thought."

" Very good, sir. I am very much pleased to
hear this from you. Your words free me from
uncertainty. ..."

" From indecision, you mean to say."

*' That is the same thing, sir ; I am expressing
myself in this manner so that I may be under-
stood ; I 'm no seminary rat. Your words release
me from a certain sad necessity. I have made up
my mind to fight with you."

Bazaroff opened his eyes wide.—*' With me? "

" Yes, without fail."

" But what for? good gracious."

" I might explain the cause to you,"— began
Pavel Petrovitch:— " but I prefer to remain
silent on that point. To my taste you are super-

261

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

fluous here; I cannot endure you, I despise you,
and if that is not enough for you . . . ."

Pavel Petrovitch's eyes flashed. . . Bazaroff 's
began to flame also.

" Very good, sir,"— said he.—" Further expla-
nations are unnecessary. The fancy has seized
you to make a trial of your chivalrous spirit on
me. I might refuse you that satisfaction ; but let
that pass."

" I am intensely indebted to you,"— repiled
Pavel Petrovitch,— " and can now hope that you
will accept my challenge without forcing me to
have recourse to violent measures."

" That is, speaking without allegories, to that
cane? "—remarked Bazaroff^ coolly.—" That is
quite correct. There is no necessity whatever for
your insulting me. And it is not entirely devoid
of danger. You can remain a gentleman. ... I
accept your challenge, also in a gentlemanly
manner."

" Very good indeed," — said Pavel Petrovitch,
and placed his cane in a corner. — " We will im-
mediately say a few words about the conditions
of our duel ; but first I should like to understand
whether you consider it indispensable to resort
to the formality of a small preliminary quarrel,
which might serve as the pretext for my chal-
lenge? "

" No. It is better without any formalities."

" I think so myself. I also assume that it is in-
262

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

opportune to enter into the genuine causes of our
conflict. We cannot endure each other. What
more is needed? "

" What more is needed? "—repeated BazarofF
ironically.

" As regards the conditions themselves of the
duel, as we shall have no seconds,— for where are
we to get them? '*

" Precisely; where are we to get them? "

" I have the honour to propose to you the fol-
lowing: That we shall fight to-morrow morning
early, let us say at six o'clock, behind the grove,
with pistols ; the barrier at ten paces. ..."

" Ten paces? that 's so; we hate each other at
that distance."

" We might make it eight," — remarked Pavel
Petrovitch.

"We might; why not?"

" We will fire twice ; and each of us will put a
note in his pocket— in case of accidents— in which
he will cast the blame for his death upon himself."

" On that point I am not quite in accord with
you," — said Bazaroff. — " It smacks somewhat of
a French romance,— it lacks probability."

" Possibly. But you must admit that it would
be unpleasant to subject one's self to the suspicion
of having committed murder."

" I do admit that. But there is a means of
avoiding that sad reproach. We shall have no sec-
onds, but we may have a witness."

268

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

" Who, precisely, permit me to ask? "

" Why, Piotr."

"WhatPiotr?"

" Your brother's valet. He is a man who stands
on the crest of contemporary civiHsation and will
play his part with all the comme il faut indispen-
sable in such cases."

" It strikes me that you are jesting, my dear
sir.

" Not in the least. If you will consider my
proposition, you wiU become convinced that it is
full of common sense and simplicity. You cannot
hide an awl in a bag, and I take it upon myself to
prepare Piotr in the proper manner, and bring
him to the field of battle."

" You persist in jesting," — ejaculated Pavel
Petrovitch, rising from his seat.—" But after the
amiable readiness which you have displayed I
have no right to be too exacting with you. . . .
And so everything is arranged. . . . By the way,
you have no pistols? "

" Where should I get any pistols, Pavel f*etr6-
vitch? I am not a warrior."

" In that case, I offer you mine. You may feel
assured that it is five years since I have fired
them."

" That is a very comforting piece of news."

P£vel Petrovitch got his cane. ..." And
now, my dear sir, it only remains for me to
thank you and surrender you to your occupa-

264

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

tions again. I have the honour to bid you good
morning."

" Farewell until our agreeable meeting, my
dear sir,"— said Bazaroflf, as he escorted his guest
to the door.

Pavel Petrovitch departed, but Bazaroff stood
still in front of the door, and suddenly exclaimed :
" Whew! the devil! how fine and how stupid! A
pretty comedy we have undertaken to play!
That 's the way trained dogs dance on their hind
legs. But it was impossible to refuse ; for I think
he would have struck me, and then ..." (Bazar off
turned pale at the mere thought ; all his pride rose
up in arms.) " Then I should have been obliged
to strangle him like a kitten." He returned
to his microscope, but his heart was aroused,
and the composure which was indispensable for
his observations had vanished. — " He saw us to-
day,"—he thought, " but can it be that he is stand-
ing up for his brother? But of what importance
is a kiss ? There 's something else here. Ba ! is n't
he in love himself? Of course he is; that is as
clear as the day. What a complicated mess, when
you come to think of it ! . . . It 's a bad busi-
ness ! " — he decided at last : — " it 's a bad business,
look at it from whichever side you will. In the
first place, I must risk my hf e, and, in any case,
go away ; and there 's Arkady . . . and that
lady-bug, Nikolai Petrovitch. 'T is a bad, bad
business."

265

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

The day passed somehow in a pecuHarly quiet
and languid manner. It was as though Fenitchka
did not exist in the world; she sat in her little
room like a mouse in its hole. Nikolai Petrovitch
had a careworn aspect. He had been informed
that rust had made its appearance in his wheat,
on which he had set special hopes. Pavel Petro-
vitch crushed every one, even Prokofitch, with his
icy poHteness. Bazaroif began a letter to his
father, but tore it up and flung it under the table.
" If I die,"— he thought, " they will hear of it:
but I shall not die. No, I shall live on from hand
to mouth in this world for a long time to come."
— He ordered Piotr to come to him at daybreak
on the following morning for an important af-
fair; Piotr imagined that he wished to take him
with him to Petersburg. Bazaroff went to bed
late, and incoherent dreams tormented him all
night long. . . . Madame Odintzoff hovered be-
fore him, but she was his mother, and a kitten with
black whiskers followed her, and that kitten was
Fenitchka; but Pavel Petrovitch presented him-
self to him as a huge forest, with which, neverthe-
less, he was compelled to fight. Piotr waked him
at four o'clock ; he immediately dressed and went
out with him.

It was a splendid, cool morning; tiny, motley
cloudlets hung like snipe in the clear, pale azure ;
a fine dew was sprinkled on the leaves and grass,
and glistened like silver on the spiders' webs ; the

266

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

moist dark earth seemed still to retain the rosy
traces of the dawn; the songs of larks showered
down from all over the sky. BazarofF walked to
the grove, seated himself in the shadow at the edge
of it, and only then did he reveal to Piotr what
service he expected from him. The educated
lackey was frightened to death; but Bazaroff
soothed him with the assurance that he would have
nothing to do except stand at a distance and look
on, and that he was assuming no responsibility
whatever.— "And meanwhile,"— he added,—
*' think what an important part awaits thee! " —
Piotr flung his hands apart, dropped his eyes, and
leaned back, all green, against a birch tree.

The road from Marino wound round the grove ;
a light dust lay upon it, as yet untouched since the
preceding day by either wheel or foot. Bazaroff
involuntarily gazed along the road, plucked and
chewed a blade of grass, and kept repeating to
himself: " What a piece of stupidity! " The ma-
tutinal chill made him shiver once or twice. . . .
Piotr stared dejectedly at him, but Bazaroff only
grinned : he was not afraid.

The sound of a horse's hoofs rang out on the
road. . . A peasant made his appearance from
behind the trees. He was driving two hobbled
horses in front of him, and, as he passed Bazaroff,
he looked at him rather strangely, without doffing
his cap, which obviously disconcerted Piotr as an
evil omen. " Here 's another fellow who has

267

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

risen early," — thought BazarofF; "but for busi-
ness, at all events, while we "

" I think he 's coming, sir," whispered Piotr
suddenly.

Bazaroff raised his head and perceived Pavel
Petrovitch. Clad in a light checked sack-coat and
snow-white trousers, he was walking briskly down
the road ; under his arm he carried a box wrapped
up in green cloth.

" Pardon me, I seem to have made you wait,"
— he said, bowing first to Bazaroff and then to
Piotr, in whom he at that moment respected some-
thing in the nature of a second. — " I did not wish
to rouse my valet."

"It is of no consequence, sir,"— replied Baza-
roff,— " we have only just arrived ourselves."

" Ah! so much the better! "—Pavel Petrovitch
cast a glance around him. — " There is no one in
sight, no one will interfere "

" Let us begin."

" You demand no fresh explanations, I sup-
pose? "

" I do not."

" Would you like to load? "—inquired Pavel
Petrovitch, taking the pistols from their case.

" No ; do you load, and I will measure off the
paces. My feet are the longer,"— added Bazaroff
with a sneer.—" One, two, three . . . ."

" Evgeny Vasilievitch," — stammered Piotr
with difficulty (he was shaking as though in a

268

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

fever) ,— " I don't care what you say, but I am go-
ing away."

" Four .... five. . . . Go, my dear fellow,
go: thou mayest even stand behind a tree and stop
up thine ears, only don't shut thine eyes; and if
any one falls run and lift him up. Six . . . seven

. . . eight " BazarofF paused. — " Is this

enough? " — he said, addressing Pavel Petrovitch;
— "or shall I add a couple of paces more? "

" As you Hke,"— said the latter, ramming in
the second bullet.

" Well, let 's add a couple of paces more. —
BazarofF drew a hne on the ground with the toe
of his boot. — " Here 's the barrier. Oh, by the
way : how many paces is each of us to go from the
barrier? That also is an important question. We
did not discuss that yesterday. ."

" Ten, I suppose,"— replied Pavel Petrovitch,
handing Bazaroff both pistols. " Be so good as to
make your choice."

" I will. But you must admit, Pavel Petro-
vitch, that our duel is unusual to the point of ab-
surdity. Just look at the face of our second! "

" You always want to jest," — repHed Pavel
Petrovitch. — " I do not deny the strangeness of
our duel, but I considered it my duty to warn you
that I intend to fight seriously. A bon entendeur,
salut!"

" Oh! I do not doubt that we intend to exter-
minate each other; but why not laugh and com-

269

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

bine utile dulci? So be it: you talk to me in
French, and I '11 talk to you in Latin."

" I shall fight seriously,"— repeated Pavel Pe-
trovitch, and went to his post. Bazaroff, on his
side, counted off ten paces from the barrier, and
halted.

" Are you ready? " — asked Pavel Petrovitch.

" Perfectly."

" We can advance."

Bazaroff moved slowly forward, and Pavel
Petrovitch followed his example, thrusting his
left hand into his pocket, and gradually raising
the barrel of his pistol. ..." He is aiming
straight at my nose," — ^thought Bazaroff, " and
how carefully he is narrowing his eyelids, the
bandit! But this is an unpleasant sensation; I
will look at his watch-chain. . . ." Something
whizzed sharply close to Bazaroff's ear, and at
that moment the sound of a shot rang out. — " I
heard it, consequently I 'm all right," flashed
through his head. He advanced another step,
and, without taking aim, pressed the trigger.

Pavel Petrovitch gave a slight start and
clapped his hand to his hip.— A stream of blood
flowed down his white trousers.

Bazaroff flung aside his pistol and ap-
proached his adversary. — *' You are woimded? "
— he said.

" You had the right to call me to the bar-
rier,"— returned Pavel Petrovitch: — " but that is

270

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

a mere trifle. According to the agreement, each
of us has another shot."

" Well, excuse me, that will do for another
time,"— replied BazarofF, and caught Pavel Pe-
trovitch, who was beginning to turn pale, in his
anns. — " I 'm not a duellist now, but a doctor;
and, first of all, I must inspect your wound.
Piotrl come here, Piotrl where art thou hiding
thyself? "

" All this is nonsense. ... I need assistance
from no one," — faltered Pavel Petrovitch, —
*' and ... we must . . . fire . . again. . ."
He tried to twirl his moustache, but his hand
weakened, his eyes rolled up, and he lost con-
sciousness.

" Here 's a pretty state of things! A swoon!
What's the cause of this!" — involuntarily ex-
claimed Bazaroff, as he laid Pavel Petrovitch
down on the grass. — " Let 's see what sort of a
performance this is." — He pulled out his hand-
kerchief, wiped away the blood, and felt of the
wound. ..." The bone is uninjured,"— he mut-
tered between his teeth, — " the bullet passed
through not far below the skin; one muscle, the
vastus externuSj is hurt. He can dance, if he
likes, three weeks hence ! . . . But a swoon I Okh,
these nervous people! Just see how thin his
skin is ! "

" Is he killed? " — rustled Piotr's quaking voice
behind his back.

271

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

Bazaroff glanced round. — " Run for water as
quickly as possible, my good fellow, and he will
outlive you and me."

But the perfected servant appeared not to un-
derstand his words, and did not stir from the spot.
Pavel Petrovitch slowly opened his eyes. " He is
dying! " whispered Piotr, and began to cross him-
self.

" You are right. . . What a stupid physiog-
nomy!"— said the wounded gentleman, with a
forced smile.

" Come, now, run for water, you devil! " —
shouted Bazaroff.

" It is not necessary. . . It was only a momen-
tary vertige. . . . Help me to sit up . . . there,
that 's it. . . . All that is needed is to bind up
this scratch with something, and then I will walk
home, or a drozhky can be sent for me. The duel
need not be renewed, if that suits you. You have
behaved nobly .... to-day — to-day, pray ob-
serve."

" It is not worth while to revert to the past," —
returned Bazaroff, — *' and as for the future, it is
not worth while to bother our heads about that
either, because I intend to decamp without delay.
Now let me bandage your leg ; your wound is not
dangerous, but it will be better, in any case, to
stop the flow of blood. But first it is indispen-
sable that this mortal should be brought to con-
sciousness."

272

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

BazarofF shook Piotr by the collar and sent him
for a drozhky.

" See to it that thou dost not alarm my bro-
ther,"—Pavel Petrovitch said to him.—" Don't
dare to announce it to him."

Piotr flew off at headlong speed ; and while he
was running for the drozhky the two adversaries
sat on the ground and held their peace. Pavel
Petrovitch tried not to look at Bazaroff ; neverthe-
less, he was not willing to be reconciled to him;
he was ashamed of his own arrogance, of his lack
of success: he was ashamed of this whole affair
which he had instigated, although he also felt that
it could not have ended in a more favourable man-
ner. " He will not hang on here any longer, at
all events," — he soothed himself: — *' and for that,
thanks." The silence continued, awkward and
oppressive. Neither of them was comfortable.
Each of them recognised the fact that the other
understood him. This consciousness is agreeable
to friends and extremely disagreeable to enemies,
especially when it is impossible for them either to
explain themselves or to separate.

" Have n't I bandaged your leg too tightly? "
— asked Bazaroff at last.

" No, never mind, it is very well done,"— re-
plied Pavel Petrovitch, and after a brief pause,
he added:—" it will not be possible to deceive my
brother; we shall have to tell him that we quar-
relled over politics."

278

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

V Very good," — said Bazaroff . — " You can say
that I abused all anglomaniacs."

" Capital. What do you suppose that man is
thinking about us now? " — went on Pavel Petro-
vitch, pointing at that same peasant who, a few
minutes previous to the duel, had driven past Ba-
zaroff the hobbled horses, and on returning along
the road had " turned out," and had pulled off
his cap at the sight of " the gentry."

" Who knows I "— repHed Bazaroff: — " the
most likely thing of all is that he thinks nothing.
— The Russian peasant is that same mysterious
stranger of whom Mrs. Radcliffe used to prate
so much. Who can understand him? He does
not understand himself."

" Ahl There you go again! "—Pavel Petro-
vitch was beginning, then suddenly exclaimed: —
" See what our fool of a Piotr has done I There 's
my brother galloping hither I "

Bazaroff turned round and perceived the pale
face of Nikolai Petrovitch, who was seated in the
drozhky. He sprang out before it came to a halt
and jflew to his brother.—" What 's the meaning
of this?"— he said in an agitated voice:—
" Evgeny Vasilitch, for heaven's sake, what is
this? "

"Never mind,"— replied Pavel Petrovitch:—
" there was no necessity for disquieting you. Mr.
Bazaroff and I have had a little quarrel, and I
have paid for it a bit."

274

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

" But for God's sake, what was the cause of all
this?"

" How can I explain it to thee? Bazaroff ex-
pressed himself disrespectfully about Sir Robert
Peel. I hasten to add that I alone am to blame
for all this, and Mr. BazarofF has behaved excel-
lently. I challenged him."

" But thou art bleeding, good gracious 1 "

" And didst thou suppose that I had water in
my veins? But this bloodletting is really advan-
tageous for me. Is n't that so, doctor? Help me
to get into the drozhky, and don't yield to melan-
choly. To-morrow I shall be well. There, that 's
right; very good indeed. Drive on, coachman."

Nikolai Petrovitch walked after the drozhky.
Bazaroff made a motion to remain behind

" I must request you to attend to my brother,"
— Nikolai Petrovitch said to him, — " until we get
another physician from the town."

Bazaroff bowed in silence.

An hour later Pavel Petrovitch was lying in
bed, with his leg skilfully bandaged. The whole
house was in a commotion: Fenitchka swooned.
Nikolai Petrovitch quietly wrung his hands, but
Pavel Petrovitch laughed and jested, especially
with Bazaroff ; he had donned a fine batiste shirt,
a dandified morning jacket, and a fez; he would
not allow them to draw down the shades at the
windows, and lamented amusingly about the
necessity of abstaining from food.

275

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

But toward nightfall, he became feverish; his
head began to ache. The doctor from the town
made his appearance. (Nikolai Petrovitch had
not obeyed his brother, and Bazaroff himself had
not wished it ; he had sat in his own room all day
long, all sallow and cross, and had only run in to
see the invalid for the very briefest space; twice
he had chanced to encounter Fenitchka, but she
had jumped away from him in horror. ) The new
doctor advised cooling beverages, but otherwise
confirmed Bazaroff 's assertions that no danger
was to be apprehended. Nikolai Petrovitch told
him that his brother had wounded himself through
heedlessness, to which the doctor replied: "H'ml"
—but on receiving upon the spot twenty-five
rubles, silver, in hand, he said : " You don't say
sol that often happens, really."

No one in the house went to bed or undressed.
Nikolai Petrovitch kept stealing into his brother's
room on tiptoe and steahng out again on tiptoe:
the latter dozed, groaned softly, said to him in
French'/' Couchez-vous,^' —and asked for a drink.
Once Nikolai Petrovitch made Fenitchka bring
him a glass of lemonade; Pavel Petrovitch re-
garded her intently, and drank the glass to the
bottom. Toward morning the fever increased
somewhat, a slight delirium made its appearance.
At first Pavel Petrovitch uttered incoherent
words ; then he suddenly opened his eyes, and per-
ceiving his brother at his bedside bending anx-

276

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

iously over him, he said: — " Fenitchka has some-
thing in common with Nelly, has n't she,
Nikolai? "

" With what NeUy, Pasha? "

" How canst thou ask? With Princess R. . . .
Especially in the upper part of the face. C'est de
la meme famillej"

Nikolai Petrovitch made no reply, hut mar-
velled within himself at the vitality of old feelings
in a man. " It 's coming to the surface," he
thought.

" Akh, how I love that vain creature!" —
moaned Pavel Petrovitch, sadly flinging his arms
above his head. — " I cannot endure it when some
audacious fellow dares to touch . . . ."he stam-
mered a few moments later.

Nikolai Petrovitch merely sighed; he did not
suspect to whom those words applied.

BazarofF presented himself to him at eight
o'clock on the following morning. He had
already managed to pack, and to set at liberty
all his frogs, insects, and birds.

" You have come to bid me farewell? " — said
Nikolai Petrovitch, rising to greet him.

" Exactly so, sir."

" I understand you, and I fully approve of
your course. My poor brother, of course, is to
blame: and he has been punished. He told me
himself that he had placed you in such a position
that it was impossible for you to refuse. I believe

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FATHERS AND CHILDREN

that you could not have avoided this duel, which
. . . which, to a certain extent, is accounted for
merely by the constant antagonism of your
mutual views." (Nikolai Petrovitch had got en-
tangled in his words.) " My brother is a man of
the old stamp, irascible and morose. . . . Thank
God that it has ended thus. I have taken all nec-
essary measures to avoid pubhcity. ..."

" I wiU leave you my address, in case any un-
pleasantness arises,"— remarked Bazaroff care-
lessly.

" I hope that no unpleasantness wiU arise,
Evgeny Vasilitch. ... I am very sorry that
your sojourn in my house should have had such
. . . such an ending. I am the more distressed
because Arkady "

" I shall certainly see him again,"— returned
BazaroiF, in whom every sort of " explanation "
and '* declaration " always aroused a sentiment of
impatience;— " if I do not, I beg that you will
give him my regards and accept the expression of
my regret."

" And I beg . . ." repHed Nikolai Petrovitch,
with a bow. But Bazaroff did not await the end
of his phrase, and left the room.

On hearing that Bazaroff was about to depart,
Pavel Petrovitch expressed a wish to see him and
to shake hands with him. But here also Bazaroff
remained as cold as ice; he comprehended that
Pavel Petrovitch wished to appear magnanimous.

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FATHERS AND CHILDREN

He did not succeed in bidding Fenitchka good-
bye; he merely exchanged a glance with her
through a window. Her face seemed sad to him.
" She '11 go to destruction probably! "—he said to
himself. ..." Well, she '11 extricate herself,
somehow or other! '*

On the other hand, Piotr was so overcome with
emotion that he wept on his shoulder, until Baza-
roif froze him with the question: "Wasn't he
a cry-baby? " while Dunyasha was compelled
to flee to the grove to conceal her agitation.
The cause of all this woe clambered into the
peasant cart, lighted a cigar, and when, at the
fourth verst, at a turn of the road, the Kirsanoff
farm, with its new manor-house, presented itself,
all spread out in a line to his eyes for the last time,
he merely spat, and muttering: " Cursed stuck-up
gentry!" wrapped himself more closely in his
cloak.

Pavel Petrovitch soon improved; but he was
obliged to keep his bed for about a week. He
bore his captivity , as he expressed it, with consid-
erable patience, only he made a great fuss over his
toilet, and kept giving orders that they should
fumigate with eau de cologne. Nikolai Petro-
vitch read the newspapers to him; Fenitchka
waited on him as of yore, brought his bouillon,
lemonade, soft-boiled eggs, tea ; but a secret terror
took possession of her every time she entered his
chamber. Pavel Petrovitch's unexpected be-

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FATHERS AND CHILDREN

haviour had frightened all the people in the
house, and her most of all; Prokofitch alone re-
mained unperturbed, and explained that the gen-
try were wont, in his time, to fight " only noble
gentlemen, among themselves, but loafers they
would have ordered to be thrashed in the stables
for their insolence."

Fenitchka's conscience hardly reproached her
at all; but the thought of the real cause of the
quarrel tortured her at times; and, moreover,
Pavel Petrovitch gazed at her in such a strange
way .... in such a way, that even when she had
her back turned toward him she felt his eyes
upon her. She grew thin from incessant inward
perturbation, and, as is usual, became prettier
than ever.

One day — it happened in the morning, — Pavel
Petrovitch felt well, and had transferred himself
from the bed to the divan, and Nikolai Petrovitch,
after inquiring about his health, had betaken him-
self to the threshing-floor. Fenitchka brought a
cup of tea, and, placing it on a small table, was
on the point of withdrawing. Pavel Petrovitch
detained her.

" Whither away in such haste, Fedosya Niko-
laevna,"— he began:— "have you something to
do?"

" No, sir ... I must pour out the tea."

" Dunyasha can do that without you ; sit a while
with the sick man. By the way, I must have a
talk with you."

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FATHERS AND CHILDREN

Fenitchka silently seated herself on the edge
of an arm-chair.

" Listen,"— said Pavel Petrovitch, and tugged
at his moustache,—*' I have long wished to ask
you : you seem to be afraid of me? "

"I, sir? . . ."

" Yes, you. You never look at me, just as
though your conscience were not clear."

Fenitchka blushed, but glanced at Pavel Petro-
vitch. He struck her as rather strange, and her
heart quivered softly.

" Your conscience is clear, is n't it? " — he asked
her.

" Why should n't it be clear? " — she whispered.

" As if there were not cause? — However,
before whom should you be guilty? Before me?
That is not probable. Before other persons here
in the house? That also is an impossibility. Be-
fore my brother, perchance? But surely you love
him? "

" I do."

" With all your soul, with all your heart? "

" I love Nikolai Petrovitch with all my heart."

"Really? Look at me, Fenitchka" (he called
her this for the first time) . . . . " You know it
is a great sin to He ! "

" I am not lying, Pavel Petrovitch. If I did
not love Nikolai Petrovitch, I should not want to
live any longer."

" And you would not betray him for any one? "

" For whom should I betray him? "
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FATHERS AND CHILDREN

"As if there were no one! Why, for ex-
ample, for that gentleman who went away from
here."

Fenitchka rose to her feet.—" O Lord, my
God, Pavel Petrovitch, why do you torture me?
What have I done to you? How is it possible to
talk like that? . . . ."

" Fenitchka,"— said Pavel Petrovitch in a mel-
ancholy voice,—" you know I saw "

" What did you see, sir? "

" Why, yonder ... in the arbour."

Fenitchka turned all crimson, to her very hair
and her ears. — " And how am I to blame for
that? "—she articulated with difficulty.

Pavel Petrovitch half rose. — " You are not to
blame? No? Not in the least? "

" I love no one in the world but Nikolai Petro-
vitch, and I shall love him forever!" — said
Fenitchka, with sudden force, while sobs swelled
her throat. " And as for what you saw, I shall
say, at the Last Judgment, that I am not and was
not to blame for that ; and I would rather die at
once, if I am to be suspected of such a thing, as

that toward my benefactor Nikolai

Petrovitch. ... I ... ."

But here her voice failed her, and, at the same
time, she felt Pavel Petrovitch grasp and squeeze
her hand. . . . She looked at him and was fairly
petrified. He had become more pallid than be-
fore; his eyes were shining, and, what was most

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FATHERS AND CHILDREN

wonderful of all, a heavy, isolated tear was rolling
down his cheek.

" Fenitchka I "—he said, in a queer sort of whis-
per : — " love, love my brother ! He is such a kind,
good man ! Do not betray him for any one in the
world, do not listen to anybody's speeches I Think,
what can be more dreadful than to love and not be
beloved I Never abandon my poor Nikolai ! "

Fenitchka's eyes grew dry, and her terror
passed off, — so great was her amazement. But
what was her state of mind when Pavel Petro-
vitch — Pavel Petrovitch himself — pressed her
hand to his lips, and fairly hung over it, not
kissing it, and only sighing from time to time in
a convulsive manner. . . .

" O Lord,"— she thought, — " can it be that he
has a fit? . . ."

But at that moment his whole ruined life was
throbbing within him.

The stairs creaked under swift footsteps. . . .
He thrust her away from him, and threw his head
back on his pillow. The door opened, — and
Nikolai Petrovitch made his appearance, merry,
fresh, rosy -cheeked. Mitya, as fresh and rosy as
his father, clad only in his httle shirt, was jump-
ing about on his breast, clutching with his little
bare feet at the big buttons of his rustic coat.

Fenitchka fairly flew to him, and throwing her
arms around both him and her son, dropped her
head on his shoulder. Nikolai Petrovitch was as-

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FATHERS AND CHILDREN

tonished; Fenitchka, reserved and modest, had
never caressed him in the presence of a third
person.

" What is the matter with thee? "—he said, and
glancing at his brother, he transferred Mitya to
her.—" Thou dost not feel worse? "—he asked,
approaching Pavel Petrovitch.

The latter had buried his face in a batiste hand-
kerchief.— " No ... it is just never

mind On the contrary, I am much better."

" Thou wert in too much of a hurry to get to
the divan. Whither art thou going? " — added
Nikolai Petrovitch, turning to Fenitchka ; but she
had already banged the door behind her.—" I had
brought my sturdy young warrior to show thee;
he was longing for his uncle. Why has she taken
him away? But what ails thee? Has anything
happened between you two? "

" Brother! " — said Pavel Petrovitch solemnly.

Nikolai Petrovitch quaked. Dread fell upon
him — he himself did not know why.

" Brother," — repeated Pavel Petrovitch, —
" give me thy word to fulfil my request."

" What request? Speak."

" It is very important; in my opinion, the entire
happiness of thy life depends upon it. All this
time I have been meditating a great deal about
what I am now going to say to thee. . . . Bro-
ther, fulfil thy duty, the duty of an honest and
noble man; put an end to the scandal and bad

284

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

example which is caused by thee, the best of
men!"

" What is it thou meanest to say, Pavel? "

" Marry Fenitchka. . . . She loves thee. She
is the mother of thy son."

Nikolai Petrovitch retreated a pace and clasped
his hands.—" Is it thou who sayest this, Pavel?
— thou whom I have always regarded as the most
inexorable antagonist of such marriages! Thou
sayest this! But can it be that thou dost not
know that it was solely out of respect for thee
that I have not fulfilled that which thou hast
rightly designated as my duty? "

" It was a mistake for thee to respect me in this
instance," — returned Pavel Petrovitch with a mel-
ancholy smile. — " I am beginning to think that
Bazaroff was right when he reproached me with
being aristocratic. No, my dear brother, it is time
for us to cease putting on airs, and think of the
world: we are already old and peaceable men; it
is time for us to lay aside all vanity. We will, as
thou sayest, fulfil our duty ; and, lo, we shall also
receive happiness into the bargain."

Nikolai Petrovitch flew to embrace his brother.

"Thou hast finally opened my eyes!"— he
cried.—" Not in vain have I always maintained
that thou art the kindest and wisest man in the
world; but now I see that thou art as sagacious as
thou art magnanimous."

"Softly, softly,"— Pavel Petrovitch inter-

285

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

rupted him.— "Do not irritate the leg of thy
sagacious brother, who, at the age of fifty, has
fought a duel like an ensign. So that affair is
settled: Fenitchka is to be my .... helle-soeur**

" My dear Pavel! But what will Arkady say? "

" Arkady? He will go into raptures, take my
word for it! Marriage is not among his princi-
ples, but the sentiment of equality in him will be
flattered. And, in fact, what are castes au dice-
neuviime siecle? "

" Akh, Pavel, Pavel ! let me kiss thee again.
Don't be afraid, I will be cautious."

The brothers embraced.

" What dost thou think, — would it not be well
for thee to announce thine intention to her at
once? " — asked Pavel Petrovitch.

" What need is there of haste? "—returned
Nikolai Petrovitch.—" Did you discuss it? "

" Did we discuss it? Quelle idee! "

" Well, verj^ good. First of all, get well, and
that will not escape us; we must think it over
thoroughly, consider , . . ."

" But I thought thou hadst made up thy
mind? "

" Of course I have ; and I thank thee from my
soul. Now I will leave thee; thou must rest; all
agitation is injurious to thee. . . . But we will
discuss it again. Go to sleep, my dear soul, and
God give thee health! "

" Why does he thank me so? " thought Pavel
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FATHERS AND CHILDREN

Petrovitch, when he was left alone. " As if it did
not depend on him ! And I, as soon as he is mar-
ried, will go away somewhere, as far as possible,
to Dresden or Florence, and I will live there until
I die."

Pavel Petrovitch moistened his brow with eau
de cologne, and closed his eyes. Illuminated by
the brilliant daylight, his handsome, emaciated
head lay on the white pillow like the head of a
corpse. . . And he was a corpse.

287

XXV

At Nikolskoe, in the garden, under the shadow of
a lofty ash-tree, Katya and Arkady were sitting
on a turf bench; on the ground beside them Fifi
had estabHshed himself, imparting to his long
body that elegant curve which is known to sports-
men as " the grey-hare pose." Both Arkady and
Katya were silent; he held in his hands a half-
opened book, while she was collecting from a
basket the crumbs of white bread which still re-
mained in it, and tossing them to a small family
of sparrows, which, with the pusillanimous au-
dacity peculiar to their kind, were hopping and
chirping around her very feet. A faint breeze,
rustling the leaves of the ash, shifted softly to and
fro along the dark path and Fifi's yellow back,
pale-golden patches of light ; a level shade encom-
passed Arkady and Katya; only from time to
time did a brilliant streak kindle in her hair.
Both maintained silence ; but precisely the manner
in which they were silent, in which they sat side
by side, expressed trusting intimacy: neither of
them seemed to be thinking of his neighbour, yet
each was secretly glad of the other's proximity.
Their faces also have undergone a change since

288

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

we last beheld them: Arkady seems more com-
posed, Katya more animated, more self-pos-
sessed.

" Don't you think,"— began Arkady,—" that
the ash-tree bears a very appropriate name in
Russian : * no other tree pierces the air so lightly
and clearly as it does."

Katya raised her eyes aloft, and said, " Yes,"
and Arkady thought: "This one does not re-
proach me for expressing myself in fine lan-
guage/'

" I don't like Heine,"— began Katya, indicat-
ing with her eyes the book which Arkady held in
his hands: — " either when he laughs or when he
weeps; I love him when he is thoughtful and
sad."

" But he pleases me when he laughs," — re-
marked Arkady.

" Those are the old traces in you of your satiri-
cal tendency. . ."("Old traces! "—thought Ar-
kady;— "if Bazaroff were to hear that I")
" Wait, we will make you over."

" Who will make me over? You? "

" Who?— my sister; Porfiry Platonovitch,
with whom you no longer quarrel; aunty, whom
you escorted to church the day before yesterday."

" I could n't refuse! And as for Anna Sergye-
evna, she herself, you remember, agreed with
Evgeny on many points."

1 Yagen, "ash-tree;" yasno, "clearly."— TEAwaLATPOB.
289

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

" My sister was under his influence then, just
as you were."

" Just as I was? Do you mean to say that you
notice that I have abeady freed myself from his
influence? "

Katya made no reply.

" I know,"— pursued Arkady,—" that you
never did like him."

" I cannot judge of him."

" Do you know what, Katerina Sergyeevna?
Every time I hear that answer I do not beheve
in it. . . . There is no man as to whom any one
of us cannot pronounce judgment I That is sim-
ply an evasion."

" Well, then I will tell you that I .... do not
exactly dislike him, but I feel that he is a stranger
to me, and I have nothing in common with him
and neither have you."

"Why so?"

" How can I tell you? . . . He is a bird of
prey, while you and I are tame."

" And am I tame also? "

Katya nodded.

Arkady scratched behind his ear. — " See here,
Katerina Sergyeevna, you know that is really in-
sulting."

" Would you really like to be a bird of prey? "

" A bird of prey— no, but strong, energetic."

" That cannot be had by wishing. . . There 's
your friend— he does not wish it, but it is in him."

290

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

" H'm I So you think he had great influence on
Anna Sergyeevna? "

" Yes. But no one can keep the upper hand of
her for long,"— added Katya, in an undertone.

" Why do you think that? "

" She is very proud. ... I did not mean to say
that .... she sets a high value on her indepen-
dence."

" And who does not? "—asked Arkady, and
through his mind there flashed : " What good
does it do her? "— " What good does it do her? "
also flashed through Katya's mind. When young
people meet often on friendly terms, the same
thoughts are constantly occurring to them.

Arkady smiled, and moving a little closer to
Katya, said in a whisper:—" Confess that you are
a little afraid of her."

"Of whom?"

" Of A^r/^— repeated Arkady significantly.

" And you? " — questioned Katya, in her turn.

" And I also ; observe, I say : and I also."

Katya shook her finger at him.—" I am sur-
prised,"— she began: — " my sister has never been
so favourably disposed toward you as at precisely
the present moment; much more so than during
your first visit."

" Here 's news ! "

"But haven't you noticed it? Aren't you
pleased? "

Arkady meditated.

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FATHERS AND CHILDREN

"How have I won Anna Sergyeevna's good
will? Must it not have been because I brought
her your mother's letter? "

" For that reason, and there are other causes,
which I will not mention."

" Why not? "

" I won't tell."

" Oh! I know: you are very stubborn."
1 am.

" And observing."

Katya shot a sidelong glance at Arkady. —
" Perhaps that enrages you? What are you
thinking about? "

" I am thinking where you could have got that
observation which you really do possess. You are
so timorous, distrustful ; you are afraid of every-
body. . . ."

" I have lived much alone ; one begins, invol-
untarily, to think a great deal under such cir-
cumstances. But am I really afraid of every-
body? "

Arkady threw a penetrating glance at Katya.

" AU this is very fine,"— he went on,— "but
people in your position— I mean to say, with
your means— rarely possess that gift; it is diffi-
cult for the truth to make its way to them, as it is
to kings."

" But I 'm not rich, you know."

Arkady was surprised, and did not at once un-
derstand Katya. " And, in fact, all the property

292

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

does belong to her sister! " occurred to his mind;
this thought was not unpleasant to him. — " How
well you said that! " he said.

" What? "

" You spoke well ; simply without confusion or
affectation. By the way: I imagine that there
must be something peculiar — a sort of ostenta-
tion—in the feeling of a person who knows and
says that he is poor."

" I have experienced nothing of the sort, thanks
to my sister; I mentioned my position simply be-
cause the words slipped off my tongue."

" Exactly. But confess that there is in you a
little bit of that ostentation of which I just
spoke."

"For example?"

" For example, of course, — pardon my ques-
tion,— you would not marry a wealthy man."

" If I loved him very much. . . No, I think I
would not marry him even then."

"Ah! there, you see! "—exclaimed Arkady,
and, after a brief pause, he added:—" But why
would n't you marry him? "

" Because they sing in the ballad about in-
equality."

" Perhaps you want to rule, or . . . ."

" Oh, no! Why should I? On the contrary, I
am ready to submit ; only inequality is oppressive.
But I do understand respecting one's self and
submitting; that is happiness; but not an ex-

293

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

istence of subjugation. . . No, I am satisfied as
I am."

" Satisfied as you are,"— repeated Arkady
after Katya.— " Yes, yes,"— he went on;—" it is
not for nothing that you are of one blood with
Anna Sergyeevna; you are as independent as
she is; but you are more secretive. I am con-
vinced that on no account would you be the first
to express your feelings, no matter how powerful
and sacred they might be. . . ."

" But how could it be otherwise? " — inquired
Katya.

"You are equally clever; you have as much
character as she has, if not more. . . ."

" Do not compare me with my sister, please,"
— interposed Katya hurriedly, — " it is too dis-
advantageous to me. You appear to have for-
gotten that my sister is a beauty and a wit, and
. . . you, in particular, Arkady Nikolaitch,
ought not to utter such words, and with such a
serious countenance into the bargain."

" What does this mean, ' You in particular? '
—and from what do you conclude that I am
jesting? "

" Of course you are jesting."

"Do you think so? But what if I am con-
vinced of what I am saying? What if I am of
the opinion that I have not even yet expressed
myself with sufficient force? "

" I don't understand you.**
294

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

" Really? Well, now I see: I really have ex-
aggerated your power of observation."

" What? "

Arkady made no reply and turned away, while
Katya rummaged out a few more crumbs in her
basket, and began to toss them to the sparrows ;
but the sweep of her hand was too vigorous, and
the birds flew away without managing to peck.

" Katerina Sergyeevnal " — began Arkady
suddenly:—" it makes no diiFerence to you, prob-
ably; but you must know that I would not ex-
change you not only for your sister, but for any
one in the world."

He rose and walked swiftly away, as though
frightened at the words which had dropped from
his tongue.

And Katya dropped both her hands, together
with the basket, on her lap, and bowing her head,
gazed after Arkady. Little by little, a scarlet
flush faintly tinged her cheeks; but her lips did
not smile, and her dark eyes expressed surprise,
and some other, as yet nameless, feeling.

" Art thou alone? " — Anna Sergyeevna's
voice resounded near her. — " I thought thou
hadst gone into the garden with Arkady."

Katya, without haste, turned her eyes on her
sister (elegantly, even exquisitely attired, she was
standing on the path, and tickhng Fifi's ears with
the tip of her open parasol), and said, also with-
out haste: — " I am alone."

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FATHERS AND CHILDREN

" I perceive that,"— replied the other, with a
laugh:— "he must have gone off to his own
room."

" Yes."

" Have you been reading together? "

" Yes."

Anna Sergyeevna took Katya by the chin and
raised her face.

" You have not quarrelled, I hope? "

" No,"— said Katj^a, and gently put aside her
sister's hand.

" How solemnly thou answerest I I thought I
should find him here, and would suggest to him
that he take a stroll with me. He is always beg-
ging me to do that. Thy shoes have been brought
from town; go and try them on: I noticed
yesterday that those thou art now wearing
are quite worn out. In general, thou dost not
pay sufficient attention to that point, yet
thou hast such charming little feet! And thy
hands are good . . . only large; so thou must
captivate with the tiny feet. But thou art not a
coquette."

Anna Sergyeevna went her way along the
path, her handsome gown rustling faintly;
Katya rose from the bench, and taking with her
Heine, went away also — only not to try on her
shoes.

" Charming little feet,"— she thought, as she
walked slowly and lightly up the stone steps of

296

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

the terrace, which were red-hot with the sun; —
" charming little feet, you say. . . . Well, and he
shall be at them."

But she immediately felt ashamed, and ran
nimbly up-stairs.

Arkady walked along the corridor to his room ;
the butler overtook him, and announced that Mr.
BazarofF was sitting in his chamber.

" Evgeny! "—muttered Arkady, almost in
terror.

" He has just this moment come, and gave or-
ders that his arrival should not be announced to
Anna Sergyeevna, and bade me conduct him
straight to you."

" Can a catastrophe have happened at our
house? " — thought Arkady, and running hastily
up-stairs to his room, he flung open the door.
BazaroiF's aspect instantaneously calmed him, al-
though a more experienced eye probably would
have detected in the figure of the unexpected vis-
itor, energetic as of yore but haggard, the tokens
of inward agitation. With his dusty cloak on his
shoulders, and his cap on his head, he was sitting
on the window-sill ; he did not rise, even when Ar-
kady flung himself upon his neck, with noisy ex-
clamations.

" What a surprise! How does it happen! " —
he kept repeating, as he bustled about the room
like a man who imagines, and is trying to demon-
strate, that he is delighted.—" Everything is all

297

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

right at our house, of course; they are all well,
are n't they?"

" Everything at thy home is all right, but all
are not well," — said Bazaroff. — " But don't jab-
ber: order them to bring me some kvas; sit down
and listen to what I will impart to thee in a few,
but, I hope, fairly forcible phrases."

Arkady grew mute, and Bazaroif narrated to
him the story of his duel with Pavel Petrovitch.
Arkady was greatly amazed, and even grieved;
but he did not consider it necessary to say so; he
merely asked whether his uncle's wound were
really not dangerous, and, on receiving the reply,
— that it was extremely interesting, only not in a
medical sense, — he smiled in a constrained way,
and dread fell upon his heart, and he felt some-
what ashamed. BazaroiF seemed to understand
him.

" Yes, brother," — he said, — " that 's what it
means to live with feudal lords. Thou wilt fall
into feudal ways, and take part in knightly tour-
neys. Well, sir, so I took myself off to ' the
fathers,' " — BazaroiF wound up, — " and on the

way I dropped in here in order to inform

thee of all this, I would have said, if I did not
regard a useless lie as a piece of stupidity. No, I
dropped in here — the devil knows why. You see,
it is useful for a man, once in a while, to grab
himself by the topknot and pluck himself out, like
a radish from a garden-bed ; I performed that feat

298

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

recently. . . But I wanted to take just one more
look at that from which I had parted— at that
bed where I was planted."

" I hope that these words do not refer to me,"
—returned Arkady, with perturbation. — " I hope
that thou art not thinking of parting from me/'

Bazaroff cast an intent, almost piercing glance
at him.

" Does that really pain thee so? It strikes me
that thou hast already parted from me. Thou art

so fresh and pure thy affairs with Anna

Sergyeevna must be progressing well."

" What affairs of mine with Anna Sergye-
evna? "

" Why, didst not thou come hither from the
town, my child? By the way, how are the Sun-
day-schools getting on there ? Art not thou enam-
oured of her? Or has the time arrived for thee to
be discreet? "

" Evgeny, thou knowest I have always been
frank with thee ; I can assure thee, I swear to thee,
that thou art in error."

" H'm! a new word,"— commented Bazaroff.
— " But there 's no need for thee to wax warm
over it, for as thou seest, it is a matter of perfect
indifference to me. A romanticist would have
said: ' I feel that our paths are beginning to
diverge,' but I simply say that we have got dis-
gusted with each other."

" Evgeny 1 . . ."

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FATHERS AND CHILDREN

" My dear soul, that 's no calamity ; one gets
disgusted with plenty of things in this world!
But now I am thinking whether it is n't time for
us to say farewell? Ever since I came hither I
have felt most abominably, as though I had been
reading too much of Gogol's letters to the wife of
the Governor of Kaluga. By the way, I did not
order the horses unharnessed."

" Upon my word, this is impossible! "

"But why?"

" I am not speaking of myself; but this will be
in the highest degree discourteous to Anna Ser-
gyeevna, who is extremely anxious to see thee."

" Well, as to that, thou art mistaken."

" On the contrary, I am convinced that I am
right," — retorted Arkady. — " And why dost thou
dissimulate? When it comes to that, dost thou
mean to say that thou didst not come hither on her
account thyself? "

" Perhaps that is correct, but thou art mistaken,
nevertheless."

But Arkady was right. Anna Sergyeevna did
wish to see Bazaroff, and sent him an invitation,
through the butler, to come to her. Bazaroff
changed his clothes before he went to her: it
turned out that he had packed his new suit in such
a way that it was at hand.

Madame OdintzofF did not receive him in the
room where he had so unexpectedly made his dec-
laration of love, but in the drawing-room. She

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FATHERS AND CHILDREN

graciously offered him the tips of her fingers, but
her face expressed involuntary constraint.

** Anna Sergyeevna," — Bazaroff made haste to
say, — ** first of all, I must reassure you. You see
before you a mortal who has long since recovered
his senses, and who hopes that others also have
forgotten his folly. I am going away for a long
time, and you must admit that, although I am not
a soft person, yet it would be far from a cheerful
thing for me to carry away the thought that you
remember me with loathing."

Anna Sergyeevna heaved a deep sigh, like a
person who has just climbed to the top of a lofty
mountain, and her face became enlivened with a
smile. She offered her hand to Bazaroff for the
second time, and reciprocated his pressure.

" Let sleeping dogs lie," — she said, — " the more
so as, to speak candidly, I also sinned at that time
— if not through coquetry, by something else.
In a word, let us be friends as before. It was
a dream, was it not? And who remembers
dreams? "

" Who remembers them? And, moreover, love
... is an imaginary feeling, you know."

" Really? I am very glad to hear it."

Thus did Anna Sergyeevna express herself,
and thus did Bazaroff express himself; they both
thought that they were speaking the truth. Did
their words contain the truth, the whole truth?
They themselves did not know, much less does the

801

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

author. But they entered upon the sort of con-
versation which seemed to indicate that they thor-
oughly beheved each other.

Anna Sergyeevna asked Bazaroff , among other
things, what he had been doing at the Kirsa-
nofFs'. He came near teUing her about his duel
with Pavel Petrovitch, but restrained himself at
the reflection that she might imagine that he was
trying to make himself interesting, and answered
her that he had been working all that time.

" And I,"— said Anna Sergyeevna,—" first
moped — God knows why; I even prepared to
go abroad; just fancy! .... Then it passed off,
your friend Arkady Nikolaitch arrived, and I
fell back into my rut, into my genuine role."

" Into what role, permit me to inquire? "

" The role of aunt, preceptress, mother, what-
ever you please to call it. By the way, do you
know, that formerly I did not quite understand
your intimate friendship with Arkady Nikola-
itch! I considered him decidedly insignificant.
But now I have come to know him better, and
have convinced myself that he is clever. . . And
the chief point, he is young, young .... not
like you and me, Evgeny Vasilitch."

" Is he still as timid as ever in your presence? "
inquired Bazaroff.

" But is it possible " began Anna Ser-
gyeevna, and, after reflecting a little, she added :
— " Now he has become more confiding, he talks

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FATHERS AND CHILDREN

with me. Formerly he avoided me. However, I
did not seek his society. He and Katya are
great friends."

Bazaroff felt vexed. — " It is impossible for a
woman not to be crafty! "—he thought. " You
say that he avoided you,"— he articulated, with a
cold sneer, — " but, probably, it was no secret to
you that he was in love with you ? "

" What? He too? "—broke from Anna Ser-
gyeevna.

" He too,"— repeated Bazaroff, with a submis-
sive bow. — " Is it possible that you did not know
it, and that I have been telling you news? "

Anna Sergyeevna dropped her eyes. — " You
are in error, Evgeny Vasilitch."

" I think not. But perhaps I ought not to
allude to that. — And don't you be sly hence-
forth," he added to himself.

** Why should not you allude to it? But I
think that you are ascribing too much importance
to a momentary impression. I begin to suspect
that you are inclined to exaggeration."

" It is better for us not to talk about that, Anna
Sergyeevna."

" Why? " — she retorted, but she herself turned
the conversation on another subject. Neverthe-
less, she felt awkward with Bazaroff, although
she had told him, and had assured herself, that
everything was forgotten. As she exchanged
simple phrases with him, she felt the slight con-

803

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

straint of terror. Thus do people on a steamer,
at sea, chat and laugh, care-free, exactly as
though they were on solid land ; but let the slight-
est halt take place, let the smallest sign of any-
thing unusual present itself, and instantly there
starts forth upon all countenances an expression
of peculiar alarm, which bears witness to the
constant consciousness of danger.

Anna Sergyeevna's conversation with BazarofF
did not last long. She began to grow thought-
ful, to return abstracted replies, and, at last, pro-
posed to him that they should go into the hall,
where they found the Princess and Katya. " But
where is Arkady Nikolaevitch? " — inquired the
hostess; and on learning that he had not shown
himself for more than an hour past, she sent for
him. He was not soon found: he had ensconced
himself in the very depths of the garden, and with
his chin propped upon his clasped hands, he was
sitting absorbed in thought. His thoughts were
profound and important, but not sad. He knew
that Anna Sergyeevna was sitting alone with Ba-
zaroff, and he felt no jealousy, as formerly; on
the contrary, his face beamed gently; he seemed
to be surprised at something, and to be rejoicing,
and making up his mind to something.

304

XXVI

The deceased Mr. Odintzoff had not liked novel-
ties, but he had permitted " a certain play of en-
nobled taste," and, in consequence thereof, he had
erected in his garden, between the hot-house and
the pond, a building in the nature of a Greek
portico of Russian brick. In the rear, blind wall
of this portico, or gallery, six niches had been let
in for statues, which Odintzoff had intended to
import from Italy. These statues were intended
to represent Solitude, Silence, Meditation, Mel-
ancholy, Modesty, and Sentiment. One of them,
the Goddess of Silence, with her finger on her
lips, had been brought and set in place; but that
very same day the naughty little boys of the
house-serfs had broken off her nose, and although
a neighbouring plasterer had undertaken to at-
tach a nose to her " twice as good as the former,"
Odintzoff had ordered her to be taken away, and
she was placed in a corner of the threshing-shed,
where she stood for long years, arousing the su-
perstitious fears of the peasant women. The
front side of the portico had long since become
overgrown with thick brushwood; only the cap-
itals of the columns were visible above the dense
verdure. In the portico itself, even at noonday,

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FATHERS AND CHILDREN

it was cool. Anna Sergyeevna had not been fond
of visiting this spot since she had seen an adder
there, but Katya often came to sit on a big stone
bench which had been constructed beneath one
of the niches. Surrounded by coohiess and shade,
she read, worked, or surrendered herself to that
sensation of complete tranquillity which is prob-
ably known to every one, and whose charm con-
sists in a barely-conscious, mute contemplation of
the broad stream of life, which incessantly rolls
both around us and in us.

On the day following Bazaroff 's arrival, Katya
was sitting on her favourite bench, and beside her
again sat Arkady. He had begged her to come
with him to the " portico."

About an hour remained before breakfast-time ;
the dewy morning had already changed into a
hot day. Arkady's countenance preserved its ex-
pression of the day before ; Katya wore a troubled
aspect. Her sister, immediately after tea, had
called her to her in her boudoir, and having first
caressed her, which always rather terrified Katya,
she had advised her to be cautious in her behaviour
toward Arkady, and, in particular, to shun soli-
tary conversations with him, which, it seemed, had
been commented upon by her aunt, and by all the
household. In addition to this, on the previous
evening, Anna Sergyeevna had been out of sorts ;
and Katya herself had felt agitated, as though
she recognised that she had done wrong. In yield-

806

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

ing to Arkady's plea, she had told herself that it
was for the last time.

" Katerina Sergyeevna,"--he began, with a
certain bashful ease, — " since I have had the hap-
piness of living in your house, I have talked over

many things with you, and yet there is one

question .... which is very important for me
that I have not yet touched upon. You remarked
yesterday that I have been made over here," — he
added, both seeking and avoiding Katya's gaze,
fixed questioningly upon him.—" As a matter of
fact, I have undergone a change in many respects,
and you know that better than any one else,—
you, to whom, in reality, I am indebted for this
change."

"I? . . . Tome? . . . ."saidKatya.

" Now I am no longer that arrogant boy that
I was when I came hither," — pursued Arkady;
— " not in vain have I passed my twenty-third
year; as before, I desire to be of use, I desire
to consecrate all my powers to the truth; but I
no longer seek my ideals where I formerly
sought them; they present themselves to me
. . . much closer at hand. Hitherto, I have
not understood myself; I have set myself

tasks that were beyond my strength My

eyes have recently been opened, thanks to a
certain feeling. ... I do not express my-
self quite clearly, but I hope you understand
me "

307

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

Katya made no reply, but ceased to look at
Arkady.

" I assume,"— he went on again, in a more agi-
tated voice, and a chaffinch above his head, in the
foliage of a birch-tree, unconcernedly carolled his
song, — " I assume that it is the duty of every
honest man to be perfectly frank with those ....
those persons who .... in a word, with the per-
sons who are near to his heart, and, therefore, I
.... I intend . . . ."

But here Arkady's eloquence failed him; he
became confused, stammered, and was forced to
pause for a while; still Katya did not raise her
eyes. Apparently, she did not understand what
all this was leading up to, and was waiting for
something.

" I foresee that I shall surprise you,**— began
Arkady, collecting his forces afresh, — " the more
so as this feeling relates, in a certain way . . .
in a certain way, observe, — to you. I remember
that you reproached me yesterday with a lack of
seriousness," — went on Arkady, with the aspect
of a man who has walked into a morass, feels that
with every step he is sinking deeper and deeper,
and, nevertheless, strides onward, in the hope of
traversing it as speedily as possible: — "that re-
proach is often directed .... falls ... on
young people, even when they have ceased to

merit it ; and if I had more self-confidence "

(" Come, help me, help me! " thought Arkady, in

308

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

despair, but Katya, as before, did not turn her
head.) -"If I could hope . . . ."

" If I could feel convinced of what you say," —
rang out Anna Sergyeevna's clear voice at that
moment.

Arkady instantly became dumb, and Katya
turned pale. A path ran past the bushes which
screened the portico. Anna Sergy^evna was
walking along it, in company with Bazaroff.
Katya and Arkady could not see them, but they
heard every word, the rustling of her gown, her
very breath. They advanced a few paces and
halted, as though with deliberate intent, directly
in front of the portico.

" You see,"— pursued Anna Sergyeevna, —
" you and I have made a mistake ; neither of us is
in his first youth, especially I ; we have lived, we
are weary; why should we both stand on cere-
mony?— we are clever: at first, we interested each

other, our curiosity was aroused and

then "

" And then I grew insipid," — put in Bazaroff.

" You know that that was not the cause of our
falling out. But, at any rate, we did not need
each other; that is the principal point: there was
too much in us that was .... how shall I ex-
press it? . . . identical. We did not comprehend
that at first. On the contrary, Arkady . . . ."

" Do you need him? " — inquired Bazaroff.

" That will do, Evgeny Vasilievitch. You say
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FATHERS AND CHILDREN

that he is not indifferent to me, and it always has
seemed to me that he liked me. I know that I am
fit to be his aunt, but I will not conceal from you
that I have begun to think more frequently of
him. There is a certain charm in that young,
fresh feeling "

" The word fascination is more used in such
cases," — interposed BazarofF; seething bitterness
was audible in his calm, but dull voice. — " Arkady
seemed to be mysterious with me yesterday ; he did
not mention either you or your sister. . . That
is an important symptom."

" He is exactly like a brother with Katya,"—
said Anna Sergyeevna,— " and I Hke that in him,
although possibly I ought not to allow such in-
timacy between them."

" Is that the .... sister . . . speaking in
you? " — articulated Bazaroff slowly.

" Of course ; . . . . but why are we standing
here? Let us go on. What a strange conversa-
tion between us, is it not? And could I have an-
ticipated that I should talk thus with you? You
know that I am afraid of you, .... and, at the
same time, I trust you because, in reality, you are
very kind."

*' In the first place, I am not kind in the least;
and, in the second place, I have lost all signifi-
cance for you, and you tell me that I am kind.

That is exactly the same as placing a

wreath of flowers on the head of a corpse."

310

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

" Evgeny Vasilitch, we cannot control . . . ."
began Anna Sergyeevna; but a breeze swept by,
rustled the leaves, and carried away her words.

" Assuredly, you are free," — enunciated Baza-
roff, after a brief pause. It was impossible to
make out any more ; the footsteps died away . . .
all became silent.

Arkady turned to Katya. She was sitting in
the same attitude, only she had bowed her head
still lower than before.

" Katerina Sergyeevna," — he said, with a trem-
bling voice, and with tightly clasped hands:—" I
love you forever and irrevocably, and I love no
one but you. I wanted to say this, to learn your
opinion and to ask your hand, because I am not
rich, and I feel that I am prepared for all sacri-
fices. . . You do not answer? You do not beheve
me? You think that I am speaking idly? But
remember these last few days ! Is it possible that
you have not long ago convinced yourself, every-
thing else — understand me — everything, every-
thing else long ago vanished without a trace?
Look at me, say one word to me. . I love ....
I love you . . . beheve me!"

Katya looked at Arkady with a solemn, beam-
ing gaze, and after long meditation, hardly smil-
ing, she said:—" Yes."

Arkady sprang from the bench. — " Yes ! You
said ' yes,' Katerina Sergyeevna! What does that
word mean? Does it mean ' I love you,' or that

811

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

you believe me? . . . Or .... or .... I dare
not finish . . . ."

" Yes," — repeated Katya, and this time he un-
derstood her. He seized her large, beautiful
hands, and panting with rapture, pressed them to
his heart. He could hardly stand on his feet, and
merely kept repeating: " Katya, Katya . . . ."
and she fell to weeping, in an innocent sort of
way, laughing gently at her own tears. He who
has not beheld such tears in the eyes of the beloved
being has not yet experienced to what a degree,
all swooning with gratitude and with shame, a
man can be happy on this earth.

On the following day, early in the morning,
Anna Sergyeevna ordered BazaroiF to be sum-
moned to her boudoir, and, with a forced laugh,
she handed him a folded sheet of note-paper. It
was a letter from Arkady : in it he asked the hand
of her sister.

Bazaroff swiftly glanced over the letter, and
exerted an effort over himself not to display the
impetuous feeling which instantly flamed up in
his soul.

" So that 's how it is,"— he said; — " and you, I
believe, no longer ago than yesterday, supposed
that he loved Katerina Sergyeevna with the love
of a brother. What do you mean to do now? "

" What do you advise me to do? "—asked Anna
Sergyeevna, continuing to laugh.

" Why, I think,"— replied Bazaroff, also with
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FATHERS AND CHILDREN

a laugh, although he did not feel at all merry, and
did not, in the least, wish to laugh, any more than
she did: — " I think you will have to give the
young people your blessing. It is a fine match, in
every respect; KirsanofF has a respectable prop-
erty, he is his father's only son, and the father is
a fine fellow also, I will not deny it."

Madame OdintzofF paced the room. Her face
flushed and paled by turns.

" You think so? "-she said. " Why not? I
see no obstacle. ... I am glad for Katya . . .
and for Arkady Nikolaevitch. Of course I shall
await his father's reply. I will send him himself
to him. But, you see, it turns out that I was right
yesterday when I told you that we were both old
folks. . . . How is it that I did not see this? It
amazes me! "

Again Anna Sergyeevna began to laugh, and
immediately turned away.

" The young people of the present day have be-
come very sly," — remarked Bazaroif, and began
to laugh also.—" Good-bye,"— he said again,
after a brief pause. — " I hope you will finish this
affair in the most agreeable manner; and I shall
rejoice from afar."

Madame OdmtzoiF turned swiftly toward him.

" You are not going away? Why should you
not remain now? Remain .... it is jolly to
talk with you .... just like walking on the
brink of a precipice: at first one feels timid, but

313

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

afterward one gets courage from somewhere or
other. Remain."

" Thanks for your suggestion, Anna Sergye-
evna, and for your flattering opinion of my con-
versational talents. But I think that I have been
already revolving too long as it is, in a sphere
which is foreign to me. Flying fish are able to
maintain themselves for quite a while in the air,
but they are bound soon to splash back into the
water; permit me also to paddle in my own ele-
ment."

Madame Odintzoff looked at Bazaroff . A bit-
ter sneer contorted his pale face. " That man
loved me! " she thought— and she felt sorry for
him, and off'ered him her hand with sympathy.

But he understood her. — " No! "—he said, and
retreated a pace. — " I am a poor man, but up to
this time I have not accepted alms. Farewell,
madame, and may good health be yours."

" I am convinced that this is not our last meet-
ing,"— articulated Anna Sergyeevna, with an in-
voluntary movement.

" All sorts of things happen in this world! "—
replied BazaroiF, bowed, and left the room.

"So thou hast taken it into thy head to build a
nest? " — he said that same day to Arkady, as,
squatting on his heels, he packed his trunk. —
" Why not? It is a good move. I expected a
wholly different direction from thee. Or, per-
chance, this has stunned thee thyself? "

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

" I really did not expect it when I parted from
thee," — replied Arkady. " But why dost thou
thyself quibble and say: * It is a good move,' as
though I were not aware of thine opinion as to
matrimony? '*

" Ekh, my dear friend,"— said Bazaroff : —
" what a way thou hast of expressing thyself !
Thou seest what I am doing: there turns out to
be an empty space in my trunk, and I stuff in hay ;
so it is with our trunk of life ; it must be filled with
anything that comes to hand, so that there may be
no empty space. Please do not take offence : thou
probably recallest what opinion I have always
held of Katerina Sergyeevna. Some young ladies
bear the reputation of being clever because they
sigh cleverly ; but thy young lady can stand up for
herself, and stand up in such wise, to boot, that
she will manage thee, — well, and that is as it
should be."

He banged down the hd and rose from the floor.
— " And now I repeat to thee in farewell because
there is no use in deceiving ourselves : we are part-
ing forever, and thou feelest that thyself . . .
thou hast acted wisely ; thou wert not created for
our bitter, harsh, wretched life. There is in thee
neither insolence nor malice, but there is youth-
ful audacity and youthful arrogance ; that is not
suited to our cause. A man of your sort, a noble-
man, cannot go any further than noble submission
or noble effervescence, and that is stuff and non-
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FATHERS AND CHILDREN

sense. You, for example, do not fight, — and yet
you imagine that you are a dashing fellow, — while
we want to fight. And what is the state of the
case? Our dust eats thine eyes out, our mud be-
spatters thee, but thou hast not grown up to our
stature ; thou involuntarily admirest thyself ; it is
pleasant for thee to scold thyself ; but we find that
tiresome^ serve us up others! we must break
others! Thou art a splendid young fellow; but,
nevertheless, thou art a soft, liberal young gentle-
man,— et voldtoutj as my parent expresses him-
self."

" Thou art bidding me an eternal farewell,
Evgeny? " — said Arkady sadly. " And hast
thou no other words for me? "

BazarofF scratched the nape of his neck. — " I
have, Arkady, I have other words, only I shall not
utter them, because that is romanticism, — that
means: making one's self too — sypuppy. But do
thou marry as promptly as possible, and estab-
lish thy nest, and beget as many children as thou
canst. They will be clever creatures, simply be-
cause they will be born in a different age from
what thou and I were. Ehe ! I see that the horses
are ready. It is time to go! I have said good-
bye to everybody Well, how now? shall

we embrace? "

Arkady flung himself on the neck of his former
preceptor and friend, and the tears fairly
streamed from his eyes.

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FATHERS AND CHILDREN

" That 's what it is to be young! "—ejaculated
BazaroiF cahnly.— " But I place my hopes on
Katerina Sergyeevna. Just see how quickly she
will comfort thee I "

"Farewell, brother!"— he said to Arkady,
when he had clambered into the peasant cart ; and
pointing to a pair of jackdaws, which were sitting
on the roof of the stable, he added: — " Look yon-
der!—study them! "

" What does that mean? "—asked Arkady.

'* What? Art thou so weak in natural history,
or hast thou forgotten, that the daw is the most
respectable, domestic of birds? An example for
thee ! — Good-bye, senor ! ' '

The cart rattled and rolled away.

Bazaroff had spoken the truth. As he chatted
with Katya that evening he had totally forgotten
his tutor. He had already begun to come under
her sway, and Katya was conscious of it, and was
not surprised. He was obliged to go to Marino,
to Nikolai Petrovitch, on the following day.
Anna Sergyeevna did not wish to embarrass the
young people, and only out of decorum did not
leave them too long alone together. She mag-
nanimously banished from them the Princess, who
had been reduced to a state of tearful wrath by
the news of the impending marriage. At first
Anna Sergyeevna feared lest the spectacle of
their happiness should seem somewhat oppressive
to her; but it turned out to be exactly the reverse:

317

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

that spectacle not only did not oppress her, it in-
terested her, it touched her at last. Anna
Sergyeevna was delighted yet saddened by this.
"Evidently, BazarofF is right,"— she thought:
" curiosity, mere curiosity, and love of a quiet
Hfe, and egotism "

" Children,"— she said aloud,—" is love an im-
aginary feeling? "

But neither Katya nor Arkady even understood
her. They shunned her; they could not get the
conversation which they had involuntarily over-
heard out of their minds. However, Anna
Sergyeevna speedily reassured them; and that
was not difficult : she had reassured herself.

318

XXVII

The old Bazaroffs were all the more delighted
at their son's unexpected return, in proportion as
they had the least expected it. Arina Vlasievna
was perturbed to such a degree, and so exhausted
herself by running all over the house, that Vasily
Ivanitch compared her to a " mother partridge " :
the bobtail of her short, loose, morning gown
really did give her a somewhat bird-like air. And
he himself merely bellowed and bit the amber
mouthpiece of his tchubiik sideways, and grasp-
ing his neck with his hands, twisted his head, as
though he were trying to find out whether it were
well screwed on, then suddenly opened his wide
mouth to its full extent, and laughed heartily
but absolutely without sound.

" I have come to you for six whole weeks, old
man," — Bazaroff said to him: — " I want to work,
so please don't bother me."

*' Thou wilt forget my physiognomy, that 's the
way I shall bother thee!" — replied Vasily Iva-
novitch."

He kept his promise. Having installed his son,
as before, in his study, he devoted himself to hid-
ing from him, and restrained his wife from all

319

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

superfluous manifestations of tenderness. " My
dear woman,"— he said to her, " during Eni-
lishka's first visit we bored him a bit ; now we must
be more sensible." Arina Vlasievna agreed with
her husband, but gained Httle by so doing, because
she saw her son only at meals, and became defini-
tively afraid to speak to him. *' Eniiishenka! " —
she would say to him, — and before he could glance
round she would be tugging at the cords of her
reticule, and stammering: "Never mind, never
mind, I did n't mean anything," and then she
would betake herself to Vasily Ivanovitch and say
to him, propping her cheek on her hand: " I
should like to find out, my darling, what Eniiisha
wants to-day for dinner, cabbage-soup or beet-
soup? "

" But why dost not thou ask him thyself? " —
"But I shall bore him!" However, BazarofF
soon ceased to lock himself up : the fever of work
leaped away from him, and was replaced by de-
jected boredom and dull disquiet. A strange lan-
guor was perceptible in all his movements; even
his walk, firm and impetuously bold, underwent
a change. He ceased to take solitary strolls and
began to seek society; he drank tea in the draw-
ing-room, prowled about the vegetable-garden
with Vasily Ivanovitch, and smoked with him
" dumb as a fish." One day he inquired of his
father concerning Father Alexyei. At first,
Vasfly Ivanovitch rejoiced at this change, but his

320

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

joy was not of long duration. " Eniiisha dis-
tresses me," he complained quietly to his wife;
"he is not exactly dissatisfied or angry, that
would not matter; he is embittered, he is melan-
choly,— that is the terrible thing. He persist-
ently maintains silence, as though he were re-
proaching thee and me; he is getting thin, his
complexion has a bad colour." — " O Lord, O
Lord! " whispered the old woman; " I would like
to put an amulet on his neck, but of course
he would not let me." Vasily Ivanovitch
himself made several attempts to question Baza-
rofF about his work, about his health, about Ar-
kady But BazarofF answered him unwill-
ingly and carelessly, and one day, noticing that
his father, in conversation, was making stealthy
approaches toward something, he said to him
with vexation: " Why art thou constantly, as it
were, walking round me on tiptoe? That manner
is worse than thy former one! "

" Well, well, well, I did n't mean anjrthing! "
hastily replied poor Vasfly Ivanovitch. His polit-
ical hints remained equally fruitless. In begin-
ning, one day, a conversation in connection with
the impending emancipation of the serfs, about
progress, he hoped to arouse the sympathy of his
son ; but the latter said indifferently : " Yester-
day, as I was walking past a hedge, I heard the
little peasant boys of this locality shouting, in
place of some ancient ballad : ' The loyal time

321

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

is comings the heart feeleth love '—there 's prog-
ress for thee."

Sometimes BazarofF betook himself to the vil-
lage, and, banteringly, as was his wont, entered
into conversation with some peasant man or other.
" Come," he said to him, " expound to me your
views of life, brother ; for in you, they say, lies the
whole force and future of Russia, with you a new
epoch in history will begin,— you will give us both
a genuine language and laws." The peasant
either made no reply or uttered some words to the
following effect :" And we can . . . too, because,
you know .... what limits are appointed to
us, for example."

" Do thou just explain to me what thy world
is,"— Bazaroff interrupted him. " And is it that
same world which stands on three fishes? "

" The earth does stand on three fishes,"—
explained the serf soothingly, in a patriarch-
ally-good-humoured singsong, — " but against our
commune ^ there is, as every one knows, the will
of the master; because you are our fathers. And
the more strict is the lord of the manor in his
demands, the pleasanter it is for the peasant."

One day, after listening to a speech of this sort,
Bazaroff shrugged his shoulders scornfully and
turned aside, and the peasant went his way.

" What wert thou talking about? "—another
peasant asked him— a middle-aged man, with a

1 Mivt world; Mir, commune. — Tbaitslatob.

322

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

surly countenance, from the threshold of his cot-
tage, who had witnessed from afar this conver-
sation with Bazaroff. — " About the arrears of
taxes? "

" About the arrears of taxes, forsooth, my good
fellow!" — replied the first peasant, and in his
voice there was no longer a trace of the patriarchal
singsong, but, on the contrary, a certain careless
moroseness was audible. — " We just chattered a
bit; his tongue was itching to talk. Everybody
knows how it is — he 's a gentleman; can he under-
stand anything? "

"How should he understand!" — replied the
other peasant, and shaking their caps and tucking
in their belts, the two set to discussing their own
affairs and needs. Alas! Bazaroff, who had
shrugged his shoulders, and knew how to talk to
the peasants (as he had boasted, in the course of
his quarrel with Pavel Petrovitch) , that self-con-
fident Bazaroff did not even suspect that he was,
in their eyes, something in the nature of a born
fool. . . .

However, at last he found an occupation for
himself. One day, in his presence, Vasily Iva-
nitch was binding up a peasant's injured leg, but
the old man's hands trembled and he could not
manage the bandages; his son helped, and from
that time forth he began to take part in his prac-
tice, without ceasing, at the same time, to jeer,
both at the remedies which he himself had recom-

323

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

mended, and at his father, who immediately made
use of them. But BazaroiF's sneers did not in
the least discomfit Vasily Ivanovitch; rather did
they comfort him. Clasping his soiled dressing-
gown to his belly with two fingers, and smoking
his pipe, he listened with delight to Bazaroff , and
the more ill-temper there was in his sallies, the
more good-naturedly did his enraptured father
laugh, displaying all his black teeth, to the very
last one. He even frequently repeated these stu-
pid or senseless sallies, and, for example, for a
space of several days he would keep repeating,
without rhyme or reason: " Well, that 's of no
consequence! " ^ simply because his son, on learn-
ing that he was accustomed to go to Matins, had
employed that expression.—" Thank God! he has
ceased to have the blue devils ! " he whispered to
his wife; " the way he snubbed me to-day,— it was
wonderful ! " On the other hand, the thought that
he possessed such an assistant inspired him with
enthusiasm, filled him with pride. " Yes, yes," he
said to a peasant woman, in a man's coat, and a
head-dress like a pointed coronet, with horns, as
he handed her a phial of Gulyard water, or a pot
of white ointment, " my good soul, thou shouldst
thank God every minute that my son is visiting
me: thou art being doctored now after the most
scientific and the newest method, dost thou under-

1 In Russian rather slangily expressed: "That 's the ninth
affair! " — Translator.

324

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

stand that? Even the Emperor of the French,
Napoleon, has no better doctor." And the woman
who had come to complain that she " had got the
gripes " (but she was not herself able to explain
what she meant by these words) merely made a
reverence, and thrust her hand into her bosom,
where lay four eggs wrapped up in the end of a
towel.

Bazaroff once even extracted a tooth for a pass-
ing pedlar of dress goods, and although that
tooth was of the most ordinary sort, nevertheless
Vasily Ivanovitch preserved it as a rarity, and ex-
hibited it to Father Alexyei, repeating inces-
santly :

"Just look, what roots! Such strength as
Evgeny has! He fairly lifted that dry-goods
pedlar into the air. . . It seems to me that even
an oak-tree would have flown out! . . . ."

" It is laudable! " — said Father Alexyei at last,
not knowing what reply to make, and how to rid
himself of the old man, who had gone into ec-
stasies.

One day a wretched peasant from a neighbour-
ing village brought to Vasfly Ivanovitch his bro-
ther, who was ill with typhus fever. Lying prone
upon a truss of straw, the unfortunate man was
dying; dark spots covered his body; he had even
lost consciousness. Vasfly Ivanovitch expressed
his regret that it had not occurred to some one ear-
lier to have recourse to the aid of medicine, and

825

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

announced that there was no hope. As a matter
of fact, the peasant did not get his brother home
ahve ; the man died in the cart.

Three days later BazarofF entered his father's
room, and inquired whether he had not lunar
caustic?

" I have; what dost thou need it for? "

" I need it ... to cauterise a wound."

"Whose?"

" My own."

" What, thine own I Why ? What wound is it ?
Where is it?"

" Here on my finger. To-day I went to the vil-
lage, thou knowest, the one whence they brought
that peasant with the typhus. For some reason,
they were preparing to open him, and I had had
no practice in that for a long time."

" Well? "

" Well, and so I asked leave of the district
physician, and cut myself."

Vasily Ivanovitch turned pale all over, and
without uttering a word, he flew to his cupboard,
whence he immediately returned with a piece of
lunar caustic in his hand. BazarofF was about to
take it and depart.

" For God's sake,"— said Vasily Ivanovitch:—
" let me do it myself."

Bazaroff grinned.—" How anxious thou art
for practice! "

" Don't jest, please. Show me thy finger. The
wound is not large. Does n't it hurt? "

326

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

" Press on harder, don't be afraid."

Vasily Ivanovitch paused. — " What dost thou
think, Evgeny, would n't it be better for us to cau-
terise it with a hot iron? "

" That ought to have been done sooner, but
now, in reality, even the lunar caustic is of no use.
If I have been infected, it is too late anyway."

" How ..... too late? " Vasfly

Ivanovitch could hardly articulate.

"I should think so! More than four hours
have elapsed since then."

Vasily Ivanovitch cauterised the wound a little
longer. — " And had not the district doctor any
lunar caustic? "

" No."

" How came that, my God! A physician— and
he has not such an indispensable thing! "

" Thou shouldst see his lancets," — said Baza-
roff, and left the room.

Until evening, and during the whole course of
the following day, Vasfly Ivanovitch caught at
every possible pretext to enter his son's room, and,
although he not only did not mention his wound,
but even endeavoured to talk about the most irrel-
evant subjects, still he peered so persistently into
his eyes and watched him in so perturbed a man-
ner, that Bazaroff lost patience, and threatened
to leave the house. Vasfly Ivanovitch gave him his
word not to worry, the more so, as Arina Vlasi-
evna, from whom, of course, he had concealed
everything, was beginning to besiege him with

327

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

questions as to why he did not sleep, and what had
happened to him? For two whole days he perse-
vered, although he did not greatly hke the looks
of his son, whom he still watched by stealth, ....
but on the third day at dinner he could endure it
no longer. Bazaroif sat with bowed head, and did
not touch a single viand.

" Why dost thou not eat, Evgeny? "—he
asked, imparting to his face the most care-free of
expressions.—" The food is well cooked, I think."

" I don't feel like it, so I don't eat."

" Hast thou no appetite? And how is thy
head?" — he added, in a timid voice: — "does it
ache? "

"Yes. Why should n't it ache?"

Arma Vlasievna straightened up, and pricked
up her ears.

" Don't be angry, please, Evgeny,"— went on
Vasily Ivanovitch,— " but wilt not thou allow me
to feel thy pulse? "

BazaroiF rose to his feet. — " I can tell thee,
without feeling my pulse, that I have fever."

" And hast thou had a chill? "

" I have. I will go and lie down; and do you
send me some linden tea. I must have caught
cold."

" That explains why I heard thee coughing last
night," — said Arina Vlasievna.

" I have taken cold,"- repeated Bazaroff, and
left the room.

828

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

Arma Vlasievna busied herself with preparing
the tea from linden flowers, but Vasily Ivanovitch
went into the adjoining room and silently tore his
hair.

BazaroiF did not get up again that day, and
spent the whole night in a heavy, half -conscious
doze. About one o'clock in the morning, opening
his eyes with an eff'ort, he beheld above him, by
the dim light of the shrine-lamp, the pale face of
his father, and ordered him to go away ; the latter
obeyed, but immediately returned on tiptoe, and
half screening himself with the cupboard door, he
gazed at his son, never once removing his eyes.
Arina Vlasievna also had not gone to bed, and
opening the door of the study a mere crack, she
kept approaching to listen " how Eniiisha was
breathing," and to look at Vasily Ivanovitch. She
could see nothing but his motionless, bowed back,
but even that afforded her some solace. In the
morning, BazarofF tried to rise; he went to bed
again. Vasfly Ivanovitch waited upon him in
silence; Arma Vlasievna came to him, and asked
him how he felt. He replied : " Better," and
turned his face to the wall. Vasily Ivanovitch
waved his wife off with both hands; she bit her
lip, in order to keep from crying, and left the
room. Everything about the house seemed sud-
denly to have grown dark; all faces lengthened,
a strange stillness reigned ; a loud-voiced cock was
carried off from the court -yard to the village, and

329

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

for a long time could not understand why he was
treated in that way. BazarofF continued to lie,
nestled up to the wall. Vasily Ivanovitch tried to
put various questions to him, but they wearied Ba-
zaroff , and the old man subsided into silence in his
arm-chair, only now and then cracking his fin-
gers. He went out into the garden for a few
moments, stood there like a statue, as though over-
whelmed with inexpressible amazement (in gen-
eral the expression of amazement never left his
face) , and returned again to his son, striving to
avoid interrogations from his wife. At last, she
seized him by the arm, and convulsively, almost
menacingly, she said: "But what ails him?" Then
he regained his composure, and forced himself to
smile at her in reply; but, to his own horror, in-
stead of a smile, he evoked a laugh from some-
where within him. He had sent for the doctor at
daybreak. He considered it necessary to inform
his son of this, so that the latter might not wax
angry.

Bazaroff suddenly turned over on the couch,
stared dully and intently at his father, and asked
for a drink.

Vasily Ivanovitch gave him water, and seized
the opportunity to feel his forehead.

" Old man,"— began BazarofF in a hoarse, slow
voice,—*' this is a bad business of mine. I am
poisoned, and thou wilt bury me a few days
hence."

880

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

Vasily Ivanovitch reeled, as though some one
had struck him a blow on the legs.

" Evgeny I "—he stammered,—" what is it thou
art saying ! God be with thee ! Thou hast caught
cold. . . ."

" Stop,"— Bazaroff interrupted him without
haste. — " It is not permissible for a physician to
talk like that. All the signs of infection exist,
thou knowest it thyself."

" Where are the signs .... of infection,
Evgeny? . . . Gracious heavens! "

"And how about this? " — said Bazaroff, and
stripping up the sleeve of his shirt, he showed his
father the ill-omened red spots breaking out.

Vasily Ivanovitch shuddered, and turned cold
with terror. — " Let us assume," — he said at last,
— "let us assume . . . if . . . even if there is
something in the nature of infec-
tion . . . ."

" Of pyemia,"— prompted his son.

" Well, yes ... in the nature of an

epidemic . . . ."

" Of pyemia" — repeated Bazaroff gruffly and
distinctly :—" can it be that thou hast already for-
gotten thy text-books? "

" Well, yes, yes, as thou wilt. . . . Neverthe-
less, we will cure thee. . ."

" Come, that 's humbug. But that is not the
point. I did not expect that I should die so soon ;
that is a very disagreeable accident, to speak the

331

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

truth. Both thou and mother must now profit by
the fact that rehgion is strong in you ; here 's your
chance to put it to the proof." — He took another
sip of water. — " But I should hke to make one re-
quest of thee . . . while my head is still under
my command. To-morrow, or the day after to-
morrow, as thou art aware, my brain will resign
from duty. Even now I am not quite certain
whether I am expressing myself clearly. While
I have been lying here it has seemed to me all the
while as though red dogs were running around
me, and that thou wert making a point over me,
as over a woodcock. It is exactly as though I
were drunk. Dost thou understand me well? "

" Goodness, Evgeny, thou art talking in pre-
cisely the proper way."

" So much the better; thou hast told me that
thou hast sent for the doctor. . . Thou hast com-
forted thyself thereby; .... comfort me also:
send a special messenger "

"To Arkady Nikolaitch? "—interpolated the
old man.

"Who is Arkady Nikolaitch? "—said Baza-
roff, as though in doubt. . . . " Akh, yes! that
fledgling! No, don't touch him; he has become
a full-grown bird now. Do not be surprised ; this
is not delirium. But do thou send a messenger to
Anna Sergyeevna Odmtzoff; there is a landed
proprietress of that name yonder. . . Knowest
thou? " (Vasfly Ivanovitch nodded.) " Say that

332

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

Evgeny Bazaroff gave orders to present his com-
pliments, and order the man to say that he is
dying. Wilt thou fulfil this? "

" I will. Only, can it be possible that thou
shouldst die, Evgeny? . . . Judge for thyself I
Where would be the justice after that? "

" I don't know; only send the messenger."

" I will send him this very minute, and will
write a letter myself."

" No, why shouldst thou? Say that I gave
orders that my compliments were to be presented ;
nothing more is necessary. And now I will go
back to my dogs. It is strange ! I try to fix my
thoughts on death, and it comes to nothing. I see
some sort of a spot .... and that is all."

Once more he turned painfully toward the
wall; but Vasfly Ivanovitch left the study, and
when he reached his wife's bed-chamber, he fairly
tumbled down on his knees before the holy pic-
tures.

"Pray, Arina, pray?" — ^he moaned:— "our
son is dying."

The doctor — that same district doctor who had
no lunar caustic — arrived, and, after examining
the patient, advised them to adopt a waiting
policy, and added a few words as to the possi-
bility of recovery.

" But did you ever happen to see people in my
situation fail to betake themselves to the Elysian
Fields? "—inquired Bazaroff, and, suddenly

333

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

grasping the leg of a heavy table, which stood
near the divan, he shook the table and moved it
from its place.

" The strength, the strength is all there still,"
—he said,— " but I must die! .... An old man
has, at least, succeeded in weaning himself from
life, while I . . . . But come, just try to contra-
dict death. It contradicts thee, and that ends the
matter! Who is weeping there? " — he added,
after a brief pause. — " Mother? Poor thing!
Whom will she feed now with her wonderful beet-
soup? And thou also, Vasily Ivanitch, I believe
thou art whimpering too? Well, if Christianity
does not help, be a philosopher, a stoic! I be-
lieve thou wert boasting of being a philosopher? "
" Much of a philosopher I am! " roared Vasily
Ivanovitch, and the tears fairly dripped down his
cheeks.

'^ BazarofF grew worse with every passing hour;

' the malady took a swift course, which usually hap-
pens in cases of surgical poisoning. He had not,
as yet, lost consciousness, and understood what
was said to him; he still struggled. " I will not
be delirious,"— he whispered, clenching his fists;
— " what nonsense! " And immediately he said:
" Well, and if from eight you subtract ten, how
many will remain? "—Vasily Ivanovitch walked
about like a crazy person, suggested now one rem-
edy, now another, and did nothing but keep cov-
ering his son's feet. " He must be wrapped up

834

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

in cold sheets . . . nausea .... mustard plas-
ters on his stomach .... blood-letting,"— he
said, with an effort. The doctor, whom he had
implored to remain, humoured him, gave the pa-
tient lemonade, and for himself asked now a pipe,
now " something strengthening and warming,"
that is to say, vodka. Arina Vlasievna sat on a
low bench near the door, and only now and then
went away to pray; a few days previously her
toilet mirror had slipped out of her hands and
been broken, and she had always regarded this as
a bad sign; even Anfisushka was not able to say
anything comforting to her. Timofeitch had
gone to Madame Odintzoff . \

The night was bad for BazarofF. . . . He was )
tortured by a violent fever. Toward morning he
was resting more easily. He asked that Arina
Vlasievna might brush his hair, kissed her hand,
and drank a couple of mouthfuls of tea. Vasily
Ivanovitch revived somewhat.

"Thank God!"— he kept repeating;— " the
crisis has come .... the crisis has come! "

" Eka, what art thou thinking of? " — said Ba-
zarofF:— " what does that word signify? He has
hit upon it; he has said, ' the crisis,' and is com-
forted. It is astounding how a man still has faith
in words. If people call him a fool, for example,
and yet do not beat him, he grows melancholy ; if
they call him a clever fellow, and yet give him no
money, — he feels satisfaction."

835

/

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

This little speech of BazarofF's, which recalled
his former " sallies," touched Vasily Ivanovitch.

"Bravo! Splendidly said, splendidly! "—he
exclaimed, pretending to clap his hands.

BazarofF laughed sadly.

" Well then, according to thy opinion," — he
said, — " is the crisis past, or is it beginning? "

" Thou art better, that is what I see, that is
what delights me," — replied Vasfly Ivanovitch.

" Well, very good ; it is never a bad thing to re-
joice. And hast thou sent to her? thou remem-
berest? "

" Yes, of course."

The change for the better did not last long.
The assaults of the malady were renewed. Vasily
Ivanovitch sat by BazarofF's side. It seemed as
though some special anguish were torturing the
old man. Several times he was on the point of
speaking — and could not.

"Evgeny!" — he blurted out at last: — "my
son, my dear, precious son."

This unusual appeal took efFect upon BazarofF.
.... He turned his head a little, and, evidently
striving to escape from beneath the burden of
oblivion which was weighing him down, he articu-
lated:—" What, my father? "

" Evgeny," — went on Vasily Ivanovitch, and
sank down on his knees beside BazarofF, although
the latter did not open his eyes, and did not see
him.—" Evgeny, thou art better now; God grant

336

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

that thou may est recover; but take advantage of
this time, comfort thy mother and me, fulfil thy
Christian duty! It is terrible for me to say this
to thee; but it is still more terrible . . . forever,
thou knowest, Evg6ny . . . reflect, what "

The old man's voice broke, and a strange ex-
pression crept across the face of his son, although
he continued to lie with closed eyes. — " I do not
refuse, if it can give you comfort," — he said at
last; " but it seems to me that there is no need of
haste as yet. Thou thyself sayest that I am
better."

" Thou art better, Evgeny, thou art better; but
who knows, for all that depends upon the will of
God, and when thou hast fulfilled thy duty "

"No, I will wait,"— interrupted Bazaroff.— " I
agree with thee that the crisis has arrived. But if
we are both mistaken, what then ? They give the
pommunion to the unconscious also."

" For mercy's sake, Evgeny. . . ."

" I will wait. And now I want to sleep. Don't
disturb me."

And he laid his head in its former position.

The old man rose, seated himself in the arm-
chair, and gripping his chin, began to bite his
fingers. . .

The rumble of a carriage with springs,* that
sound which is peculiarly noticeable in the depths

1 On account of the bad roads, most carriages for country use are
built without springs. —Translator.

337

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

of the country, suddenly struck his ear. Nearer,
nearer rolled the light wheels ; and now the snort-
ing of horses was audible. . . . Vasily Ivanovitch
sprang to his feet and rushed to the window. A
two-seated carriage, drawn by four horses, was
driving into the court-yard of his tiny house.
Without pausing to consider what this might sig-
nify, he ran out on the porch, in an outburst of
senseless joy. ... A liveried lackey opened the
carriage door; a lady with a black veil and a black
mantle alighted from it. . . .

" I am Madame Odintzoff,"— she said.—" Is
Evgeny Vasilitch alive? You are his father?
I have brought a doctor with mci"

"Benefactress!" — exclaimed Vasily Ivano-
vitch, and seizing her hand, he pressed it con-
vulsively to his lips, while the doctor whom Anna
Sergyeevna had brought, a small man in specta-
cles, with a German physiognomy, alighted in a
leisurely way from the carriage. " He is still
alive; my Evgeny is alive, and now he will be
saved! Wife! wife! . . . An angel from heaven
has come to us. . . ."

"What is it, O Lord! "—stammered the old
woman, as she ran out of the drawing-room, and
comprehending nothing then and there in the
anteroom, fell at the feet of Anna Sergyeevna,
and began, like a mad woman, to kiss her gown.

" What are you doing? What are you doing? "
—Anna Sergyeevna kept reiterating; but Arina

338

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

Vlasievna paid no heed to her, and Vasily Ivano-
vitch merely repeated: "An angel! an angel!"

" Wo ist der Kranke? And where is the pa-
tient? " said the doctor at last, not without some
indignation.

Vasily Ivanovitch came to his senses. — " Here,
here, please follow me, werthester Herr Kollege"
— he added, reviving an ancient memory.

" Eh! "—ejaculated the German, and made a
sour grimace.

Vasily Ivanovitch conducted him to the study.

" The doctor from Anna Sergyeevna Odin-
tzoff," — he said, bending down to his son's very
ear; — " and she is here herself."

Bazaroif suddenly opened his eyes. — " What
didst thou say? "

" I say that Anna Sergyeevna Odintzoif is
here, and has brought her doctor to thee."

Bazaroff gazed about him. — " She is here. . .
I want to see her."

" Thou shalt see her, Evgeny ; but first the doc-
tor and I must have a talk. I will narrate to him
the whole history of thy illness, since Sidor
Sidoritch " (this was the name of the district
physician) " has gone away, and we will hold a
little consultation."

Bazaroff glanced at the German.—" Well,
have your talk as quickly as possible, only not in
Latin, for I understand the meaning of jam
moritur"

339

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

" Der Herr scheint des Deutschen mdcJitig zu
sein"— began the new disciple of ^sculapius
turning to Vasily Ivanovitch.

" Ich .... habe . . . you had better talk
Russian," said the old man.

" Ah, ah ! so dat 's de vay it ees. . . As j ou like
. . ." And the consultation began.

Half an hour later, Anna Sergyeevna, escorted
by Vasily Ivanovitch, entered the room. The doc-
tor had contrived to whisper to her that the recov-
ery of the sick man was not to be thought of.

She cast a glance at Bazaroff . . . and halted
at the door, so startled was she by his swollen and,
at the same time, corpse-Hke face, with its dimmed
eyes riveted upon her. She was simply fright-
ened, with a sort of cold and insufferable dread;
the thought that she would not have felt Hke
that if she were really in love with him, flashed
instantaneously through her mind.

" Thank you,"— he said, with an effort;—" I
did not expect this. It is a good deed. So we
have met again, as you promised."

" Anna Sergyeevna has been so kind,"— began
Vasfly Ivanovitch.

" Father, leave us.— Anna Sergyeevna, you
permit me? I think that now . . ."

He indicated his feeble, outstretched body with
a movement of his head.

Vasily Ivanovitch withdrew.

" Thanks,"— repeated Bazdroff.— " This is a
340

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

deed in royal style. They say that Tzars also
visit the dying."

" Evgeny Vasilitch, I hope . . . ."

" Ekh, Anna Sergyeevna, let us speak the
truth. I am done for. I have fallen under the
wheel. And it turns out that there was no need
to think of the future. Death is an ancient jest,
but new to each person. So far, I am not afraid
.... and then unconsciousness will come, and
fuit!" (He waved his hand feebly.) —" Well,
what 's the use of my saying to you . . . .' I love
you ' I That had no sense before, much less now.
Love is a form, and my own form is already de-
composing. I had better say that — what a splen-
did woman you are ! And now you stand there, so
beautiful. ..."

Anna Sergyeevna involuntarily shuddered.

" Never mind, be not disturbed .... sit down
there. . . Don't come near me: for my malady
is contagious."

Anna Sergyeevna swiftly crossed the room and
seated herself in an arm-chair beside the divan
on which Bazar off lay.

" Magnanimous ! " — he whispered. " Okh,
how near, and how young, and fresh, and pure
.... in this hateful room! .... Well, good-
bye! may you live long; that is the best thing of
all; and enjoy yourself while yet there is time.
Behold, what a disgusting spectacle : the worm is
half crushed, yet it bristles up. And, you see, I

341

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

thought also : I will yet accomplish many deeds ; I
shall not die — not I! there 's the aim, for I am
a giant! And now the giant's whole problem
is to die decorously, although no one cares about

that It makes no diiFerence; I will not

evade the issue."

BazarofF ceased speaking and began to feel for
his glass. Anna Sergyeevna gave him a drink,
without removing her glove, and breathing timor-
ously the while.

"You will forget me," — he began again; —
" the dead is no fit comrade for the living. My
father will tell you, ' Just see what a man Russia
is losing.' . . . That is nonsense, but do not un-
deceive the old man. Anything for the sake of
soothing the child .... you know. And treat
my mother kindly. For such people as they are
not to be found in your grand society, even in the

day-time with a light I am necessary to

Russia. . . . No, evidently, I am not necessary.
And who is? A shoemaker is necessary, a tailor
is necessary, so is a butcher ; .... he sells meat,
.... a butcher; .... stay, I am getting
mixed up Yonder is a forest . . ."

Bazaroff laid his hand on his brow.

Anna Sergyeevna bent toward him. — " Ev-
geny Vasilitch, I am here . . . ."

He instantly clasped her hand and half sat up.
— " Farewell,"— he said, with sudden force, and
his eyes flashed with their last gleam. — " Fare-

342

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

well. . . Listen .... you know, I did not kiss
you then. . . . Breathe upon the expiring lamp,
and let it be extinguished "

Anna Sergyeevna touched her lips to his brow.

" Enough! "—he said, and dropped back on his
pillow.—" Now .... darkness ..."

Anna Sergyeevna softly left the room. —
" Well? "— Vasily Ivanovitch asked her in a
whisper.

" He has fallen asleep,"— she replied, in a
barely audible tone.

Bazaroff was not fated to wake again. To-
ward evening he fell into complete unconscious-
ness, and on the following day he died. Father
Alexyei performed over him the rites of religion.
When he was anointed,^ when the holy chrism
touched his breast, one of his eyes opened, and
it seemed as though, at the sight of the priest in
his vestments, of the smoking censer, the light in
front of the holy picture, something resembling
a shudder of fear was reflected on the dying face.
When at last he breathed his last sigh, and uni-
versal groaning arose in the house, Vasfly Iva-
novitch was seized with a sudden transport of vio-
lence. " I said that I would repine," — he shouted
hoarsely, with a flaming, distorted countenance,
shaking his fist in the air, as though he were men-

^ The Rite of Holy Unction in the Catholic Church of the East differs
from Extreme Unction in the Roman Church, in that (among other
points) it may be €idministered when the sufferer is not expected to
die: for healing only, in the Apostolic sense. — Translator.

343

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

acing some one. " And I will repine, I will re-
pine ! " But Arina Vlasievna, all in tears, flung
herself upon his neck, and both fell on their knees.
— " So,'*— as Anfisushka afterward narrated in
the servants' hall,—" they bowed their heads side
by side, Hke sheep at noonday. . . ."

But the midday heat passes and evening draws
on, and the night, and then comes the return to
the quiet refuge, where the suffering and the
weaxy find sweet repose

344

XXVIII

Six months have passed. The white winter has
come, with its stern stilhiess of cloudless frosts,
dense creaking snow, rosy hoar-frost on the trees,
pale-emerald sky, caps of smoke above the chim-
neys, clumps of steam from the doors opened for a
moment, the fresh faces, as though bitten, of the
people, and the bustling trot of benumbed horses.
The January day is already drawing to its close ;
the evening chill is seizing the motionless air in a
still tighter grip, and the blood-red sunset is dy-
ing out. The lights have been kindled in the win-
dows of the house at Marino; Prokofitch, in a
black dress suit and white gloves, is laying the
table for seven persons. A week previously, in
the little parish church, quietly, and almost with-
out witnesses, two weddings had taken place:
Arkady's to Katya, and Nikolai Petrovitch's to
Fenitchka; and on the day in question
Nikolai Petrovitch is giving a farewell din-
ner for his brother, who is about to take his
departure for Moscow on business. Anna
Sergyeevna had gone thither also immediately
after the wedding, after having lavishly endowed
the young couple. Precisely at three o'clock all

845

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

assembled round the table. Mitya was placed
there also; he had been provided with a nurse, in
a glazed brocade coronet-cap. Pavel Petrovitch
took his seat between Katya and Fenitchka: the
" husbands " settled themselves beside their wives.
Our acquaintances have changed of late: all of
them seem to have grown handsomer and more
manly; Pavel Petrovitch alone has grown thin,
which, however, has imparted still more elegance
and grand-seigneurism to his expressive features.
. . . And Fenitchka also has become a different
person. In a fresh silken gown, with a gold chain
on her neck, she sat with respectful composure, —
respectful toward herself, toward everything
which surrounded her, and smiled, as though she
wished to say: " You must excuse me, I am not
to blame." And not she alone, but all the others
smiled also, and seemed to be excusing them-
selves ; all felt somewhat awkward, somewhat sad,
and, in reahty, very comfortable. Each one lis-
tened to the other with amusing amiability, as
though all of them had entered into an agreement
to play some artless comedy. Katya was more
composed than all the rest : she gazed confidingly
about her, and was able to observe that Nikolai
Petrovitch had already succeeded in falling head
over ears in love with her. Before the end of the
dinner he rose, and taking his wine-glass in hand,
he addressed himself to Pavel Petrovitch :

" Thou art leaving us ... . thou art leaving
346

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

us, my dear brother,"— he began:— "of course,
not for long; but, nevertheless, I cannot refrain
from expressing to thee that I . . . . that we
.... so far as I .... so far as we ... .
That 's the difficulty, that we do not know how to
make speeches! Arkady, do thou speak!"

" No, papa, I am not prepared."

" And I prepared myself finely ! Simply then,
brother, permit me to embrace thee, to wish thee
all that is good, and return to us as speedily as
possible ! "

Pavel Petrovitch kissed all present, not exclud-
ing Mitya, of course; over and above this, he
kissed Fenitchka's hand, which she did not know
how to offer properly, and draining his glass,
which had been filled for the second time, he said,
with a profound sigh: " Be happy, my friends!
Farewell!" — This English tail to his speech
passed unnoticed, but all were touched.

" In memory of Bazaroff,"— whispered Katya
in her husband's ear, as she clinked glasses with
him. In reply, Arkady pressed her hand warmly,
but could not bring himself to propose that toast
aloud.

This would appear to be the end? But per-
chance some one of our readers would like to
know what each one of the persons whom we have
introduced is doing now, precisely at the present
moment. We are ready to gratify him.

Anna Sergyeevna has recently married, not for

347

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

love, but from conviction, one of the future promi-
nent men of Russia, a very clever man, a lawyer
with strong practical sense, a firm will, and a re-
markable gift of words, — a man who is still
young, kind, and cold as ice. They live on good
terms with each other, and will, in all probability,
attain to happiness . . . perchance to love. Prin-
cess X. . . has died, forgotten on the very day of
her death. The KirsanofF's, father and son, have
settled down in Marino. Their affairs are begin-
ning to right themselves. Arkady has become an
ardent farmer, and the " farm " already yields
a fairly large income. Nikolai Petrovitch has
been made an Arbitrator of the Peace,^ and toils
with all his might; he is incessantly travelling
about over his section; he makes long speeches (he
is of the opinion that the peasants must be
" taught," that is to say, they must be reduced to
a state of exhaustion by frequent repetition of one
and the same set of words), and, nevertheless, to
tell the truth, he does not wholly satisfy either
the cultivated nobles, who talk now with chic and
again with melancholy, about the mancipation
(pronouncing the man through their noses), nor
the uneducated nobles, who unceremoniously re-
vile '* ihot mttwcipation." He is too tender to suit
either party. A son, Kolya, has been born to

* A class of officials, appointed after the emancipation of the serfs,
to adjust the questions which arose between the landed proprietors
and the serfs as to the division of the land.— Translator.

84.8

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

Katerina Sergyeevna, and Mitya is already run-
ning about like a fine, dashing fellow, and chat-
ters volubly. Fenitchka (Fedosya Nikolaevna)
adores no one — after her husband and son — so
much as her daughter-in-law, and when the latter
seats herself at the piano she is delighted not to
leave her all day long. By the way, let us make
mention of Piotr. He has stiffened up for good,
with stupidity and pompousness, pronounces
every e like iu: tiwpiur, obiuzpiutchiun,^ but he
also has married, and acquired a very respectable
dowry with his bride, the daughter of a market-
gardener in the town, who refused two fine suit-
ors, merely because they did not possess watches :
but Piotr not only had a watch, but patent-leather
half -boots into the bargain.

In Dresden, on the Briihl terrace, between two
and four o'clock, at the most fashionable time for
promenading, you may meet a man about fifty
years of age, who is already completely grey, and
seems to be suffering from gout, but is still hand-
some, elegantly attired, and with that peculiar
stamp which a man acquires only by long asso-
ciation with the highest classes of society. This
man is Pavel Petrovitch. He has quitted Mos-
cow and gone abroad to restore his health, and
has taken up his residence in Dresden, where he
consorts mostly with the English and with travel-

^ Instead of tep^ (now); obezpetchen (provided for). — Tkaxslator.

349

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

ling Russians. With the English, his manner is
simple, almost modest, yet not lacking in dignity ;
they find him rather tiresome, but respect in him
a perfect gentleman. With the Russians he is
more at his ease, gives free play to his bile, sneers
at himself and at them ; but all this is very charm-
ing, and careless, and decorous, as he does it. He
entertains Slavyanophil views: every one knows
that this is considered tres distingue in the upper
circles. He never reads anything in Russian, but
on his writing-table there is a silver ash-tray in
the form of a peasant's bast slipper. Our tourists
run after him a great deal. Matvyei Hitch Kol-
yazin, when he was in temporary opposition, paid
him a majestic visit, as he was passing through
on his way to a Bohemian watering-place; and
the natives, with whom, however, he has very httle
to do, fairly revere him. No one can obtain a
ticket for the Court Choir, the theatre, and so
forth, so easily and so quickly as der Herr Baron
von Kirsdnoff. He always does as much good as
can; he still makes some noise: not for nothing
had he once been a lion; — but life is painful for
him — more painful than he himself suspects.
. . . One needs but to watch him in the Russian
church, when, leaning against the wall, apart, he
falls into thought, and does not move for a long
time, bitterly setting his teeth, then suddenly he
comes to himself, and begins, almost impercepti-
bly, to cross himself. . . .

Madame Kukshfn also has gone abroad. She
350

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

is now in Heidelberg, and is studying the natural
sciences no more, but architecture, in which, ac-
cording to her statement, she has discovered new
laws. As of yore, she haunts the society of stu-
dents, especially that of the young Russian physi-
cists and chemists, with whom Heidelberg is filled,
and who, after at first amazing the simple-minded
German professors with their sober views of
things, afterward amaze those same professors
with their utter idleness and absolute laziness.
With two or three chemists of this description,
who cannot distinguish oxygen from nitrogen,
but are filled full of self-abnegation and respect
for themselves, and with the great EHsyevitch,
Sitnikofi", who also is preparing to be great, is
sauntering about Petersburg, and, according to
his own statement, is carrying on Bazaroff's
" cause." It is said that some one recently gave
him a thrashing, but he did not remain in debt:
in an obscure little article, inserted in an ob-
scure little newspaper, he hinted that the man who
had thrashed him was a coward. He calls this
irony. His father torments him, as of yore, and
his wife considers him a fool . . . and a literary
man.

There is a small village cemetery in one of the
remote corners of Russia. Like almost all our
cemeteries, it presents a sorry aspect: the trench
which surrounds it has long since been overgrown ;
the grey wooden crosses have drooped and are rot-
ting beneath their penthouses, which once were

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

painted; the stone slabs are all out of place, as
though some one were thrusting them up from be-
low; two or three denuded trees barely afford a
scanty shade; sheep wander unchecked over the
graves. — But among these there is one, which no
man touches, which no beast tramples on: only
the birds alight upon it and carol at the dawn.
An iron raihng surrounds it ; two young fir-trees
are planted at each end of it : Evgeny BazaroiF is
buried in that grave. Thither, from the hamlet
hard by, two old people, already decrepit— hus-
band and wife — come frequently. Supporting
each other, they advance with painful tread ; they
approach the railing, fall upon their knees, and
weep long and bitterly, and gaze long and atten-
tively at the dumb stone, beneath which lies their
son ; they exchange a brief word, remove the dust
from the stone, adjust the branches of the fir-
trees, and again fall to praying, and cannot quit
that spot, where they seem to be nearer to their
son, to their memories of him. . . Can it be that
their prayers, their tears, are fruitless ? Can it be
that love, holy, devoted love, is not all-powerful?
Oh, no! However passionate, sinful, rebeUious,
may be the heart which has taken refuge in the
grave, the flowers which grow upon it gaze tran-
quilly at us with their innocent eyes : not alone of
eternal repose do they speak to us, of that great
repose of " indifferent " nature; they speak also
of eternal reconciliation and of life everlasting. . .

352

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