 21 On getting up Arkady opened the window, and the first object which met his eyes was Vasily Ivanovich. In a Turkish dressing-gown tied round the waist with a pocket-hanker-chip, the old man was zealously digging his kitchen-garden. He noticed his young visitor, and, leaning on his spade, he called out, "'Good health to you! How did you sleep?' "'Splendidly,' answered Arkady. "'And here I am, as you see, like some Cincinnati's, preparing a bed for late turnips. "'The time has come now, and thank God for it, when everyone should secure his sustenance by the work of his own hand. It is useless to rely on others. One must labor oneself.' "'So it turns out that Jean-Jacques Rousseau is right. Half an hour ago, my dear young sir, you could have seen me in an entirely different position. One peasant woman, who complained of looseness, that's how they express it, but in our language, dysentery, I—how shall I express it? I injected her with opium, and for another I extracted a tooth. I offered her an anesthetic, but she refused. I do all that gratis, animature. However, I'm used to it. You see, I'm a plebeian, hominue, not one of the old stock, not like my wife. But wouldn't you like to come over here in the shade, and breathe the morning freshness before having tea?' Arkady went out to him. "'Welcome once more,' said Vasily Ivanovich, raising his hand in a military salute to the greasy skull-cap which covered his head. You, I know, are accustomed to luxury and pleasures, but even the great ones of this world do not disdain to spend a brief time under a cottage-roof.' "'Gracious heavens,' protested Arkady, as if I were a great one of this world, and I'm not accustomed to luxury, either.' "'Pardon me, pardon me,' replied Vasily Ivanovich, with an amiable grimace. Though I am a back-number now, I also have knocked about the world. I know a bird by its flight. I am something of a psychologist in my way, and a physiognomist. If I had not, I ventured to say, been granted that gift, I should have come to grief long ago. A little man like me would have been blotted out. I must tell you, without flattery, the friendship I observe between you and my son sincerely delights me. I have just seen him. He got up very early, as he habitually does, you probably know that, and ran off for a ramble in the neighborhood. Permit me to be so inquisitive. Have you known my Evgeny long? Since last winter. Indeed, and permit me to question you further. But why shouldn't we sit down? Permit me as a father to ask you frankly. What is your opinion of my Evgeny?' "'Your son is one of the most remarkable men I have ever met,' answered Arkady emphatically. Vasily Ivanovich's eyes suddenly opened wide, and a slight flush suffused his cheeks. The spade dropped from his hand. "'And so you expect?' he began. "'I am convinced,' interrupted Arkady, that your son has a great future before him, that he will do honour to your name. I felt sure of that ever since I met him.' "'How—how did it happen?' articulated Vasily Ivanovich with some effort. An enthusiastic smile parted his broad lips and would not leave them. "'Would you like me to tell you how we met?' "'Yes, and all about it.' Arkady began his story, and spoke of Bazarov with even greater warmth, even greater enthusiasm than he had done on that evening when he danced a Mazurka with Madame Ornstov. Vasily Ivanovich listened and listened, blew his nose, rolled his handkerchief up into a ball with both hands, cleared his throat, ruffled up his hair, and at length could contain himself no longer. He bent down to Arkady and kissed him on the shoulder. "'You have made me perfectly happy,' he said, without seizing to smile. "'I ought to tell you, I idolise my son. I won't even speak of my old wife, naturally a mother, but I dare not show my feelings in front of him, because he disapproves of that.' He is opposed to every demonstration of emotion. Many people even find fault with him for such strength of character, and take it for a sign of pride or a lack of feeling. But people like him ought not to be judged by any ordinary standards, ought they. Look at this, for example. Others in his place would have been a constant drag on their parents. But he, would you believe it? From the day he was born he has never taken a farthing more than he could help. That's God's truth.' "'He is a disinterested honest man,' remarked Arkady.' "'Exactly so, disinterested. And I not only idolise him, Arkady Nikolayevich, I am proud of him, and the height of my only ambition is that some day there will be the following words in his biography. The son of an ordinary army doctor, who was able, however, to recognise his talent early, and spared no pains for his education.' The old man's voice broke. Arkady pressed his hand. "'What do you think?' inquired Vasily Ivanovich, after a short silence. Surely he will not attain in the sphere of medicine the celebrity which you prophecy for him. Of course, not in medicine, though even there he will be one of the leading scientific men.' "'In what, then, Arkady Nikolayevich?' "'It would be hard to say now, but he will be famous.' "'He will be famous,' repeated the old man, and he relapsed into thought. "'Arina Vlasyevna sent me to call you into tea,' announced Anfisushka, passing by with a huge dish of ripe raspberries. "'Vasily Ivanovich started. "'And will the cream be cooled for the raspberries?' "'Yes.' "'Be sure it is cold. Don't stand on ceremony.' "'Arkady Nikolayevich, take some more. How is it Evgeny doesn't come back?' "'I'm here,' called Bazarov's voice from inside Arkady's room. "'Vasily Ivanovich turned round quickly.' "'Aha! You wanted to pay a visit to your friend, but you were too late, Amis, and we have already had a long conversation. Now we must go into tea. Mother has sent for us. By the way, I want to have a talk with you.' "'What about?' "'There's a peasant here. He's suffering from Ictaris.' "'You mean Jaundice?' "'Yes, a chronic and very obstinate case of Ictaris. "'I have prescribed him Centari and St. John's wort, told him to eat carrots, given him soda, but all those are palliative measures. We need some more radical treatment. Although you laugh at medicine, I'm sure you can give me some practical advice. But we will talk about that later. Now let us go and drink tea.' "'Vasily Ivanovich jumped up briskly from the garden seat, and hummed the air from Robert de la Diable. "'The law, the law, we set ourselves to live, to live for pleasure.' "'Astonishing vitality,' observed Bazarov, moving away from the window. "'Midday arrived. The sun was burning from under a thin veil of unbroken whiteish clouds. All was still. Only the cocks in the village broke the silence by their vigorous crowing, which produced in every one who heard it a strange sense of drowsiness and tedium. And from somewhere high up in a treetop sounded the plaintiff and persistent chirp of a young hawk. Arkady and Bazarov lay in the shade of a small haystack, and put under themselves two armfuls of rustling dry but still green and fragrant grass. "'That poplar tree,' began Bazarov, reminds me of my childhood. It grows on the edge of the pit where the brick shed used to be, and in those days I firmly believed that the poplar and the pit possessed the peculiar power of a talisman. I never felt dull when I was near them. I did not understand then that I was not dull because I was a child. Well, now I am grown up. The talisman no longer works.' "'How long did you live here altogether?' asked Arkady. "'Two years on end. After that we traveled about. We led a roving life, chiefly wandering from town to town. "'And has this house been standing long?' "'Yes, my grandfather built it, my mother's father.' "'Who was he, your grandfather?' "'The devil knows some kind of second major. He served under Svorov and always told stories about marching across the Alps. Inventions, probably. You have a portrait of Svorov hanging in the drawing-room. I like such little houses as yours, old-fashioned and warm, and they always have a special kind of scent about them.' "'A smell of lamp-oil and clover,' remarked Bazarov, yawning. "'And the flies in these dear little houses.' "'Tell me,' began Arkady after a short pause. "'Were they strict with you as a child?' "'You see what my parents are like. They're not a severe sort.' "'Are you fond of them, Evgeny?' "'I am, Arkady.' "'How they adore you?' Bazarov was silent for a while. "'Do you know what I'm thinking about?' he said at last, clasping his hands behind his head. "'No. What is it?' "'I'm thinking how happy life is for my parents.' "'My father at the age of sixty can fuss around, chat about palliative measures, heal people. He plays the magnanimous master with the peasants, has a gay time, in fact, and my mother is happy, too. Her day is so crammed with all sorts of jobs, with sighs and groans, that she hasn't a moment to think about herself. "'While I?' "'While you?' "'While I think. Here I lie under a haystack. The tiny, narrow space I occupy is so minutely small in comparison with the rest of space where I am not, and which has nothing to do with me. And the portion of time in which it is my lot to live is so insignificant beside the eternity where I have not been and will not be. And in this atom, in this mathematical point, the blood circulates, the brain works, and wants something. How disgusting! How petty!' "'Allow me to point out that what you say applies generally to everyone.' "'You're right,' interrupted Bazzara. "'I wanted to say that they, my parents, I mean, are occupied and don't worry about their own nothingness. It doesn't sicken them. While I, I feel nothing but boredom and anger.' "'Anger? Why anger?' "'Why? How can you ask why? Have you forgotten?' "'I remember everything. But still I can't agree that you have any right to be angry. "'You're unhappy,' I realize, but—' "'Oh! I can see, Arkady Nikolaevich, that you regard love like all modern young men. Clock, clock, clock, you call to the hen, and the moment the hen comes near, off you run. I'm not like that. But enough of it all. It's a shame to talk about what can't be helped.' He turned over on his side. "'Ah! There goes a brave ant dragging along a half-dead fly.' "'Take her away, brother. Take her. Don't pay any attention to her resistance. Take full advantage of your animal privilege to be without pity. Not like us self-destructive creatures.' "'What are you talking about, Evgeny? When did you destroy yourself?' Bazzara raised his head. "'That's the only thing I'm proud of. I have not crushed myself. So a little woman can't crush me. Amen. It's all over. You won't hear another word from me about it.' Both friends lay for a time in silence. "'Yes,' began Bazzara. "'Man is a strange animal. When one gets a side view from a distance of the dumb life our fathers lead here, one thinks what could be better? You eat and drink and know you're acting in the most righteous and sensible way. If not, you're devoured by the tedium of it. One wants to have dealings with people, even if it's only to abuse them. One ought to arrange one's life so that every moment of it becomes significant,' remarked Arkady thoughtfully. "'I daresay. The significant may be deceptive, but sweet, though it's even quite possible to put up with the insignificant. But petty squabbles, petty squabbles, that's a misery. Petty squabbles don't exist for the man who refuses to recognize them as such.' "'Hmm. What you have said is a common place turned upside down.' "'What? What do you mean by that phrase?' "'I'll explain. To say, for instance, that education is beneficial, that's a common place. But to say that education is harmful is a common place turned upside down. It sounds more stylish, but fundamentally it's one and the same thing. "'But where is the truth, on which side?' "'Where? I answer you like an echo. Where?' "'You're in a melancholy mood today, Evgeny.' "'Really, the sun must have melted my brain, and I ought not to have eaten so many raspberries, either. In that case, it wouldn't be a bad plan to doze a bit,' remarked Arkady. "'Certainly. Only don't look at me. Everyone has a stupid face when he's asleep. But isn't it all the same to you what people think of you?' "'I don't quite know how to answer you. A real man ought not to worry about such things. A real man is not meant to be thought about, but is someone who must be either obeyed or hated.' "'It's odd. I don't hate anyone,' observed Arkady after a pause. "'And I hate so many. You're a tender-hearted, listless creature. How could you hate anyone? You're timid. You haven't much self-reliance.' "'And you,' interrupted Arkady, do you rely on yourself? Have you a high opinion of yourself?' Bizarre of paused. "'When I meet a man who can hold his own beside me,' he said with slow deliberation, "'then I'll change my opinion of myself.' Hatred. You said, for instance, today as we pass the cottage of our bailiff Philip, the one that's so neat and clean. Well, you said Russia will achieve perfection when the poorest peasant has a house like that, and every one of us ought to help to bring it about. And I felt such a hatred for this poorest peasant, this Philip or Cedor, for whom I have to be ready to sacrifice my skin, and who won't even thank me for it. And why should he thank me? Well, suppose he lives in a clean house, while weeds grow out of me. So what next?' "'That's enough, Evgeny. Listening to you today, one would be driven to agree with those who reproach us for absence of principles.' "'You talk like your uncle. Principles don't exist in general. You haven't yet managed to understand even that much. But there are sensations. Everything depends on them.' "'How is that?' "'Well, take me, for instance. I adopt a negative attitude by virtue of my sensations. I like to deny my brain is made like that, and there's nothing more to it. Why does chemistry appeal to me? Why do you like apples? Also, by virtue of our sensations. It's all the same thing. People will never penetrate deeper than that. Not everyone would tell you so, and another time I shouldn't tell you so myself.' "'What, and is honesty also a sensation?' "'I should think so.' "'Evgeny,' began Arkady in a dejected tone.' "'Well, what? That's not to your taste?' "'No, brother. If you've made up your mind to mow down everything, don't spare your own legs. But we've philosophied enough. Nature heaps up the silence of sleep,' said Pushkin. "'He never said anything of the kind,' retorted Arkady. "'Well, if he didn't, he might have, and ought to have said it, as a poet. By the way, he must have served in the army.' "'Pushkin was never in the army?' "'Why, on every page of his, one reads, to arms, to arms, for Russia's honor.' "'What legends you invent? Really, it's positive slander.' "'Slander? There's a weighty matter.' "'He's found a solemn word to frighten me with.' "'Whatever slander you may utter against a man, you may be sure he deserves twenty times worse than that in reality.' "'We had better go to sleep,' said Arkady, with vexation.' "'With the greatest of pleasure,' answered Bezato. "'But neither of them slept. Some kind of almost hostile feeling had taken hold of both young men. Five minutes later they opened their eyes and glanced at each other in silence.' "'Look,' said Arkady suddenly. "'A dry maple leaf has broken off and has fallen to the ground. Its movements are exactly like a butterfly's flight. Isn't it strange? Such a gloomy dead thing, so like the most carefree and lively one.' "'Oh, my friend Arkady Nikolaevich,' exclaimed Bezato. "'One thing I implore of you. No beautiful talk.' "'I talk as I best know how to. Yes, really, this is sheer despotism. A thought came into my head. Why shouldn't I express it?' "'All right, and why shouldn't I express my thoughts? I think that sort of beautiful talk is positively indecent. And what is decent? Abuse?' "'Ah, so I see clearly you intend to follow in your uncle's footsteps. How pleased that idiot would be if he could hear you now!' "'What did you call Pavel Petrovich?' "'I called him, as he deserves to be called, an idiot.' "'Really, this is unbearable,' cried Arkady. "'Aha, family feeling spoke out,' remarked Bezatov coolly. "'I've noticed how obstinately it clings to people. A man is ready to give up everything and break with every prejudice. But to admit, for instance, that his brother who steals other people's handkerchiefs is a thief, that's beyond his power. "'And as a matter of fact, to think my brother, mine, and no genius, that's more than one can swallow.' "'A simple sense of justice spoke in me, and no family feeling at all,' retorted Arkady vehemently. "'But since you don't understand such a feeling, as it's not among your sensations, you're in no position to judge it.' "'In other words, Arkady Kirsanov is too exalted for my understanding. I bow down to him and say no more.' "'That's enough, Evgeny. We shall end by quarreling.' "'Ah, Arkady, do me a favor. Let's quarrel properly for once, to the bitter end, to the point of destruction. "'But then perhaps we should end by—' "'By fighting?' broke in Bazarov. "'Well, here in the hay, in such idyllic surroundings, far from the world and far from human eyes, it wouldn't matter. "'But you'd be no match for me. I'd have you by the throat at once.' Bazarov stretched out his long, tough fingers. Arkady turned round and prepared, as if joking, to resist. But his friend's face struck him as so sinister, he saw such a grim threat in the crooked smile which twisted his lips, in his glaring eyes, that he felt instinctively taken aback. "'So that is where you have got to,' said the voice of Vasily Ivanovich at this moment, and the old army doctor appeared before the young man, dressed in a homemade linen jacket, with a straw hat, also homemade, on his head. "'I've been looking for you everywhere. But you've picked out a splendid place, and you're perfectly employed, lying on the earth and gazing up to heaven. Do you know there's a special significance in that?' "'I gaze up to heaven only when I want a sneeze,' growled Bazarov, and turning to Arkady, he added in an undertone. A pity he interrupted us.' "'Well, that's enough,' whispered Arkady, and secretly squeezed his friend's hand. But no friendship can withstand such shocks for long.' "'I look at you, my youthful friends,' said Vasily Ivanovich meanwhile, shaking his head and leaning his folded arms on a skilfully bent stick which he himself had carved with a turks figure for a knob. "'I look, and I can't refrain from admiration. You have so much strength, such youthful bloom, abilities, and talents. Truly a caster and Pollux.' "'Get along with you, shooting off into mythology,' said Bazarov. You can see he was a Latin scholar in his day. Why, I seem to remember, you won the silver medal for a Latin composition, didn't you?' "'The dioscuri, the dioscuri,' repeated Vasily Ivanovich. "'Come, stop that, Father. Don't go send a medal.' "'Just once in an age. Surely it's permissible,' murmured the old man. "'Anyhow, I have not been searching for you, gentlemen, in order to pay you compliments, but in order to tell you, in the first place, that we shall soon be dining. And secondly, I want to warn you, Evgeny, you are a sensible man. You know the world, and you know what women are, and therefore you will excuse your mother wanted a service held for you in thanksgiving for your arrival. Don't imagine that I'm asking you to attend that service. It's already over. But, Father Alexei, the parson? Well, yes, the priest. He is to dine with us. I did not expect this, and was not even in favor of it. But somehow it turned out like that. He misunderstood me. And, well, Arina Vlasievna, besides, he's a worthy and reasonable man. I suppose he won't eat my share at dinner,' inquired Bazarov. Vasily Ivanovich laughed. The things you say. Well, I asked nothing more. I'm ready to sit down at table with anyone. Vasily Ivanovich said his hat straight. I was sure in advance, he said, that you were above all such prejudices. Here am I, an old man of sixty-two, and even I have none. Vasily Ivanovich dared not confess that he had himself wanted the thanksgiving service. He was no less devout than his wife. And Father Alexei very much wanted to make your acquaintance. You will like him, you'll see. He doesn't mind playing cards even, and he sometimes, but this is between ourselves, goes so far as to smoke a pipe. Fancy that. We'll have a round of wist after dinner, and I'll beat him. We shall see. That's an open question. Well, won't it remind you of old times? said Bazarov with a peculiar emphasis. Vasily Ivanovich's bronzed cheeks blushed with confusion. For shame, Evgeny, let bygones be bygones. Well, I'm ready to confess before this gentleman I had that very passion in my youth, and how I paid for it, too. But how hot it is! May I sit down with you? I hope I shan't be in your way. Not in the least, answered Arkady. Vasily Ivanovich lowered himself, sighing into the hay. Your present quarters, my dear sirs, he began, remind me of my military bivouacking existence, the halts of the field hospital, somewhere like this under a haystack. And even for that we thanked God. He sighed. What a lot I've experienced in my time. For instance, if you allow me, I will tell you a curious episode about the plague in Becerabia. For which you won the Vladimir Cross, interposed Bazarov. We know, we know. By the way, why aren't you wearing it? Why, I told you that I have no prejudices, muttered Vasily Ivanovich. Only the evening before he had had the red ribbon unpicked from his coat. And he started to tell his story about the plague. Why, he has fallen asleep, he whispered suddenly to Arkady, pointing to Evgeny, and winked good-naturedly. Evgeny, get up, he added loudly. Let's go into dinner. Father Alexei, a handsome, stout man, with thick, carefully combed hair, with an embroidered belt around his mauve, silk cassock, appeared to be a very skillful and adaptive person. He made haste to be the first to offer his hand to Arkady and Bazarov, as though realizing in advance that they did not want his blessing, and in general he behaved without constraint. He neither betrayed his own opinions nor provoked the other members of the company. He made an appropriate joke about seminary Latin and stood up in defense of his bishop. He drank two glasses of wine and refused a third. He accepted a cigar from Arkady, but did not smoke it on the spot. Saying he would take it home with him. Only he had a somewhat unpleasant habit of raising his hand from time to time, slowly and carefully, to catch the flies on his face, and sometimes managing to squash them. He took his seat at the green card-table with a measured expression of satisfaction, and ended by, winning from Bazarov, two-and-a-half rubles in note. They had no idea of how to reckon in silver in Arina Vlasyevna's house. She sat, as before, close to her son. She did not play card, and as before she leaned her cheek on her little clenched hand. She got up only to order some fresh sweet-meat to be served. She was afraid to caress Bazarov, and he gave her no encouragement, for he did nothing to invite her caresses. And besides, Vasily Ivanovich had advised her not to disturb him too much. Young men are not fond of that sort of thing, he explained to her. There is no need to say what dinner was like that day. Timofitch, in person, had galloped off at dawn to procure some special Kyrkazian beef. The bailiff had gone off in another direction for turbot, perch, and crayfish. For mushrooms alone the peasant woman had been paid forty-two kopecks and copper. But Arina Vlasyevna's eyes, looking steadfastly at Bazarov, expressed not devotion and tenderness alone, for sorrow was visible in them also, mingled with curiosity and fear, and with a trace of humble reproachfulness. Bazarov, however, was in no state of mind to analyze the exact expression of his mother's eyes. He seldom turned to her, and then only with some short question. Once he asked her for her hand for luck. She quietly placed her soft little hand on his rough broad palm. Well, she asked, after waiting for a time, did it help? Worse luck than before, he answered with a careless smile. He plays too rashly, pronounced Father Alexei, as it were, compassionately, and stroked his handsome beard. That was Napoleon's principle, good father, Napoleon's, interposed to Vasily Ivanovitch, leading with an ace. But it brought him to the Isle of St. Helena, observed Father Alexei, and trumped his ace. Wouldn't you like some black currant tea and yushka? asked Arina Vlasyevna. Bazarov merely shrugged his shoulders. No, he said to Arkady the following day. I go away from here to-morrow. I'm bored. I want to work, but I can't here. I will come again to your place. I left all my apparatus there. In your house, at least, one can shut oneself up. But here my father keeps on repeating to me. My study is at your disposal. Nobody shall interfere with you. And all the time he himself is hardly two steps away. And I'm ashamed somehow to shut myself away from him. It's the same thing with my mother. I hear how she sighs on the other side of the wall. And then, if one goes in to see her, one has nothing to say. She will be most upset, said Arkady, and so will he. I shall come back to them. When? Well, when I'm on my way to Petersburg. I feel particularly sorry for your mother. How's that? She has won your heart with her raspberries? Arkady lowered his eyes. You don't understand your mother, Evgenia. She's not only a very good woman. She's really very wise. This morning she talked to me for half an hour, and so interestingly, so much to the point. I suppose she was expatiating about me the whole time. We didn't talk about you only. Maybe as an outsider you see more. If a woman can keep up a conversation for half an hour, it's already a good sign. But I'm going away all the same. It won't be easy for you to break the news to them. They are making plans for us a fortnight ahead. No, it won't be easy. Some devil drove me to tease my father today. He had one of his rent-paying peasants flogged the other day, and quite rightly too. Yes, yes, don't look at me in such horror. He did right because that peasant is a frightful thief and drunkard. Only my father had no idea that I, as they say, became aware of the fact. He was very much embarrassed, and now I shall have to upset him as well. Never mind. He'll get over it. Bazarov said, never mind, but the whole day passed before he could bring himself to tell Vasily Ivanovich about his decision. At last, when he was just saying good night to him in the study, he remarked with a strained yawn. Oh yes, I almost forgot to tell you. Will you send two fiddles for our horses to-morrow? Vasily Ivanovich was dumbfounded. Is Mr. Kirsanov leaving us then? Yes, and I'm going with him. Vasily Ivanovich almost reeled over. You are going away? Yes, I must. Make the arrangements about the horses, please. Very good to the posting station. Very good. Only, only why is it? I must go to stay with him for a short time. Afterwards I will come back here again. Ah, for a short time. Very good. Vasily Ivanovich took out his handkerchief, and as he blew his nose, bent himself almost double to the ground. Ah, right, it will all be done. I had thought you were going to stay with us a little longer. Three days? Three days? After three years? That's rather little, rather little, Evgeny. But I tell you, I'm coming back soon. I have to go. You have to- well, duty comes before everything else. So you want the horses sent? All right. Of course, Anna and I never expected this. She has just managed to get some flowers from a neighbor. She wanted to decorate your room. Vasily Ivanovich did not even mention that every morning the moment it was light, he consulted with Timofish, and standing with his bare feet and slippers, pulling out with trembling fingers one crumpled ruble note after another, and trusted him with various purchases, particularly of good things to eat, and of red wine, which, as far as he could observe, the young men liked extremely. Liberty is the main thing. That is my principle. One has no right to interfere. No. He suddenly fell silent and made for the door. We shall soon see each other again, Father, really. But Vasily Ivanovich did not turn around. He only waved his hand and went out. When he got back to the bedroom, he found his wife in bed, and began to say his prayers in a whisper in order not to wake her up. She woke, however. Is that you, Vasily Ivanovich? she asked. Yes, little mother. Have you come from Inyusha? Do you know, I'm afraid he may not be comfortable on that sofa. I told Anfosushka to put out for him your traveling mattress and the new pillows. I should have given him our feather bed, but I seem to remember he doesn't like sleeping soft. Never mind, little mother, don't you worry. He's all right. Lord, have mercy on us sinners! he continued his prayer in a low voice. Vasily Ivanovich felt sorry for his old wife. He did not wish to tell her overnight what sorrow there was in store for her. Bazarov and Arkady left on the following day. From early morning the house was filled with gloom. Anfosushka let the dishes slip out of her hand. Even Fedka became bewildered and at length took off his boots. Vasily Ivanovich fussed more than ever. Obviously he was trying to make the best of it. Talked loudly and stamped his feet. But his face looked haggard and he continually avoided looking his son in the eyes. Arina Vlasievna wept quietly. She would have broken down and lost all control of herself if her husband had not spent two whole hours exhorting her early that morning. When Bazarov, after repeating promises to come back within a month at the latest, tore himself at last from the embrace detaining him and took his seat on the Tarantas, when the horses started, the bell rang and the wheels were moving, and when it was no longer any use gazing after them, when the dust had settled down and Timafeish, all bent and tottering as he walked, had crept back to his little room, when the old people were left alone in the house, which also seemed to have suddenly shrunk and grown decrepit, Vasily Ivanovich, who a few moments before had been heartily waving his handkerchief on the steps, sank into a chair and his head fell on his breast. He has abandoned us, cast us off, he muttered. Abandoned us, he only feels bored with us now. Alone, all alone, like a solitary finger, he repeated several times, stretching out his hand with the forefinger standing out from the others. Then Arina Vlasievna came up to him and leaning her gray head against his gray head, she said, What can we do, Vasya? A sun is a piece broken off. He's like a falcon that flies home and flies away again when it wants. But you and I are like mushrooms growing in the hollow of a tree. We sit side by side without moving from the same place. Only I will never change for you, and you will always be the same for me. Vasily Ivanovich took his hands from his face and embraced his wife, his friend, more warmly than he had ever embraced her in his youth. She comforted him in his sorrow. End of Chapter 21 Recording by Roger Maline Chapter 22 of Fathers and Sons This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline Fathers and Sons by Ivan Tergenyev Translated by Richard Hare Chapter 22 In silence, only rarely exchanging a few words, our friends traveled as far as Fedoz. Bazarov was not altogether pleased with himself, and Arkady was displeased with him. He also felt gripped by that melancholy without a cause, which only very young people experience. The coachman changed the horses and getting up in the box inquired. To the right or to the left? Arkady shuddered. The road to the right led to the town and from their home. The road to the left led to Madame Odintsov's place. He looked at Bazarov. Evgenyev, he asked, to the left? Bazarov turned away. What folly is this? he muttered. I know it is folly, answered Arkady. But what harm does it do? It's not for the first time. Bazarov pulled his cap down over his forehead. As you like, he said at last. Turn to the left, shouted Arkady. The Tarantas rolled off in the direction of Nikolsko. But having decided on committing the folly, the friends maintained an even more obstinate silence than before and seemed positively bad-tempered. Already, by the manner in which the butler met them in the porch of Madame Odintsov's house, the friends could guess that they had acted injudiciously in giving way so suddenly to a passing caprice. They were obviously not expected. They sat for quite a long time in the drawing-room with rather stupid faces. At length Madame Odintsov came into them. She greeted them with her usual politeness, but showed surprise at their rapid return, and judging by the deliberation of her gestures and words, she was not over-pleased about it. They hastened to explain that they had only called there on their way, and within four hours must continue their journey to the town. She confined herself to a mild exclamation, asked Arkady to convey her greetings to his father and sent for her aunt. The princess appeared, looking half asleep, which gave her wrinkled old face an even more hostile expression. Katya was unwell and did not leave her room. Arkady suddenly realized that he was at least as anxious to see Katya as to see Anna Sergeyevna herself. The four hours passed in small talk about one thing or another. Anna Sergeyevna both listened and talked without smiling. It was only when they were already saying goodbye that her former friendliness seemed somehow to light up again in her. I have an attack of spleen just now, she said, but don't pay any attention to that and come here again, I say that to both of you, before long. Both Bazarov and Arkady responded with a silent bow, took their seats in the carriage, and without stopping again anywhere, drove straight home to Marino, where they arrived safely on the evening of the following day. During the whole journey neither of them so much as mentioned the name of Madame Odinstov, Bazarov in particular hardly opened his mouth and kept staring sideways at the road with a kind of embittered concentration. At Marino everyone was overjoyed to see them. The prolonged absence of his son had begun to make Nikolai Petrovich uneasy. He uttered a joyful exclamation and bounced up and down on the sofa, dangling his legs. When Finichka ran into him with sparkling eyes and announced the arrival of the young gentleman. Even Pavel Petrovich felt to some degree pleasantly excited and smiled indulgently as he shook hands with the returned wanderers. Talk and questions followed quickly. Arkady talked most, especially at supper, which lasted till long after midnight. Nikolai Petrovich ordered up some bottles of porter, which had just been brought from Moscow, and he himself made merry till his cheeks turned purple, laughing repeatedly with a rather childlike but nervous laughter. Even the servants were affected by the general gaiety. Dunyasha ran up and down like one possessed, slamming doors from time to time, while Piotr, at three o'clock in the morning, was still trying to play a cossack waltz on the guitar. The strings emitted their sweetened, plaintive sounds in the motionless air, but except for some short preliminary flourishes, the cultured valet's efforts failed to produce any tune. Nature had granted him no more talent for music than it had for anything else. But meanwhile things had not been going too well at Marino, and poor Nikolai Petrovich was having a hard time. Every day difficulties arose on the farm, senseless, distressing difficulties. The troubles with the hired laborers had become intolerable. Some gave notice or asked for higher wages, while others walked off with wages they had received in advance. The horses fell sick. The harness was damaged as though it had been burnt. The work was carelessly done. A threshing machine ordered from Moscow turned out to be unusable because it was too heavy. Another winnowing machine was ruined the very first time it was used. Half the cattle sheds were burned down because a blind old woman on the farm went with a blazing firebrand and windy weather to fumigate her cow. Of course the old woman maintained that the whole mishap was due to the master's plan of introducing new-fangled cheeses and dairy products. The bailiff suddenly turned lazy and began to grow fat, as every Russian grows fat when he gets an easy living. When he caught sight of Nikolai Petrovich in the distance he would try to demonstrate his zeal by throwing a stick at a passing pig, or by threatening some half-naked ragamuffin, but for the rest of the time he was generally asleep. The peasants who had been put on the rent system did not pay him time and stole wood from the forest. Almost every night the watchmen caught peasants' horses in the farm meadows and sometimes removed them after a scrimmage. Nikolai Petrovich would fix a money fine for damages, but the matter usually ended by the horses being returned to their owners after they had been kept for a day or two on the master's forage. On top of all this the peasants began to quarrel among themselves. Brothers asked for their property to be divided, their wives could not get on together in one house. Suddenly a quarrel would flare up. They would all rise to their feet, as though at a given signal, would run to the porch of the estate office and crawl in front of the master, often in a drunken state with battered faces, demanding justice and retribution. An uproar and clamour would ensue, the shrill screams of the women mingling with the curses of the men. The contending parties had to be examined, and one had to shout oneself's horse, knowing in advance that it was in any case quite impossible to reach a just settlement. There were not enough hands for the harvest. A neighbouring yeoman, in the most benevolent manner, contracted to supply him with reapers for a commission of two rubles per acre, and cheated him in the most shameless way. His peasant women demanded exorbitant prices, and meanwhile the corn got spoiled. The harvest was not in the common ownership, but at the same time the Council of Guardians issued threats and demanded immediate and full payment of interest due. It's beyond my power, exclaimed Nikolai Petrovich several times in despair. I can't flog them myself. To send for the police is against my principles, but without the fear of punishment you can do absolutely nothing with them. Do come, do come, Pavel Petrovich would remark on these occasions. But he hummed to himself, frowned, and twisted his mustache. Bazarov held himself aloof from all the squabbles, and indeed as a guest it was not incumbent on him to meddle in other people's affairs. On the day after his arrival in Marino he set to work on his frogs, his infusoria, and his chemical experiments, and spent all his time over them. Arkady, on the contrary, considered it his duty, if not to help his father, at least to create an impression of being ready to help him. He listened to him patiently, and sometimes gave his advice, not that he expected it to be acted upon, but in order to show his concern. The details of agricultural management were not repugnant to him. He even indulged in pleasant dreams about agricultural work, but at this time his mind was preoccupied with other ideas. To his own surprise Arkady found he was thinking incessantly of Nikolsko, formerly he would have just shrugged his shoulders if anyone had told him he could feel bored under the same roof as Bazarov, particularly in his own home. But now he was bored and long to get away. He tried walking till he was tired out, but that did not help either. One day, when talking to his father, he found out that Nikolai Petrovich possessed a number of quite interesting letters, written to his wife by Madame Ornestov's mother, and Arkady gave him no peace until he had taken out the letters, for which Nikolai Petrovich was obliged to rummage in twenty different drawers and boxes. Having gained possession of these crumbling papers, Arkady somehow calmed down as if he had secured a clearer vision of the goal towards which he ought now to move. I say that to both of you, he kept on repeating to himself. Those were the words he added. I shall go there. I shall go. Hang it all. Then he recalled his last visit, the cold reception and his previous embarrassment, and shyness overwhelmed him. But the adventurous daring of youth, the secret desire to try his luck to test his powers independently without anyone else's protection, prevailed at last. Before ten days had passed, after his return to Margino, on the pretext of going to study the organization of Sunday schools, he galloped off again to the town and from there on to Nikolsko. Uninterruptedly urging the driver forward, he dashed on like a young officer riding into battle. He felt at once frightened and light-hearted and breathless with impatience. The main thing is, I mustn't think, he kept on saying to himself. His driver happened to be a high-spirited fellow, who stopped in front of every inn and exclaimed, A drink? Or, what about a drink? But to make up for that, after the drink he did not spare his horses. At length there came into sight the high roof of the familiar house. What shall I do, suddenly flashed through Arkady's mind? Anyhow, I can't turn back now. The three horses sped gaily on. The driver yelled and whistled at them. Already the little bridge was echoing under the wheels and the horse's hooves, and the avenue of lopped pines was drawing nearer. He caught a glimpse of a woman's pink dress moving among the dark green trees, and a young face peeped out from under the light fringe of a parasol. He recognized Katya and she recognized him. Arkady ordered the driver to stop the galloping horses, jumped out of the carriage, and went up to her. It's you, she murmured, and slowly blushed all over. Let us go to my sister. She's here in the garden. She will be pleased to see you. Katya led Arkady into the garden. His meeting with her struck him as a particularly happy omen. He was delighted to see her, as though she were someone close to his heart. Everything had happened so agreeably. No butler, no formal announcement. At a turn in the path he caught sight of Anna Sergeyevna. She was standing with her back to him, hearing his footsteps she gently turned around. Arkady would have felt embarrassed again, but the first words which she uttered immediately set him at ease. Welcome, you runaway, she said in her smooth caressing voice, and came forward to meet him, smiling and screwing up her eyes from the sun and breeze. Where did you find him, Katya? I have brought you something, Anna Sergeyevna, he began, which you certainly don't expect. You have brought yourself, that's better than anything else. End of Chapter 22. Recording by Roger Maline Chapter 23. Of Fathers and Sons. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline. Fathers and Sons. By Ivan Tergenev. Translated by Richard Hare. Chapter 23. Having seen Arkady off with ironical sympathy, and given him to understand that he was not in the least deceived about the real objects of his journey, Bazarov shut himself up in solitude, and set to work with feverish intensity. He no longer argued with Pavel Petrovich, particularly since the latter assumed in his presence an oppressively aristocratic manner, and expressed his opinions more by inarticulate sounds than by words. Only on one occasion Pavel Petrovich fell into a controversy with the nihilist, over the then much discussed question about the rights of the nobles in the Baltic provinces. But he quickly stopped himself, remarking with a chilly politeness. However, we cannot understand one another. I, at least, have not the honor of understanding you. I should think not, exclaimed Bazarov. A human being can understand everything. How the ether vibrates, and what's going on in the sun. But how another person can blow his nose differently from him, that he's incapable of understanding. What, is that a joke? remarked Pavel Petrovich in a questioning tone, and walked away. However, he sometimes asked permission to be present at Bazarov's experiment, and once even placed his perfumed face, washed with the finest soap, over the microscope, in order to see how our transparent protozoan swallowed a green speck, and busily chewed it with two very adroit organs which were in its throat. Nikolai Petrovich visited Bazarov much oftener than his brother. He would have come every day to learn, as he expressed it, if the worries of his farm had not kept him too busy. He did not interfere with the young research worker. He used to sit down in a corner of the room and watch attentively, occasionally permitting himself some discreet question. During dinner and supper he used to try to turn the conversation to physics, geology, or chemistry, since all other subjects, even agriculture, to say nothing of politics, might lead, if not to collisions, at least to mutual dissatisfaction. Nikolai Petrovich guessed that his brother's dislike of Bazarov had not diminished. A minor incident, among many others, confirmed his surmise. Cholera began to break out in some places in the neighborhood, and even carried off two people from Marino itself. One night Pavel Petrovich had a rather severe attack of illness. He was in pain till the morning, but he never asked for Bazarov's help. When he met him the next day, in reply to his question why he had not sent for him, he answered, still very pale, but perfectly brushed and shaved. Surely I remember you said yourself you don't believe in medicine. So the days passed. Bazarov went on working obstinately and grimly, and meanwhile there was in Nikolai Petrovich's house one person to whom, if he did not open his heart, he was at least glad to talk. That person was Fenichka. He used to meet her chiefly in the early morning, in the garden or the farmyard. He never went to see her in her room, and she had only once come to his door to inquire. Should she give Mitya his bath or not? She not only had confidence in him, and was not afraid of him. She felt freer and more at ease with him than she did with Nikolai Petrovich himself. It is hard to say how this came about, perhaps because unconsciously she felt in Bazarov the absence of anything aristocratic, of all that superiority which at once attracts and overaws. In her eyes he was both an excellent doctor and a simple man. She attended to her baby in his presence without any embarrassment, and once, when she was suddenly overcome by giddiness and headache, she took a spoonful of medicine from his hands. When Nikolai Petrovich was there, she kept Bazarov somehow at a distance. She did this not out of hypocrisy, but from a definite sense of propriety. Of Pavel Petrovich, she was more afraid than ever. For some time he had begun to watch her, and would suddenly appear, as if he had sprung out of the earth behind her back, in his English suit, with an impassive, vigilant face and with his hands in his pockets. It's like having cold water thrown over one, said Fenichka to Dunyasha, who sighed in response and thought of another heartless man. Bazarov, without the faintest suspicion of the fact, had become the cruel tyrant of her heart. Fenichka liked Bazarov, and he liked her also. His face was even transformed when he talked to her. It took on an open, kindly expression, and his habitual nonchalance was modified by a kind of jocular attentiveness. Fenichka was growing prettier every day. There is a period in the life of young women when they suddenly begin to expand and blossom like summer roses. Such a time had come for Fenichka. Everything contributed to it, even the June heat which was then at its height. Dressed in a light-white dress, she seemed herself whiter and more graceful. The sun had not tanned her skin, but the heat, from which she could not protect herself, spread a slight flush over her cheeks and ears and a gentle langer through her whole body, reflected in the dreamy expression of her charming eyes. She was almost unable to work, and kept on sighing and complaining with a comic helplessness. You should go off in her to bathe, Nikolai Petrovich told her. He had arranged a large bathing-place covered with an awning in the only one of his ponds, which had not yet completely dried up. Oh, Nikolai Petrovich! But you die before you get to the pond, and on the way back you die again. You see, there's no shade in the garden. That's true, there's no shade, said Nikolai Petrovich, wiping his forehead. One day, at seven o'clock in the morning, Bazarov was returning from a walk and encountered Finichka in the lilac-arbor, which had long ceased to flower, but was still thick with green leaves. She was sitting on the bench and had, as usual, thrown a white kerchief over her head. Beside her lay a whole heap of red and white roses, still wet with dew. He said good morning to her. Oh, Evgeny Vasilich, she said, and lifted the edge of her kerchief a little in order to look at him, in doing which her arm was bared to the elbow. What are you doing here? said Bazarov, sitting down beside her. Are you making a bouquet? Yes, for the table at lunch. Nikolai Petrovich likes it. But lunch is still a long way off. What a mass of flowers! I gathered them now, for it will be hot later on, and one can't go out. Even now one can only just breathe. I feel quite weak from the heat. I'm quite afraid I may get ill. What an idea! Let me feel your pulse. Bazarov took her hand, felt for the evenly throbbing pulse, but did not even start to count its beats. You'll live a hundred years, he said, dropping her hand. Ah, God forbid! she cried. But why? Don't you want a long life? Well, but a hundred years? We had an old woman of eighty-five near us, and what a martyr she was. Dirty, deaf, bent, always coughing. She was only a burden to herself. What kind of a life is that? So it's better to be young. Well, isn't it? But why is it better? Tell me. How can you ask why? Why, here am I. Now I'm young, I can do everything. Come and go and carry, and I don't need to ask anyone for anything. What can be better? But it's all the same to me, whether I'm young or old. How do you mean all the same? It's impossible what you say. Well, judge for yourself, Hidosya Nikolayevna. What good is my youth to me? I live alone, a solitary man. That always depends on you. It doesn't all depend on me. At least someone ought to take pity on me. Finichka looked sideways at Bazarov, but said nothing. What's that book you have, she said, after a short pause? That, it's a scientific book, a difficult one. Are you still studying? Don't you find it dull? I should think you must know everything already. Evidently not everything. You try to read a little of it. But I don't understand a word of it. Is it Russian? Asked Finichka, taking the heavily bound book in both hands. How thick it is! Yes, it's Russian. All the same, I should say. You can't understand anything. Well, and I don't want you to understand it. I want to look at you while you're reading. When you read, the tip of your nose moves so nicely. Finichka, who had started to spell out in a low voice an article on creosote she had chanced upon, laughed and threw down the book. It slipped from the bench to the ground. I like it too when you laugh, remarked Bazarov. Oh, stop! I like it when you talk. It's like a little brook babbling. Finichka turned her head away. What a one you are, she murmured as she went on sorting out the flowers. And how can you like listening to me? You have talked with such clever ladies. Ah, Fedosya Nikolayevna, believe me, all the clever ladies in the world aren't worth your little elbow. There now, what will you invent next? whispered Finichka, clasping her hands together. Bazarov picked up the book from the ground. That's a medical book. Why do you throw it away? Medical, repeated Finichka, and turned round to him. Do you know, ever since you gave me those drops, do you remember? Mitya has slept so well. I really don't know how to thank you. You are so good, really. But actually you have to pay doctors, said Bazarov with a smile. Doctors, you know yourself, are grasping people. Finichka raised her eyes, which seemed still darker from the whitish reflection cast on the upper part of her face, and looked at Bazarov. She did not know whether he was joking or not. If you want, we shall be very glad. I shall have to ask Nikolay Petrovich. You think I want money, interrupted Bazarov? No, I don't want money from you. What then? asked Finichka. What? repeated Bazarov. Guess, as if I'm likely to guess, Well, I will tell you, I want one of those roses. Finichka laughed again and even threw up her hands, so amused she was by Bazarov's request. She laughed, and at the same time she felt flattered. Bazarov was watching her intently. By all means, she said at length, and bending over the bench, she began to pick out some roses. Which will you have, a red or a white one? Red, and not too large. She sat up again. Here, take it, she said, but at once drew back her outstretched hand, and, biting her lips, looked towards the entrance of the summer-house, and then listened. What is it? asked Bazarov. Nikolay Petrovich? No, he has gone to the fields, and I'm not afraid of him. But Pavel Petrovich, I fancied. What? It seemed to me he was passing by. No, it was no one. Take it, Finichka gave Bazarov the rose. What makes you afraid of Pavel Petrovich? He always frightens me. One talks, and he says nothing but just looks knowing. Of course you don't like him either. You remember you were always quarreling with him. I don't know what you quarreled about, but I can see you turning him this way and that. Finichka showed with her hand how, in her opinion, Bazarov turned Pavel Petrovich round about. Bazarov smiled. And if he defeated me, he asked, would you stand up for me? How could I stand up for you? But no, one doesn't get the better of you. You think so? But I know a hand which, if it wanted to, could knock me down with one finger. What hand is that? Why, don't you know, really? Smell the wonderful scent of this rose you gave me. Finichka stretched her little neck forward and put her face close to the flower. The kerchief slipped from her hair onto her shoulders, disclosing a soft mass of black, shining and slightly ruffled hair. Wait a moment, I want to smell it with you, said Bazarov. He bent down and kissed her vigorously under parted lips. She shuddered, pushed him back with both her hands on his breast, but pushed weakly so that he was able to renew and prolong his kiss. A dry cough made itself heard behind the lilac bushes. Finichka instantly moved away to the other end of the bench. Pavel Petrovich showed himself in the entrance, bowed slightly, muttered in a tone of sorrowful anger. You are here? and walked away. Finichka at once gathered up all her roses and went out of the summer house. That was wrong of you, Evgeny Vasilich, she whispered as she left. There was a tone of sincere reproach in her whisper. Bazarov remembered another recent scene and he felt both ashamed and contemptuously annoyed. But he shook his head at once, ironically congratulated himself on his formal assumption of the role of a Don Juan, and went back to his own room. Pavel Petrovich went out of the garden and made his way with slow steps to the wood. He stayed there quite a long time, and when he returned to lunch, Nikolai Petrovich inquired anxiously whether he felt unwell. His face had turned so dark. You know I sometimes suffer from bilious attacks, Pavel Petrovich answered calmly. End of chapter 23. Recording by Roger Maline