fathers and sons by ivan turgenevchapter 24 two hours later he knocked at bazarov’sdoor. "i must apologize for hindering you in yourscientific researches," he began, seating himself in a chair by the window andleaning with both hands on a handsome walking-stick with an ivory knob (he usually walked without a stick), "but i amobliged to ask you to spare me five minutes of your time…no more." "all my time is at your disposal," answeredbazarov, whose face quickly changed its expression the moment pavel petrovichcrossed the threshold.
"five minutes will be enough for me. i have come to put one question to you.""a question? what about?""i will tell you if you will be good enough to listen to me. at the beginning of your stay in mybrother’s house, before i had renounced the pleasure of conversing with you, i hadoccasion to hear your opinion on many subjects; but as far as i can remember, neither between us, nor in my presence, wasthe subject of singlecombats or dueling discussed.allow me to hear what are your views on
that subject?" bazarov, who had stood up to meet pavelpetrovich, sat down on the edge of the table and folded his arms. "my view is," he said, "that from thetheoretical point of view dueling is absurd; but from the practical point ofview–well, that’s quite another matter." "so, you mean to say, if i understand yourightly, that whatever theoretical views you may hold about dueling, you would inpractice not allow yourself to be insulted without demanding satisfaction?" "you have guessed my meaning completely.""very good.
i am very glad to hear that from you.your words release me from a state of uncertainty.." "of indecision, do you mean?""that is all the same; i express myself in order to be understood; i…am not aseminary rat. your words have saved me from a rathergrievous necessity. i have made up my mind to fight you."bazarov opened his eyes wide. "me?" "undoubtedly you.""and what for, may i ask?" "i could explain the reason to you," beganpavel petrovich, "but i prefer to keep
silent about it. to my mind your presence here issuperfluous. i find you intolerable, i despise you, andif that is not enough for you…" pavel petrovich’s eyes flashed…bazarov’stoo were glittering. "very good," he said."further explanations are unnecessary. you’ve taken it into your head to try outon me your chivalrous spirit. i could refuse you this pleasure–but itcan’t be helped!" "i am sensible of my obligations to you,"answered pavel petrovich, "and i may count then on your accepting my challenge,without compelling me to resort to violent
measures?" "that means, speaking without metaphor, tothat stick?" bazarov remarked coolly."that is entirely correct. you have no need to insult me; indeed itwould not be quite safe…you can remain a gentleman…i accept your challenge alsolike a gentleman." "excellent," observed pavel petrovich, andput his stick down in the corner. "we will say a few words now about theconditions of our duel; but i should first like to know whether you consider itnecessary to resort to the formality of a trifling dispute which might serve as apretext for my challenge?"
"no, it’s better without formalities.""i also think so. i suggest it is also inappropriate to dwellfurther on the real reason for our skirmish.we cannot endure one another. what more is necessary?" "what more is necessary?" repeated bazarovironically. "as regards the conditions of the duelitself, since we shall have no seconds–for where could we get them?" "exactly, where could we get any?" "i therefore have the honor to put thefollowing proposals to you; we shall fight
early tomorrow morning, at six, let us say,behind the plantation, with pistols, at a distance of ten paces…" "at ten paces?that will do; we can still hate each other at that distance.""we could make it eight," remarked pavel petrovich. "we could; why not?""we fire twice, and to be prepared for everything, let each put a letter in hispocket, accepting responsibility for his own end." "i don’t quite agree with that," saidbazarov.
"it smacks too much of a french novel, abit unreal." "perhaps. you will agree, however, that it would beunpleasant to incur the suspicion of murder?""i agree. but there is a means of avoiding thatpainful accusation. we shall have no seconds, but we could havea witness." "and who, may i ask?" "why, pyotr.""which pyotr?" "your brother’s valet.
he’s a man standing at the height ofcontemporary culture, who would play his part in such an affair with all thenecessary ; repeated vassily comilfo." "i think you are joking, sir." "not in the least.if you think over my suggestion you will be convinced that it is full of common senseand simplicity. murder will out–but i can undertake toprepare pyotr in a suitable manner and bring him to the field of battle.""you persist in joking," said pavel petrovich, getting up from his chair. "but after the courteous readiness you haveshown, i have no right to claim…so
everything is arranged…by the way, isuppose you have no pistols?" "how should i have pistols, pavelpetrovich? i’m not an army man.""in that case, i offer you mine. you may rest assured that i have not shotwith them for five years." "that’s a very consoling piece of news.–" pavel petrovich picked up his stick…"andnow, my dear sir, it only remains for me to thank you and to leave you to your studies.i have the honor to take leave of you." "until we have the pleasure of meetingagain, my dear sir," said bazarov, conducting his visitor to the door.
pavel petrovich went out; bazarov remainedstanding for a moment in front of the door, then suddenly exclaimed, "what the devil–how fine and how stupid! a pretty farce we’ve been acting; liketrained dogs dancing on their hind legs. but it was out of the question to refuse; ireally believe he would have struck me, and then…" (bazarov turned pale at the very thought;all his pride stood up on end.) "i might have had to strangle him like akitten." he went back to his microscope, but hisheart was beating fast and the composure so essential for accurate observation haddisappeared.
"he saw us today," he thought, "but can itbe that he would do all this on account of his brother?and how serious a matter is it–a kiss? there must be something else in it. bah! isn’t he in love with her himself?obviously he’s in love–it’s as clear as daylight.what a mess, just think…it’s a bad business!" he decided at last. "it’s bad from whatever angle one looks atit. in the first place to risk a bullet throughone’s brain, and then in any case to go away from here; and what about arkady…andthat good-natured creature nikolai
petrovich? it’s a bad business."the day passed in a peculiar calm and dullness. fenichka gave no sign of life at all; shesat in her little room like a mouse in its hole.nikolai petrovich had a careworn look. he had just heard that his wheat crop onwhich he had set high hopes had begun to show signs of blight, pavel petrovichoverwhelmed everyone, even prokovich, with his icy politeness. bazarov began a letter to his father, buttore it up and threw it under the table.
"if i die," he thought, "they will hearabout it; but i shan’t die; no, i shall struggle along in this world for a longtime yet." he gave pyotr an order to come to him onimportant business the next morning as soon as it was light.pyotr imagined that bazarov wanted to take him to petersburg. bazarov went to bed late, and all nightlong he was oppressed by disordered dreams… madame odintsov kept on appearing in them;now she was his mother and she was followed by a kitten with black whiskers, and thiskitten was really fenichka; then pavel
petrovich took the shape of a great forest,with which he had still to fight. pyotr woke him at four o’clock; he dressedat once and went out with him. it was a lovely fresh morning; tiny fleckedclouds stood overhead like fleecy lambs in the clear blue sky; fine dewdrops lay onthe leaves and grass, sparkling like silver on the spiders’ webs; the damp dark earth seemed still to preserve the rosy traces ofthe dawn; the songs of larks poured down from all over the sky. bazarov walked as far as the plantation,sat down in the shade at its edge and only then disclosed to pyotr the nature of theservice he expected from him.
the cultured valet was mortally alarmed;but bazarov quieted him down by the assurance that he would have nothing to doexcept to stand at a distance and look on, and that he would not incur any sort ofresponsibility. "and besides," he added, "only think whatan important part you have to play." pyotr threw up his hands, cast down hiseyes, and leaned against a birch tree, looking green with terror. the road from maryino skirted theplantation; a light dust lay on it, untouched by wheel or foot since theprevious day. bazarov found himself staring along thisroad, picking and chewing a piece of grass,
and he kept on repeating to himself: "whata piece of idiocy!" the morning chill made him shivertwice…pyotr looked at him dismally, but bazarov only smiled; he was not frightened.the tramp of horses’ hoofs could be heard coming along the road… a peasant came into sight from behind thetrees. he was driving before him two horseshobbled together, and as he passed bazarov he looked at him rather strangely, withoutremoving his cap, which evidently disturbed pyotr, as an unlucky omen. "there’s someone else up early too,"thought bazarov, "but he at least has got
up for work while we…""it seems the gentleman is coming," whispered pyotr suddenly. bazarov raised his head and caught sight ofpavel petrovich. dressed in a light checked coat and snow-white trousers, he was walking quickly along the road; under his arm he carried abox wrapped in green cloth. "excuse me, i think i have kept youwaiting," he said, bowing first to bazarov and then to pyotr, whom he treatedrespectfully at that moment as representing some kind of second. "i did not want to wake up my man.""it doesn’t matter," said bazarov.
"we’ve only just arrived ourselves.""ah! so much the better!" pavel petrovich looked around. "there’s no one in sight; no one tointerfere with us .. we can proceed?" "let us proceed.""you don’t demand any more explanations, i suppose." "no, i don’t.""would you like to load?" inquired pavel petrovich, taking the pistols out of thebox. "no; you load, and i will measure out thepaces. my legs are longer," added bazarov with asmile.
"one, two, three…" "evgeny vassilich," stammered pyotr withdifficulty (he was trembling as if he had fever), "say what you like, but i am goingfarther off." "four, five…all right, move away, my goodfellow; you can even stand behind a tree and stop up your ears, only don’t shut youreyes; and if anyone falls, run and pick him up. six…seven…eight…"bazarov stopped. "is that enough?" he asked, turning topavel petrovich, "or shall i add two paces more?"
"as you like," replied the latter, pressingthe second bullet into the barrel. "well, we’ll make two paces more," bazarovdrew a line on the ground with the toe of his boot. "there’s the barrier.by the way, how many paces may each of us go back from the barrier?that’s an important question too. it was not discussed yesterday." "i suppose, ten," replied pavel petrovich,handing bazarov both pistols. "will you be so good as to choose?""i will be so good. but you must admit, pavel petrovich, thatour duel is unusual to the point of
absurdity.only look at the face of our second." "you are disposed to laugh at everything,"answered pavel petrovich. "i don’t deny the strangeness of our duel,but i think it is my duty to warn you that i intend to fight seriously. a bon entendeur, salut!""oh! i don’t doubt that we’ve made up our minds to do away with each other; but whynot laugh and unite utile dulci? so you can talk to me in french and i’llreply in latin." "i intend to fight seriously," repeatedpavel petrovich and he walked off to his place.
bazarov on his side counted off ten pacesfrom the barrier and stood still. "are you ready?" asked pavel petrovich."perfectly." "we can approach each other." bazarov moved slowly forward and pavelpetrovich walked towards him, his left hand thrust in his pocket, gradually raising themuzzle of his pistol…"he’s aiming straight at my nose," thought bazarov, "and how carefully he screws up his eyes, thescoundrel! not an agreeable sensation. i’d better look at his watch-chainsomething whizzed by sharply close to
bazarov’s ear, and a shot rang out at thatmoment. "i heard it, so it must be all right,"managed to flash through bazarov’s brain. he took one more step, and without takingaim, pressed the trigger. pavel petrovich swayed slightly andclutched at his thigh. a thin stream of blood began to trickledown his white trousers. bazarov threw his pistol aside and went upto his antagonist. "are you wounded?" he asked."you had the right to call me up to the barrier," said pavel petrovich. "this is a trifle.according to our agreement, each of us has
the right to one more shot." "well, but excuse me, we’ll leave that toanother time," answered bazarov, and caught hold of pavel petrovich, who was beginningto turn pale. "now i’m no longer a duelist but a doctor,and first of all i must have a look at your wound.pyotr! come here, pyotr! where have you hidden yourself?""what nonsense…i need help from nobody," said pavel petrovich jerkily, "and–wemust–again…" he tried to pull at his mustache, but hishand failed him, his eyes grew dim, and he
fainted."here’s a pretty pass. a fainting-fit! what next!"bazarov exclaimed involuntarily as he laid pavel petrovich on the grass."let’s see what is wrong." he pulled out a handkerchief, wiped awaythe blood, and began to feel around the wound…"the bone’s not touched," hemuttered through his teeth, "the bullet didn’t go deep; only one muscle vastusexternus grazed. he’ll be dancing about in three weeks.fainting! oh these nervous people!
fancy, what a delicate skin.""is he killed?" whispered the trembling voice of pyotr behind his back.bazarov looked round. "go for some water quickly, my good fellow,and he’ll outlive you and me yet." but the perfect servant failed apparentlyto understand his words and did not move from the spot. pavel petrovich slowly opened his eyes."he’s dying," murmured pyotr and started crossing himself. "you are right…what an idiotic face!"remarked the wounded gentleman with a forced smile."go and fetch the water, damn you!" shouted
bazarov. "there’s no need…it was a momentaryvertigo. help me to sit up…there, that’s right…ionly need something to bind up this scratch, and i can reach home on foot, orelse you can send for a droshky for me. the duel, if you agree, need not berenewed. you have behaved honorably…today, today–take note." "there’s no need to recall the past,"answered bazarov, "and as regards the future, it’s not worth breaking your headabout that either, for i intend to move off from here immediately.
let me bind up your leg now; your wound–isnot dangerous, but it’s always better to stop the bleeding.but first i must bring this corpse to his senses." bazarov shook pyotr by the collar and senthim off to fetch a droshky. "mind you don’t frighten my brother," pavelpetrovich said to him; "don’t inform him on any account." pyotr dashed off, and while he was runningfor a droshky, the two antagonists sat on the ground in silence. pavel petrovich tried not to look atbazarov; he did not want to be reconciled
to him in any case; he felt ashamed of hisown arrogance, of his failure; he was ashamed of the whole affair he had arranged even though he realized it could not haveended more auspiciously. "at least he won’t go on hanging aroundhere," he consoled himself by thinking: "one should be thankful even for that." the prolonged silence was oppressive andawkward. both of them felt ill at ease; each wasconscious that the other understood him. for friends such a feeling is agreeable,but for those who are not friends it is most unpleasant, especially when it isimpossible either to come to an
understanding or to separate. "haven’t i bound up your leg too tight?"asked bazarov at last. "no, not at all, it’s excellent," answeredpavel petrovich, and added after a pause, "we can’t deceive my brother, he will haveto be told that we quarreled about politics." "very good," said bazarov."you can say that i cursed all anglomaniacs.""all right. what do you suppose that man thinks aboutus now?" continued pavel petrovich, pointing at the same peasant who had driventhe hobbled horses past bazarov a few
minutes before the duel, and who was now going back again along the same road andtook off his cap at the sight of the "masters.""who knows him!" answered bazarov. "most likely of all he thinks aboutnothing. the russian peasant is that mysteriousunknown person about whom mrs. radcliffe used to say so much. who can understand him?he doesn’t understand himself." "ah, so that’s what you think," pavelpetrovich began, then suddenly exclaimed, "look what your fool of a pyotr has done!
here’s my brother galloping towards us."bazarov turned round and saw nikolai petrovich sitting in a droshky, his facepale. he jumped out before it had stopped and ranup to his brother. "what does this mean?" he called out in anagitated voice. "evgeny vassilich, what is this?" "nothing," answered pavel petrovich, "theyhave alarmed you quite unnecessarily. we had a little dispute, mr. bazarov and i–and i have had to pay for it a little." "but for heaven’s sake, what was it allabout?" "how shall i explain?mr. bazarov alluded disrespectfully to sir
robert peel. i hasten to add that i am the only personto blame in all this, and mr. bazarov has behaved honorably.i challenged him." "but you’re covered with blood!" "well, did you suppose i had water in myveins? but this bloodletting positively does megood. isn’t that so, doctor? help me to get into the droshky and don’tgive way to gloomy thoughts. i shall be quite well tomorrow.that’s it; excellent.
drive off, coachman." nikolai petrovich followed the droshky onfoot. bazarov lagged behind… "i must ask you to look after my brother,"nikolai petrovich said to him, "until we get another doctor from the town."bazarov nodded his head without speaking. an hour later pavel petrovich was alreadylying in bed with a skillfully bandaged leg. the whole house was upset; fenichka feltill; nikolai petrovich was silently wringing his hands, while pavel petrovichlaughed and joked, especially with bazarov;
he had put on a fine cambric nightshirt, an elegant morning jacket, and a fez; he didnot allow the blinds to be drawn down, and humorously complained about the necessityof not being allowed to eat. towards night, however, he grew feverish;his head ached. the doctor arrived from the town. (nikolai petrovich would not listen to hisbrother, nor did bazarov want him to; he sat the whole day in his room, lookingyellow and angry, and only went in to the invalid for as brief a visit as possible; twice he happened to meet fenichka, but sheshrank away from him in horror.)
the new doctor advised a cooling diet; heconfirmed, however, bazarov’s assurance that there was no danger. nikolai petrovich told him that his brotherhad hurt himself accidentally, to which the doctor replied "hm!" but on having twenty-five silver rubles slipped into his hand on the spot, he remarked, "you don’t say so! well, such things often happen, of course."no one in the house went to bed or undressed. nikolai petrovich from time to time went inon tiptoe to his brother’s room and tiptoed out again; pavel petrovich dozed, sighed alittle, told his brother in french
"couchez-vous," and asked for something todrink. nikolai petrovich sent fenichka in to himonce with a glass of lemonade; pavel petrovich looked at her intently and drankoff the glass to the last drop. towards morning the fever had increased alittle; a slight delirium started. at first pavel petrovich uttered incoherentwords; then suddenly he opened his eyes, and seeing his brother beside his bed,anxiously leaning over him, he murmured, "don’t you think, nikolai, fenichka hassomething in common with nellie?" "what nellie, pavel dear?""how can you ask that? with princess r .
especially in the upper part of the face.c’est de la meme famille." nikolai petrovich made no answer, butinwardly he marveled at the persistent vitality of old passions in a man. "this is what happens when it comes to thesurface," he thought. "ah, how i love that empty creature!"groaned pavel petrovich, mournfully clasping his hands behind his head. "i can’t bear that any insolent upstartshould dare to touch…" he muttered a few minutes later. nikolai petrovich only sighed; he nevereven suspected to whom these words
referred.bazarov came to see him on the following day at eight o’clock. he had already managed to pack and had setfree all his frogs, insects and birds. "you have come to say good-by to me?" saidnikolai petrovich, getting up to meet him. "exactly." "i understand and fully approve of you.my poor brother is of course to blame; but he has been punished for it.he told me that he made it impossible for you to act otherwise. i believe that you could not avoid thisduel, which…which to some extent is
explained by the almost constant antagonismof your different points of view." (nikolai petrovich began to get rathermixed up in his words.) "my brother is a man of the old school,hot-tempered and obstinate…thank god that it has only ended in this way. i have taken all possible precautions toavoid publicity." "i’ll leave you my address, in case there’sany fuss," said bazarov casually. "i hope there will be no fuss, evgenyvassilich…i am very sorry that your stay in my house should have come to…such anend. it distresses me all the more on account ofarkady’s…"
"i expect i shall see him," repliedbazarov, in whom every kind of "explanation" and "pronouncement" alwaysaroused a feeling of impatience. "in case i don’t, may i ask you to saygood-by to him for me and to accept the expression of my regret.""and i, too, ask…" began nikolai petrovich with a bow. but bazarov did not wait for him to finishhis sentence and went out of the room. on hearing that bazarov was going, pavelpetrovich expressed a desire to see him and shook him by the hand. but even then bazarov remained as cold asice; he realized that pavel petrovich
wanted to display magnanimity. he found no opportunity of saying good-byto fenichka; he only exchanged glances with her from the window.her face struck him by its sad look. "she’ll come to grief, probably," he saidto himself, "though she may pull through somehow!" pyotr, however, was so overcome that hewept on his shoulder, until bazarov cooled him down by asking if he had a constantwater supply in his eyes; and dunyasha felt obliged to run away into the plantation tohide her emotion. the originator of all this distress climbedinto a country cart, lit a cigar, and when,
three miles further on at a bend in theroad, he saw for the last time the kirsanovs’ farmstead and its new manor house standing together on the sky line, hemerely spat and muttering, "damned noblemen," wrapped himself more tightly inhis cloak. pavel petrovich was soon better; but he hadto lie in bed for about a week. he bore his captivity, as he called it,fairly patiently, though he took great trouble over his toilet and had everythingscented with eau de cologne. nikolai petrovich read papers to him;fenichka waited on him as before, brought him soup, lemonade, boiled eggs and tea;but a secret dread seized her every time
she came into his room. pavel petrovich’s unexpected action hadalarmed everyone in the house, and her most of all; prokovich was the only person nottroubled by it, and he discoursed on how gentlemen used to fight in his day only with real gentlemen, but such lowscoundrels they would have ordered to be horsewhipped in the stables for theirinsolence. fenichka’s conscience scarcely reproachedher, but she was tormented at times by the thought of the real cause of the quarrel;and pavel petrovich, too, looked at her so strangely…so that even when her back wasturned she felt his eyes fixed on her.
she grew thinner from constant inwardagitation and, as it happened, became still more charming. one day–the incident took place in theearly morning–pavel petrovich felt better and moved from his bed to the sofa, whilenikolai petrovich, having previously made inquiries about his brother’s health, wentoff to the threshing floor. fenichka brought him a cup of tea, andsetting it down on a little table, was about to withdraw, pavel petrovich detainedher. "where are you going in such a hurry,fedosya nikolayevna," he began, "are you so busy?""no…yes, i have to pour out tea."
"dunyasha will do that without you; sitdown for a little while with an invalid. by the way, i must have a talk with you."fenichka sat down on the edge of an armchair without speaking. "listen," said pavel petrovich, pulling athis mustache, "i have wanted to ask you for a long time; you seem somehow afraid ofme." "i…?" "yes, you.you never look me in the face, as if your conscience were not clear."fenichka blushed but looked up at pavel he seemed so strange to her and her heartbegan quietly throbbing.
"surely you have a clear conscience?" heasked her. "why should it not be clear?" shewhispered. "why indeed.besides, whom could you have wronged? me? that is unlikely. any other people living in the house?that is also a fantastic idea. could it be my brother?but surely you love him?" "i love him." "with your whole soul, with your wholeheart?" "i love nikolai petrovich with my wholeheart."
"truly? look at me, fenichka."(he called her by that name for the first time.)…"you know, it is a great sin totell lies!" "i am not lying, pavel petrovich. if i did not love nikolai petrovich, therewould be no point in my living any longer." "and you will never give him up for anyoneelse?" "for whom else could i give him up?" "for whom indeed!well, what about that gentleman who has just gone away from here?"fenichka got up.
"my god, pavel petrovich, why are youtorturing me? what have i done to you?how can you say such things?" "fenichka," said pavel petrovich in a sadvoice, "you know i saw…" "what did you see?""well, there…in the summerhouse." fenichka blushed to the roots of her hairand to her ears. "how can i be blamed for that?" shepronounced with an effort. pavel petrovich raised himself up. "you were not to blame?no? not at all?" "i love nikolai petrovich and no one elsein the world and i shall always love him!"
cried fenichka with sudden force, whilesobs rose in her throat. "as for what you saw, i will say on thedreadful day of last judgment that i am innocent of any blame for it and alwayswas, and i would rather die at once if people can suspect me of any such thing against my benefactor, nikolaipetrovich…" but here her voice failed, and at the samemoment she felt that pavel petrovich was seizing and pressing her hand…she lookedat him and was almost petrified. he had turned even paler than before; hiseyes were shining, and most surprising of all–one large solitary tear was rollingdown his cheek.
"fenichka!" he said in a strange whisper. "love him, love my brother!he is such a good kind man. don’t give him up for anyone, don’t listento anyone else’s talk. only think, what can be more terrible thanto love and not to be loved in return. never leave my poor nikolai!"fenichka’s eyes were dry and her fright had vanished–so great was her amazement. but what were her feelings when pavelpetrovich, pavel petrovich of all people, pressed her hand to his lips and seemed topierce into it without kissing it, only breathing convulsively from time to time…
"good heavens!" she thought, "is hesuffering from some attack?" at that moment his whole ruined lifestirred within him. the staircase creaked under rapidlyapproaching footsteps…. he pushed her away from him and let hishead drop back on the pillow. the door opened, and nikolai petrovich camein, looking cheerful, fresh and ruddy. mitya, just as fresh and rosy as hisfather, with nothing but his little shirt on, was frisking about in his arms,snatching with bare little toes at the buttons of his rough country coat. fenichka simply flung herself upon him andclasping him and her son together in her
arms, dropped her head on his shoulder. nikolai petrovich was astonished; fenichka,so shy and modest, never demonstrated her feelings for him in front of a thirdperson. "what’s the matter?" he said, and glancingat his brother he handed mitya to her. "you don’t feel worse?" he asked, going upto pavel petrovich, who buried his face in a cambric handkerchief. "no…not at all…on the contrary, i ammuch better." "you shouldn’t have been in such a hurry tomove to the sofa. where are you going?" added nikolaipetrovich, turning towards fenichka, but
she had already closed the door behind her."i was bringing my young hero in to show you; he has been crying for his uncle. why did she carry him off?what’s wrong with you, though? has anything happened between you?""brother!" said pavel petrovich gravely. "give me your word to carry out my onerequest." "what request, tell me.""it is very important; it seems to me the whole happiness of your life depends on it. i have been thinking a lot all this timeabout what i want to say to you now…brother, do your duty, the duty of anhonest and generous man, put an end to the
scandal and the bad example you aresetting–you, the best of men!" "what do you mean, pavel?""marry fenichka…she loves you; she is– the mother of your son." nikolai petrovich moved a step backwardsand threw up his hands. "you say that, pavel?you, whom i always took for the most relentless opponent of such marriages! you say that!but don’t you know that it was only out of respect for you that i have not done whatyou rightly called my duty!" "your respect for me was quite mistaken inthis case," said pavel petrovich with a
weary smile. "i begin to think that bazarov was rightwhen he accused me of being an aristocratic snob. no, dear brother, let us stop worryingourselves about the opinion of the outside world; we are elderly humble people by now;it’s high time we laid aside all these empty vanities. we must do our duty, just as you say, andmaybe we shall find happiness that way in addition."nikolai petrovich rushed over to embrace his brother.
"you have really opened my eyes," heexclaimed. "i was right in always maintaining that youare the kindest and wisest man in the world, and now i see you are just asreasonable as you are generous-minded." "softly, softly," pavel petrovichinterrupted him. "don’t knock the leg of your reasonablebrother who at close on fifty has been fighting a duel like a young lieutenant. so, then, the matter is settled; fenichkais to be my…belle-soeur." "my darling pavel!but what will arkady say?" "arkady?
he’ll be enthusiastic, of course!marriage is not a principle for him, but on the other hand his sentiment of equalitywill be gratified. yes, and after all what is the good ofcaste divisions au dix-neuvieme siecle?" "ah, pavel, pavel! let me kiss you oncemore! don’t be afraid, i’ll be careful." the brothers embraced each other."what do you think, shouldn’t you tell her straight away what you intend to do?""why should we hurry?" answered nikolai "did you have a conversation with her?""a conversation, between us? quelle idee!""well, that’s all right.
first of all, you must get well; it won’trun away from us, and meanwhile we must think it over and consider…""but surely you have made up your mind?" "of course i have, and i thank you from thebottom of my heart. i will leave you now; you must rest; anyexcitement is bad for you… but we will talk it over another time. go to sleep, my dear, and god grant yougood health!" "why does he thank me like that?" thoughtpavel petrovich, when he was left alone. "as if it did not depend on himself! then as soon as he marries i will go awaysomewhere, far from here, to dresden or
florence, and i will live there till iexpire." pavel petrovich moistened his forehead witheau de cologne and closed his eyes. lit up by the brilliant daylight, hisbeautiful emaciated head lay on the white pillow like the head of a dead man… and indeed he was a dead man. > fathers and sons by ivan turgenevchapter 25 at nikolskoe katya and arkady were sittingin the garden on a turf seat in the shade of a tall ash tree; fifi had placed herselfon the ground near them, giving her long
body that graceful curve which is knownamong sportsmen as the "hare’s bend." both arkady and katya were silent; he heldin his hands a half-open book, while she was picking out of a basket some remainingcrumbs of white bread and throwing them to the small family of sparrows which with their peculiar cowardly impudence werechirping and hopping around right up to her feet. a faint breeze, stirring the ash leaves,kept gently moving pale gold patches of sunlight up and down across the shady pathand over fifi’s back; an unbroken shadow fell on arkady and katya; only from time totime a bright streak gleamed in her hair.
both were silent, but the way in which theywere silent and sitting together indicated a certain confidential friendliness; eachof them seemed not to be thinking of the other, while secretly rejoicing at eachother’s presence. their faces, too, had changed since we sawthem last; arkady seemed more composed and katya brighter and more self-confident. "don’t you think," began arkady, "that theash has been very well named in russian yasen; not a single other tree is so lightand translucently clear (yasno) against the sky." katya raised her eyes upwards and murmured,"yes," and arkady thought, "well, she
doesn’t reproach me for talkingpoetically." "i don’t care for heine," said katya,glancing at the book which arkady held in his hands, "either when he laughs or whenhe weeps. i like him when he is thoughtful and sad." "and i like him when he laughs," remarkedarkady. "those are the relics of your old satiricaltendency." ("relics," thought arkady. "if bazarov could have heard that!")"wait a bit; we shall transform you. "who will transform me? you?"
"who? my sister, porfiry platonovich, whomyou’ve stopped quarreling with, my aunt, whom you escorted to church the day beforeyesterday." "well, i couldn’t refuse. but, as for anna sergeyevna, you remembershe agreed with evgeny in a great many things.""my sister was under his influence then, just as you were." "as i was!have you noticed that i’ve already shaken off his influence?"katya remained silent. "i know," continued arkady, "you neverliked him."
"i’m unable to judge him." "do you know, katerina sergeyevna, everytime i hear that answer, i don’t believe it…there is no one beyond the capacity ofjudgment of any of us! that is just a pretext for getting out ofit." "well, i’ll tell you then, he is…notbecause i don’t like him, but i feel he is quite alien to me, and i am alien tohim…and you too are alien to him." "why is that?" "how can i tell you?he’s a wild beast, while we are both domestic animals.""and am i a domestic animal?"
katya nodded her head. arkady scratched his ear."listen, katerina sergeyevna, surely that is in the nature of an insult.""why, would you rather be wild?" "not wild, but powerful, energetic." "it’s no good wishing to be that…yourfriend, you see, doesn’t wish for it, but he has it.""hm! so you suppose he had a great influence on anna sergeyevna?" "yes. but no one can keep the upper hand ofher for long," added katya in a low voice. "why do you think that?"
"she’s very proud…i didn’t mean to saythat .. she values her independence very much." "who doesn’t value it?" asked arkady, andthe thought flashed through his mind: "what is it for?"the same thought occurred to katya. young people who are friendly and oftentogether constantly find themselves thinking the same thoughts. arkady smiled and, coming a little closerto katya, he said in a whisper: "confess, you are a little afraid of her.""of whom?" "of her," repeated arkady significantly.
"and how about you?" asked katya in herturn. "i am also.please note i said, i am also." katya wagged her finger at himthreateningly. "i wonder at that," she began; "my sisterhas never felt so friendly towards you as just now; much more than when you firstcame here." "fancy that!" "and you haven’t noticed it?aren’t you glad about it?" arkady became thoughtful."how have i succeeded in winning anna sergeyevna’s favor?
could it be because i brought her yourmother’s letters?" "both for that and for other reasons whichi won’t tell you." "why?" "i shan’t say.""oh, i know, you’re very obstinate." "yes, i am.""and observant." katya cast a sidelong glance at arkady. "perhaps so; does that annoy you?what are you thinking about?" "i’m wondering how you have grown to be soobservant as you certainly are. you are so shy and distrustful; you keepeveryone at a distance…"
"i live so much alone; that in itself leadsto thoughtfulness. but do i keep everyone at a distance?" arkady flung a grateful glance at katya. "that’s all very well," he went on; "butpeople in your position–i mean with your fortune, seldom possess that gift; it ishard for them, as it is for emperors, to get at the truth." "but, you see, i am not rich."arkady was surprised and did not at once understand katya. "why, as a matter of fact, the property isall her sister’s!" struck him suddenly; the
thought was not disagreeable to him."how nicely you said that," he remarked. "what?" "you said it nicely, simply, without eitherbeing ashamed or making much of it. by the way, i imagine there must always besomething special, a kind of pride in the feeling of a person who knows and says thathe is poor." "i have never experienced anything of thatsort, thanks to my sister. i referred to my position just now onlybecause it happened to come up in our conversation." "well, but you must admit that even youhave something of that pride i spoke of
just now.""for instance?" "for instance, surely you–excuse myquestion–you wouldn’t be willing to marry a rich man?""if i loved him very much…no, probably even then i wouldn’t marry him." "there, you see!" cried arkady, and after amoment’s pause he added, "and why wouldn’t you marry him?""because even in the ballads unequal matches are always unlucky." "perhaps you want to dominate, or…""oh, no! what’s the good of that?on the contrary, i’m ready to obey; only
inequality is difficult. but to keep one’s self-respect and to obey–that i can understand; that is happiness; but a subordinate existence…no, i’ve hadenough of that as it is." "had enough of that," repeated arkady afterkatya. "you’re not anna sergeyevna’s sister fornothing; you’re just as independent as she is; but you’re more reserved. i’m sure you would never be the first toexpress your feelings, however strong or sacred…""well, what would you expect?" asked katya. "you are equally intelligent; you have asmuch character, if not more, than she…"
"don’t compare me with my sister, please,"interrupted katya hurriedly; "it puts me too much at a disadvantage. you seem to forget that my sister isbeautiful and clever and…you in particular, arkady nikolaich, ought not tosay such things and with such a serious face too." "what does that mean?’you in particular.’ and what makes you conclude that i’mjoking?" "of course you’re joking." "do you think so?but what if i’m convinced of what i say?
if i find that i’ve not even put itstrongly enough?" "i don’t understand you." "really?well, now i see that i certainly overestimated your powers of observation.""how is that?" arkady made no answer and turned away, butkatya searched for a few more crumbs in the basket and began throwing them to thesparrows; but she moved her arm too vigorously and the birds flew away withoutstopping to pick them up. "katerina sergeyevna," began arkadysuddenly, "it is probably a matter of indifference to you; but you should know, iwould not exchange you, neither for your
sister, nor for anyone else in the world." he got up and walked quickly away, as if hewere frightened by the words which had burst from his lips. katya let her two hands drop together withthe basket, on to her knees, and with bowed head she gazed for some time after arkady. gradually a crimson flush spread a littleto her cheeks, but her lips did not smile, and her dark eyes had a look of perplexityand of some other still undefined feeling. "are you alone?" sounded the voice of annasergeyevna, quite close to her. "i thought you came into the garden witharkady."
katya slowly raised her eyes to her sister(elegantly, almost elaborately dressed, she was standing on the path and ticklingfifi’s ears with the tip of her parasol) and slowly answered, "i’m alone." "so i see," answered the other sister witha laugh. "i suppose he has gone back to his room.""yes." "were you reading together?" "yes."anna sergeyevna took katya under the chin and raised her face."you didn’t quarrel, i hope." "no," said katya, quietly moving away hersister’s hand.
"how solemnly you answer.i thought i should find him here and was going to suggest a walk with him. he keeps on asking me about it.they have brought your new shoes from the town; go and try them on; i noticedyesterday that your old ones are quite worn out. really you don’t pay enough attention tothese things; but all the same you’ve got such lovely little feet! and your hands are good…only ratherlarge; so you must make the most of your feet.but you’re not a flirt."
anna sergeyevna went farther down the path,her beautiful dress rustling slightly as she walked. katya rose from the bench, and taking heinewith her, also went off–only not to try on the new shoes. "lovely little feet," she thought, as sheslowly and lightly mounted the stone steps of the terrace which were burning from theheat of the sun. "lovely little feet, you call them…well,he shall be at my feet." but a feeling of shame came over her atonce, and she ran swiftly upstairs. arkady was going along the passage to hisroom when he was overtaken by the butler,
who announced that mr. bazarov was sittingin his room. "evgeny!" muttered arkady in a startledtone. "has he been here long?" "he has arrived only this minute, and gaveorders not to be announced to anna sergeyevna but to be shown straight up toyou." "can any misfortune have happened at home?"thought arkady, and running hurriedly up the stairs he opened the door at once. the sight of bazarov immediately reassuredhim, though a more experienced eye would probably have discerned signs of inwardexcitement in the sunken but still
energetic face of the unexpected visitor. with a dusty cloak over his shoulders, anda cap on his head, he was sitting by the window; he did not even get up when arkadyflung himself on his neck with loud exclamations. "well, how unexpected!what good luck has brought you?" he kept on repeating, bustling about the room likesomeone who both imagines and wants to show that he is pleased. "i suppose everything is all right at home;they’re all well, aren’t they?" "everything is all right there, but noteveryone is well," said bazarov.
"but don’t go on chattering, get them tobring me some kvass, sit down and listen to what i’m going to tell you, in a few, but,i hope, fairly vigorous sentences." arkady kept quiet while bazarov told himabout his duel with pavel petrovich. arkady was greatly surprised and evenupset, but he did not think it necessary to show this; he asked only whether hisuncle’s wound was really not serious, and on receiving the reply that it was–most interesting, though not from a medicalpoint of view–he gave a forced smile, but he felt sick at heart and somehow ashamed.bazarov seemed to understand him. "yes, brother," he said, "you see whatcomes of living with feudal people.
one becomes feudal oneself and takes partin knightly tournaments. well, so i set off for my father’s place,"bazarov concluded, "and on the way i turned in here…to tell you all this, i shouldsay, if i didn’t think it a useless and stupid lie. no, i turned in here–the devil knows why. you see it’s sometimes a good thing for aman to take himself by the scruff of the neck and pull himself away, like a radishout of its bed; that’s what i’ve just done…but i wanted to take one more look at what i’ve parted company with, at thebed where i’ve been sitting."
"i hope that those words don’t apply tome," retorted arkady excitedly. "i hope you don’t think of parting fromme." bazarov looked at him intently; his eyeswere almost piercing. "would that upset you so much? it strikes me that you have parted from mealready; you look so fresh and smart…your affairs with anna sergeyevna must beproceeding very well." "what do you mean by my affairs with annasergeyevna?" "why, didn’t you come here from the town onher account, my little bird? by the way, how are those sunday schoolsgetting on?
do you mean to tell me you’re not in lovewith her? or have you already reached the stage ofbeing bashful about it?" "evgeny, you know i’ve always been frankwith you; i can assure you, i swear to you, you’re making a mistake." "hm! a new story," remarked bazarov underhis breath, "but you needn’t get agitated about it, for it’s a matter of completeindifference to me. a romantic would say: i feel that our roadsare beginning to branch out in different directions, but i will simply say thatwe’re tired of each other." "evgeny…"
"there’s no harm in that, my good soul; onegets tired of plenty of other things in the world!and now i think we had better say good-by. ever since i’ve been here i’ve felt sodisgusting, just as if i’d been reading gogol’s letters to the wife of the governorof kaluga. by the way, i didn’t tell them to unharnessthe horses." "good heavens, that’s impossible!""and why?" "i say nothing of myself, but it would bethe height of discourtesy to anna sergeyevna, who will certainly want to seeyou." "well, you’re mistaken there."
"on the contrary, i’m convinced that i’mright," retorted arkady. "and what are you pretending for?for that matter, haven’t you come here because of her?" "that might even be true, but you’remistaken all the same." but arkady was right. anna sergeyevna wanted to see bazarov andsent a message to him to that effect through the butler. bazarov changed his clothes before he wentto her; it turned out that he had packed his new suit in such a way as to be able totake it out easily.
madame odintsov received him, not in theroom where he had so unexpectedly declared his love to her, but in the drawing room. she held her finger tips out to himamiably, but her face showed signs of involuntary tension."anna sergeyevna," bazarov hastened to say, "first of all i must set your mind at rest. before you stands a simple mortal, who cameto his senses long ago, and hopes that other people too have forgotten hisfollies. i am going away for a long time, and thoughi’m by no means a soft creature, i should be sorry to carry away with me the thoughtthat you remember me with abhorrence."
anna sergeyevna gave a deep sigh like onewho has just climbed to the top of a high mountain, and her face lit up with a smile.she held out her hand to bazarov a second time and responded to his pressure. "let bygones be bygones," she said, "allthe more so, since, to say what is on my conscience, i was also to blame then,either for flirting or for something else. in a word, let us be friends as we werebefore. the other was a dream, wasn’t it?and who remembers dreams?" "who remembers them? and besides, love…surely it’s animaginary feeling."
"indeed?i am very pleased to hear that." anna sergeyevna expressed herself thus andso did bazarov; they both thought they were speaking the truth.was the truth, the whole truth, to be found in their words? they themselves did not know, much lesscould the author. but a conversation ensued between them,just as if they believed one another completely. anna sergeyevna asked bazarov, among otherthings, what he had been doing at the kirsanovs’.
he was on the point of telling her abouthis duel with pavel petrovich, but he checked himself with the thought that shemight suppose he was trying to make himself interesting, and answered that he had beenworking the whole time. "and i," observed anna sergeyevna, "had afit of depression to start with, goodness knows why; i even planned to go abroad,just fancy! but that passed off; your friend arkadynikolaich arrived, and i settled down to my routine again, to my proper function.""and what is that function, may i ask?" "to be an aunt, guardian, mother–call itwhat you like. incidentally, do you know i used not tounderstand before your close friendship
with arkady nikolaich; i found him ratherinsignificant. but now i have got to know him better, andi recognize his intelligence…but he is young, so young, it’s a great thing…notlike you and me, evgeny vassilich." "is he still shy in your presence?" askedbazarov. "but was he…" began anna sergeyevna, andafter a short pause she went on. "he has grown more trustful now; he talksto me; formerly he used to avoid me; though, as a matter of fact, i didn’t seekhis society either. he is more katya’s friend." bazarov felt vexed."a woman can’t help being a hypocrite," he
thought. "you say he used to avoid you," he saidaloud with a cold smile; "but probably it’s no secret to you that he was in love withyou?" "what? he too?" ejaculated anna sergeyevna."he too," repeated bazarov, with a submissive bow."can it be that you didn’t know it and that i’ve told you something new?" anna sergeyevna lowered her eyes."you are mistaken, evgeny vassilich." "i don’t think so.but perhaps i ought not to have mentioned
it." "and don’t you try to fool me any more," headded to himself. "why not mention it? but i imagine that here as well you attachtoo much importance to a transitory impression.i begin to suspect that you are inclined to exaggerate." "we had better not talk about that, annasergeyevna." "and why?" she replied, but herselfdiverted the conversation into another channel.
she still felt ill at ease with bazarov,though she had both told and assured herself that everything was forgotten. while exchanging the simplest remarks withhim, even when she joked with him, she was conscious of an embarrassed fear. thus do people on a steamer at sea talk andlaugh carelessly, for all the world as if they were on dry land; but the moment thereis some hitch, if the smallest sign appears of something unusual, there emerges at once on every face an expression of peculiaralarm, revealing the constant awareness of constant danger.anna sergeyevna’s conversation with bazarov
did not last long. she began to he absorbed in her ownthoughts, to answer absentmindedly and ended by suggesting that they should gointo the hall, where they found the princess and katya. "but where is arkady nikolaich?" asked thehostess, and on hearing that he had not been seen for more than an hour, she sentsomeone to look for him. he was not found at once; he had hiddenhimself away in the wildest part of the garden, and with his chin propped on hisfolded hands, he was sitting wrapped in his thoughts were deep and serious, but notmournful.
he knew that anna sergeyevna was sittingalone with bazarov, and he felt no jealousy as he had before; on the contrary, his faceslowly brightened; it seemed as if he was at once wondering and rejoicing anddeciding to do something. fathers and sons by ivan turgenevchapter 26 the late odintsov had disliked innovations,but he admitted "a certain play of ennobled taste" and had consequently erected in hisgarden, between the hothouse and the lake, a building in the style of a creek temple,made of russian brick. along the windowless back wall of thistemple or gallery were placed six niches for statues, which odintsov proceeded toorder from abroad.
these statues were intended to representsolitude, silence, meditation, melancholy, modesty and sensibility. one of them, the goddess of silence, withher finger on her lips, had been delivered and placed in position; but on the verysame day some of the farm boys knocked off her nose, and although the neighboring plasterer undertook to make her a new nose,"twice as good as the previous one," odintsov ordered her to be removed, and shecould still be seen in the corner of the threshing barn, where she had stood for many years, a source of superstitiousterror to the peasant women.
the front part of the temple had long agobeen overgrown with thick bushes; only the capitals of the columns could be seen abovethe thick green. inside the temple itself it was cool evenat midday. anna sergeyevna did not like visiting thisplace ever since she had seen a snake there; but katya often came and sat on awide stone seat constructed under one of the niches. here, surrounded by shade and coolness, sheused to read and work, or give herself up to that sensation of perfect peace, knownprobably to everyone, the charm of which consists in the half-conscious mute
listening to that vast current of lifewhich uninterruptedly flows both around us and within us. on the day after bazarov’s arrival, katyawas sitting on her favorite stone seat, and arkady was sitting beside her again.he had begged her to come with him to the temple. it was about an hour before lunchtime; thedewy morning had given place to a hot day. arkady’s face retained the expression ofthe preceding day; katya looked preoccupied. her sister, immediately after their morningtea, had called her into her study, and
after some preliminary caresses–whichalways rather alarmed katya–advised her to be more guarded in her behavior with arkady, and to avoid solitary talks withhim, which had attracted the attention of her aunt and the household. apart from that, anna sergeyevna was stillin a bad mood from the evening before, and katya herself felt embarrassed, as if shehad done something wrong. when she yielded to arkady’s entreaties,she said to herself that it was for the last time. "katerina sergeyevna," he began with a sortof bashful carelessness, "ever since i have
had the happiness of living under the sameroof with you, i have discussed many things with you, but meanwhile there is one very important question–for me–which i havenot yet touched on. you remarked yesterday that i have beentransformed here," he went on, at once catching and avoiding the inquiring lookwhich katya fixed on him. "in fact i have changed a lot, and you knowthat better than anyone else–you to whom above all i owe this change.""i…? me…?" said katya. "i am no longer now the conceited boy i waswhen i arrived here," went on arkady.
"i’ve not reached the age of twenty-threefor nothing; as before i want to be useful, i want to devote all my powers to thetruth; but i don’t look for my ideals where i used to look before; they have shownthemselves to me…so much nearer. up till now i failed to understand myself,i set myself tasks which were beyond my strength…my eyes have recently beenopened, thanks to one feeling…i’m not expressing myself quite clearly, but i hopeyou understand me…" katya made no reply, but she stoppedlooking at arkady. "i suppose," he began again, this time in amore agitated voice, while above his head a chaffinch sang its song heedlessly amongthe leaves of a birch tree, "i suppose it
is the duty of every honest person to be absolutely frank with those…with thosepeople, who…in a word, with those who are near to him, and so i…i intend…" but at this point arkady’s eloquenceabandoned him; he fumbled for words, stammered and was obliged to pause for awhile. katya still did not raise her eyes. it seemed as though she did not evenunderstand what he was leading up to with all this, as though she were awaitingsomething. "i foresee that i shall surprise you,"began arkady, pulling himself together
again with an effort; "all the more sincethis feeling is connected in a certain way- -in a certain way, remember–with you. you reproached me yesterday, you remember,for a lack of seriousness," arkady went on with the air of a person who has walkedinto a swamp, feels that he is sinking in deeper and deeper at every step, and yet hurries forward in the hope of crossing itquicker; "that reproach is often aimed…often falls…on young men evenwhen they no longer deserve it; and if i had more self-confidence…" ("come, help me, do help me," arkady wasthinking in desperation, but katya kept her
head averted as before.)"if i could hope…" "if i could feel convinced of what yousaid," sounded at that moment the clear voice of anna sergeyevna.arkady fell silent at once and katya turned pale. alongside the very bushes which screenedthe temple ran a little path. anna sergeyevna was walking along itaccompanied by bazarov. katya and arkady could not see them, butthey heard every word, the rustle of their clothes, their very breathing. they walked on a few steps and then, as ifon purpose, stopped right opposite the
"you see," continued anna sergeyevna, "youand i made a mistake; we have both passed our first youthful stage, i particularly;we have seen life, we are tired; we are both intelligent–why pretend otfierwise?– at first we were interested in each other,our curiosity was aroused…and afterwards…""and afterwards my interest fell flat," interposed bazarov. "you know that was not the cause of ourmisunderstanding. but however that may be, we did not needeach other, that’s the main thing; there was in us…how shall i put it?…too muchof the same thing.
we did not realize that straight away. now arkady, on the contrary…""do you need him?" asked bazarov. "stop, evgeny vassilich.you say he is not indifferent to me, and it always seemed to me that he liked me. i know that i could well be his aunt, but idon’t want to conceal from you that i have begun to think about him more often.in that fresh youthful feeling there is a special charm…" "the word fascination is more often used insuch cases," interrupted bazarov; a violent suppressed bitterness could be detected inthe steady but hollow tone of his voice.
"arkady was secretive with me aboutsomething yesterday, and wouldn’t talk about either you or your sister…that’s aserious symptom." "he’s just like a brother with katya,"remarked anna sergeyevna, "and i like that in him, though perhaps i ought not to havelet them become so intimate." "is that idea prompted by yourfeelings…as a sister?" said bazarov, dragging out his words."of course…but why are we standing here? let us go on. what a strange talk we’re having, aren’twe? i could never have believed i should talkto you like this.
you know, i’m afraid of you…and at thesame time i trust you, because at bottom you are very good." "in the first place, i’m far from good; andin the second place i no longer mean anything to you, and you tell me that i amgood… it’s just like placing a wreath of flowersround the head of a corpse." "evgeny vassilich, we are not masters…"began anna sergeyevna; but a gust of wind blew across, started the leaves rustlingand carried away her words. "of course, you are free," said bazarovafter a pause. nothing more could be distinguished; thesteps went farther away…all became quiet
again. arkady turned to katya.she was sitting in the same position, but her head bent still lower. "katerina sergeyevna," he said; his voiceshook and he clenched his hands; "i love you–forever and irrevocably, and i love noone except you. i wanted to tell you this, to find out whatyou will say and to ask you to marry me, because, of course, i’m not rich and i feelready for any kind of sacrifice…you don’t answer? you don’t believe me?do you think i’m talking lightly?
but remember these last days! surely you must be convinced by now thateverything else–you understand me– absolutely everything else has vanishedlong ago and left no trace? look at me, say one word to me…i love… i love you…believe me."katya turned her eyes to arkady with a grave and radiant look, and after a longreflective pause, she murmured, smiling slightly, "yes." arkady jumped up from the seat."yes! you said ‘yes,’ katerina sergeyevna! what does that word mean?just that i love you, that you believe
me…or…i daren’t go on.." "yes," repeated katya, and this time heunderstood her. he seized her large beautiful hands and,breathless with enthusiasm, he pressed them to his heart. he could hardly stand on his feet, and onlykept on repeating, "katya, katya…" and she began to weep in such an innocent way,smiling gently at her own tears. whoever has not seen such tears in the eyesof a beloved person has not yet experienced to what an extent, overwhelmed withgratitude and awe, a human being may find happiness on earth.
the next day in the early morning, annasergeyevna sent a message asking bazarov to come to her study, and with a strainedlaugh she handed him a folded sheet of notepaper. it was a letter from arkady, in which heasked for her sister’s hand in marriage. bazarov quickly read through the letter,and could only with some effort conceal the malicious impulse which at once flared upwithin him. "so there it is," he remarked, "andapparently you thought no longer ago than yesterday that his feelings for katerinasergeyevna were of the brotherly sort. what do you intend to do now?"
"what would you advise me to do?" askedanna sergeyevna, continuing to laugh. "well, i suppose," answered bazarov, alsowith a laugh, though he felt anything but gay and no more wanted to laugh than shedid; "i suppose you ought to give the young people your blessing. it’s a good match from every point of view;kirsanov is tolerably well off, he’s the only son, and his father’s a good-naturedfellow; he won’t object." madame odintsov walked up and down theroom. her face flushed and turned pale by turns."you think so?" she said. "well, i see no obstacles…i’m glad forkatya…and for arkady nikolaich.
of course, i shall wait for his father’sanswer. i will send him in person to him. so it turns out that i was right yesterdaywhen i told you that we have both become old people….how was it i noticed nothing?that surprises me." anna sergeyevna laughed again and quicklyturned her head away. "the younger generation of today has grownpainfully cunning," remarked bazarov, and he also gave a short laugh. "good-by," he began again after a shortsilence. "i hope you will bring this affair to themost agreeable conclusion; and i will
rejoice from a distance." madame odintsov turned to him quickly."are you going away? why shouldn’t you stay now? do stay…it’s such fun talking toyou…one seems to be walking on the edge of a precipice.at first one feels timid, but one gets somehow exhilarated as one goes along. won’t you stay?""thank you for the invitation, anna sergeyevna, and for your flattering opinionof my conversational talents. but i find i’ve already been moving aroundfor too long in a sphere which is alien to
me. flying fish can hold out for a time in theair, but soon they have to splash back into the water; you must allow me too to flopdown into my natural element." madame odintsov looked at bazarov. a bitter smile twisted his pale face."this man loved me," she thought, and she felt sorry for him and held out her handwith sympathy. but he too understood her. "no," he said, stepping back a pace."i’m a poor man, but i’ve never accepted charity so far.good-by and good luck."
"i am sure that we are not seeing eachother for the last time," said anna sergeyevna with an unconscious movement. "anything can happen in this world,"answered bazarov, and he bowed and went "so you propose to build yourself a nest?"he said the same day to arkady, crouching on the floor as he packed his trunk."well, it’s a good thing. only you needn’t have been such a humbugabout it. i expected you’d go in quite a differentdirection. perhaps, though, it took you unawares?" "i certainly didn’t expect this when i leftyou," answered arkady; "but why are you
being a humbug yourself and calling it a’good thing,’ as if i didn’t know your opinion of marriage?" "ah, my dear friend," said bazarov, "howyou express yourself. you see what i’m doing; there happened tobe an empty space in my trunk, and i’m putting hay into it; that’s how it is withthe luggage of our life; we would stuff it up with anything rather than leave a void. don’t be offended, please; you probablyremember what i always thought of katerina sergeyevna. many a young lady is called intelligentsimply because she can sigh intelligently;
but yours can hold her own, and indeedshe’ll hold it so well that she’ll have you under her thumb–well, and that’s quite asit should be." he slammed the lid and got up from thefloor. "and now i say again, farewell…becauseit’s useless to deceive ourselves; we are parting forever, and you know ityourself…you acted sensibly; you were not made for our bitter, rough, lonelyexistence. there’s no daring in you, no hatred, thoughyou’ve got youthful dash and youthful fervor; that’s not enough for our business. your sort, the nobility, can never gofarther than noble resignation or noble
indignation, but those things are trifles. for instance, you won’t fight–and yet youfancy yourselves as brave fellows–but we want to fight.so there! our dust would get into your eyes, our mudwould soil you, but you’re not up to our standard, you unconsciously admireyourselves and you enjoy finding fault with yourselves; but we’re fed up with all that–we want something else! we want to smash people! you’re a fine fellow, but all the sameyou’re a mild little liberal gentleman–ay volatoo, as my parent would say."
"you are bidding good-by to me for ever,evgeny," said arkady sadly, "and you have nothing else to say to me."bazarov scratched the back of his head. "yes, arkady, i have other things to say toyou, but i won’t say them, because that’s romanticism–that means sentimental trash. but you hurry up and marry, settle down inyour nest and have as many children as you like.they’ll have the gumption to be born in a better time than you and me. aha! i see the horses are ready.it’s time to go. i’ve said good-by to everyone…well,what’s this?
embracing, eh?" arkady threw himself on the neck of hisformer teacher and friend, and tears fairly streamed from his eyes."that’s what comes of being young!" remarked bazarov calmly. "but i rely on katerina sergeyevna.you’ll see how quickly she can console you." "farewell, brother," he called out toarkady, as he was already climbing into the cart, and pointing to a pair of jackdaws,sitting side by side on the roof of the stables, he added, "there you are!
learn from the example.""what does that mean?" asked arkady. are you so weak in natural history or haveyou forgotten that the jackdaw is a most respectable family bird!an example to you…! good-by." the cart creaked and rolled away.bazarov spoke the truth. talking that evening with katya, arkady hadcompletely forgotten about his former teacher. he had already begun to follow her lead,and katya felt this and was not surprised. he was to set off the next day to maryinoto see nikolai petrovich.
anna sergeyevna had no wish to hamper thefreedom of the young people, but on account of decorum she did not leave them alone fortoo long. she generously kept the princess out oftheir way; the old lady had been reduced to a state of tearful frenzy by the news ofthe approaching marriage. at first anna sergeyevna was afraid thatthe sight of their happiness would prove rather upsetting to herself, but it turnedout to the contrary; it not only did not upset her to see their happiness, it occupied her mind, and in the end it evensoothed her heart. this outcome both gladdened and grievedanna sergeyevna.
"evidently bazarov was right," she thought,"i have curiosity, nothing but curiosity, and love of a quiet life, and egoism…""children," she said aloud, "do you think love is an imaginary feeling?" but neither katya nor arkady evenunderstood her. they were shy with her; the fragment ofconversation which they had accidentally overheard haunted their minds. but anna sergeyevna soon relieved theiranxieties, and that was not difficult for her; she had set her own mind at rest. fathers and sons by ivan turgenevchapter 27
bazarov’s old parents were all the moreoverjoyed by their son’s sudden arrival on account of its complete unexpectedness. arina vlasyevna was so agitated,continually bustling about all over the house, that vassily ivanovich said she waslike a partridge; the short flat tail of her little jacket certainly gave her abirdlike look. he himself made noises and bit the ambermouthpiece of his pipe, or, clutching his neck with his fingers, turned his headround, as though he were trying to find out if it was properly screwed on, then suddenly opened his wide mouth and laughednoiselessly.
"i’ve come to stay with you for six wholeweeks, old man," bazarov said to him. "i want to work, so please don’t interruptme." "you will forget what my face looks like,that’s how i will interrupt you!" answered vassily ivanovich. he kept his promise.after installing his son in his study as before, he almost hid himself away from himand he restrained his wife from any kind of superfluous demonstration of affection. "last time enyushka visited us, littlemother, we bored him a little; we must be wiser this time."
arina vlasyevna agreed with her husband,but she gained nothing thereby, since she saw her son only at meals and was in theend afraid to say a word to him. "enyushenka," she would sometimes start tosay–but before he had time to look round she would nervously finger the tassels ofher handbag and murmur, "never mind, i only…." and afterwards she would go to vassily ivanovich and ask him, her cheekleaning on her hand, "if only you could find out, darling, what enyusha would likebest for dinner today, beet-root soup or cabbage broth?" "but why didn’t you ask him yourself?""oh, he’ll get tired of me!"
bazarov, however, soon ceased to shuthimself up; his fever for work abated and was replaced by painful boredom and a vaguerestlessness. a strange weariness began to show itself inall his movements; even his walk, once so firm, bold and impetuous, was changed. he gave up his solitary rambles and beganto seek company; he drank tea in the drawing room, strolled about the kitchengarden with vassily ivanovich, smoked a pipe with him in silence and once eveninquired after father alexei. at first vassily ivanovich rejoiced at thischange, but his joy was short-lived. "enyusha is breaking my heart," heplaintively confided to his wife.
"it’s not that he’s dissatisfied or angry–that would be almost nothing; but he’s distressed, he’s downcast–and that isterrible. he’s always silent; if only he would startto scold us; he’s growing thin, and he’s lost all the color in his face.""lord have mercy on us!" whispered the old woman. "i would hang a charm round his neck, butof course he won’t allow it." vassily ivanovich tried several times in avery tactful manner to question bazarov about his work, his health, and aboutarkady… but bazarov’s replies were reluctant andcasual, and once, noticing that his father
was trying gradually to lead up tosomething in the conversation, he remarked in a vexed tone, "why do you always seem tobe following me about on tiptoe? that way is even worse than the old one.""well, well, i didn’t mean anything!" hurriedly answered poor vassily ivanovich. so his diplomatic hints remained fruitless. one day, talking about the approachingliberation of the serfs, he hoped to arouse his son’s sympathy by making some remarksabout progress; but bazarov only answered indifferently, "yesterday i was walking along the fence and heard our peasant boys,instead of singing an old folk song,
bawling some street ditty about ‘the timehas come for love’…that’s what your progress amounts to." sometimes bazarov went into the village andin his usual bantering tone got into conversation with some peasant. "well," he would say to him, "expound yourviews on life to me, brother; after all, they say the whole strength and future ofrussia lies in your hands, that a new era in history will be started by you–that you will give us our real language and ourlaws." the peasant either answered nothing, orpronounced a few words like these, "oh,
we’ll try…also, because, you see, in ourposition…" "you explain to me what your world is,"bazarov interrupted, "and is it the same world which is said to rest on threefishes?" "no, batyushka, it’s the land that rests onthree fishes," the peasant explained soothingly in a good-natured patriarchalsing-song voice; "and over against our ‘world’ we know there’s the master’s will,because you are our fathers. and the stricter the master’s rule, thebetter it is for the peasant." after hearing such a reply one day, bazarovshrugged his shoulders contemptuously and turned away, while the peasant walkedhomewards.
"what was he talking about?" inquiredanother peasant, a surly middle-aged man who from the door of his hut had witnessedat a distance the conversation with "was it about arrears of taxes?""arrears? no fear of that, brother," answered thefirst peasant, and his voice had lost every trace of the patriarchal sing-song; on thecontrary, a note of scornful severity could be detected in it. "he was just chattering about something,felt like exercising his tongue. of course, he’s a gentleman.what can he understand?" "how could he understand!" answered theother peasant, and pushing back their caps
and loosening their belts they both starteddiscussing their affairs and their needs. alas! bazarov, shrugging his shoulderscontemptuously, he who knew how to talk to the peasants (as he had boasted in hisdispute with pavel petrovich), the self- confident bazarov did not for a moment suspect that in their eyes he was all thesame a kind of buffoon…. however, he found an occupation for himselfat last. one day vassily ivanovich was bandaging apeasant’s injured leg in his presence, but the old man’s hands trembled and he couldnot manage the bandages; his son helped him
and from that time regularly took part in his father’s practice, though withoutceasing to joke both about the remedies he himself advised and about his father, whoimmediately applied them. but bazarov’s gibes did not upset vassilyivanovich in the least; they even comforted him. holding his greasy dressing gown with twofingers over his stomach and smoking his pipe, he listened to bazarov withenjoyment, and the more malicious his sallies, the more good-humoredly did his delighted father chuckle, showing all hisdiscolored black teeth.
he even used to repeat these often blunt orpointless witticisms, and for instance, with no reason at all, went on saying forseveral days, "well, that’s a far away business," simply because his son, on hearing that he was going to the earlychurch service, had used that expression. "thank god, he has got over hismelancholy," he whispered to his wife. "how he went for me today, it wasmarvelous!" besides, the idea of having such anassistant filled him with enthusiasm and pride. "yes, yes," he said to a peasant womanwearing a man’s cloak and a horn-shaped
hood, as he handed her a bottle ofgoulard’s extract or a pot of white ointment, "you, my dear, ought to be thanking god every minute that my son isstaying with me; you will be treated now by the most up-to-date scientific methods; doyou know what that means? the emperor of the french, napoleon, evenhe has no better doctor." but the peasant woman, who had come tocomplain that she felt queer all over (though she was unable to explain what shemeant by these words), only bowed low and fumbled in her bosom where she had foureggs tied up in the corner of a towel. once bazarov pulled out a tooth for atraveling pedlar of cloth, and although
this tooth was quite an ordinary specimen,vassily ivanovich preserved it like some rare object and incessantly repeated, as he showed it to father alexei, "only look,what roots! the strength evgeny has! that pedlar was just lifted up in theair…even if it had been an oak, he would have rooted it up!""admirable!" father alexei would comment at last, notknowing what to answer or how to get rid of the ecstatic old man. one day a peasant from a neighboringvillage brought over to vassily ivanovich
his brother, who was stricken with typhus. the unhappy man, lying flat on a truss ofstraw, was dying; his body was covered with dark patches, he had long ago lostconsciousness. vassily ivanovich expressed his regret thatno one had taken any steps to secure medical aid earlier and said it wasimpossible to save the man. in fact the peasant never got his brotherhome again; he died as he was, lying in the cart. three days later bazarov came into hisfather’s room and asked him if he had any silver nitrate."yes; what do you want it for?"
"i want it…to burn out a cut." "for whom?""for myself." "how for yourself?what is that? what sort of a cut? where is it?""here, on my finger. i went today to the village where theybrought that peasant with typhus, you know. they wanted to open the body for somereason, and i’ve had no practice at that sort of thing for a long time.""well?" "well, so i asked the district doctor tohelp; and so i cut myself."
vassily ivanovich suddenly turnedcompletely white, and without saying a word rushed into his study and returned at oncewith a piece of silver nitrate in his hand. bazarov was about to take it and go away. "for god’s sake," muttered vassilyivanovich, "let me do it myself." bazarov smiled."what a devoted practitioner you are!" "don’t laugh, please. show me your finger.it’s a small cut. am i hurting you?""press harder; don’t be afraid." vassily ivanovich stopped.
"what do you think, evgeny; wouldn’t it bebetter to burn it with a hot iron?" "that ought to have been done sooner, nowreally even the silver nitrate is useless. if i’ve caught the infection, it’s too latenow." "how…too late…?" murmured vassilyivanovich almost inaudibly. "i should think so! it’s over four hours ago."vassily ivanovich burned the cut a little more."but hadn’t the district doctor got any caustic?" "no.""how can that be, good heavens!
a doctor who is without such anindispensable thing!" "you should have seen his lancets,"remarked bazarov, and went out. till late that evening and all thefollowing day vassily ivanovich kept seizing on every possible pretext to gointo his son’s room, and though, far from mentioning the cut, he even tried to talk about the most irrelevant subjects, helooked so persistently into his son’s face and watched him with so much anxiety thatbazarov lost patience and threatened to leave the house. vassily ivanovich then promised not tobother him, and he did this the more
readily since arina vlasyevna, from whom,of course, he had kept it all secret, was beginning to worry him about why he did notsleep and what trouble had come over him. for two whole days he held firm, though hedid not at all like the look of his son, whom he kept watching on the sly…but onthe third day at dinner he could bear it no longer. bazarov was sitting with downcast eyes andhad not touched a single dish. "why don’t you eat, evgeny?" he inquired,putting on a perfectly carefree expression. "the food, i think, is very well prepared." "i don’t want anything, so i don’t eat.""you have no appetite?
and your head," he added timidly, "does itache?" "yes, of course it aches." arina vlasyevna sat bolt upright and becamevery alert. "please don’t be angry, evgeny," went onvassily ivanovich, "but won’t you let me feel your pulse?" bazarov got up."i can tell you without feeling my pulse, i’m feverish.""and have you been shivering?" "yes, i’ve been shivering. i’ll go and lie down; and you can send mein some lime-flower tea.
i must have caught cold.""of course, i heard you coughing last night," murmured arina vlasyevna. "i’ve caught cold," repeated bazarov, andleft the room. arina vlasyevna busied herself with thepreparation of the lime-flower tea, while vassily ivanovich went into the next roomand desperately clutched at his hair in silence. bazarov did not get up again that day andpassed the whole night in heavy half- conscious slumber. at one o’clock in the morning, opening hiseyes with an effort, he saw by the light of
a lamp his father’s pale face bending overhim, and told him to go away; the old man obeyed, but immediately returned on tiptoe, and half-hidden behind the cupboard door hegazed persistently at his son. arina vlasyevna did not go to bed either,and leaving the study door a little open, she kept coming up to it to listen "howenyusha was breathing," and to look at she could see only his motionless bentback, but even that have her some kind of consolation. in the morning bazarov tried to get up; hewas seized with giddiness, and his nose began to bleed; he lay down again.
vassily ivanovich waited on him in silence;arina vlasyevna went up to him and asked him how he felt.he answered, "better," and turned his face to the wall. vassily ivanovich made a gesture to hiswife with both hands; she bit her lip to stop herself from crying and left the room. the whole house seemed to have suddenlydarkened; every person had a drawn face and a strange stillness reigned; the servantscarried off from the courtyard into the village a loudly crowing cock, who for a long time was unable to grasp what theywere doing with him.
bazarov continued to lie with his face tothe wall. vassily ivanovich tried to ask him variousquestions, but they wearied bazarov, and the old man sank back in his chair, onlyoccasionally cracking the joints of his fingers. he went into the garden for a few minutes,stood there like a stone idol, as though overwhelmed with unutterable amazement (abewildered expression never left his face), then went back again to his son, trying toavoid his wife’s questions. at last she caught him by the arm, andconvulsively, almost threateningly, asked, "what is wrong with him?"
then he collected his thoughts and forcedhimself to smile at her in reply, but to his own horror, instead of smiling, hesuddenly started to laugh. he had sent for a doctor at daybreak. he thought it necessary to warn his sonabout this, in case he might be angry. bazarov abruptly turned round on the sofa,looked fixedly with dim eyes at his father and asked for something to drink. vassily ivanovich gave him some water andin so doing felt his forehead; it was burning."listen, old man," began bazarov in a slow husky voice, "i’m in a bad way.
i’ve caught the infection and in a few daysyou’ll have to bury me." vassily ivanovich staggered as thoughsomeone had knocked his legs from under "evgeny," he muttered, "what are yousaying? god have mercy on you!you’ve caught cold…" "stop that," interrupted bazarov in thesame slow, deliberate voice; "a doctor has no right to talk like that.i’ve all the symptoms of infection, you can see for yourself." "what symptoms…of infection,evgeny?…good heavens!" "well, what’s this?" said bazarov, andpulling up his shirt sleeve he showed his
father the ominous red patches coming outon his arm. vassily ivanovich trembled and turned coldfrom fear. "supposing," he said at last,"supposing…even supposing…there is something like an infection…" "blood poisoning," repeated bazarovseverely and distinctly; "have you forgotten your textbooks?""well, yes, yes, as you like…all the same we shall cure you!" "oh, that’s rubbish.and it’s not the point. i never expected to die so soon; it’s achance, a very unpleasant one, to tell the
truth. you and mother must now take advantage ofyour strong religious faith; here’s an opportunity of putting it to the test."he drank a little more water. "but i want to ask you one thing–while mybrain is still under control. tomorrow or ,the day after, you know, mybrain will cease to function. i’m not quite certain even now, if i’mexpressing myself clearly. while i was lying here i kept on imaginingthat red dogs were running round me, and you made them point at me, as if i were ablackcock. i thought i was drunk.
do you understand me all right?""of course, evgeny, you talk perfectly clearly.""so much the better. you told me you’d sent for the doctor…youdid that to console yourself…now console me too; send a messenger…""to arkady nikolaich?" interposed the old man. "who’s arkady nikolaich?" said bazarov withsome hesitation… "oh, yes, that little fledgeling!no, leave him alone, he’s turned into a jackdaw now. don’t look surprised, i’m not raving yet.but you send a messenger to madame
odintsov, anna sergeyevna, she’s alandowner near by–do you know?" (vassily ivanovich nodded his head.) "say ‘evgeny bazarov sends his greetings,and sent to say he is dying.’ will you do that?" "i will…but is it a possible thing, thatyou should die, you, evgeny…judge for yourself.where would divine justice be after that?" "i don’t know; only you send themessenger." "i’ll send him this minute, and i’ll writea letter myself." "no, why?
say, i send my greetings, and nothing moreis necessary. and now i’ll go back to my dogs.how strange! i want to fix my thoughts on death, andnothing comes of it. i see a kind of patch…and nothing more." he turned over heavily towards the wall;and vassily ivanovich went out of the study and, struggling as far as his wife’sbedroom, collapsed on his knees in front of the sacred images. "pray, arina, pray to god!" he groaned."our son is dying." the doctor, that same district doctor whohad been without any caustic, arrived, and
after examining the patient, advised themto persevere with a cooling treatment and threw in a few words about the possibilityof recovery. "have you ever seen people in my state notsetting off for the elysian fields?" asked bazarov, and suddenly snatching the leg ofa heavy table standing near his sofa, he swung it round and pushed it away. "there’s strength enough," he murmured."it’s all there still, and i must die…an old man has time at least to outgrow thehabit of living, but i…well, let me try to deny death. it will deny me, and that’s the end of it!who’s crying there?" he added after a
pause."mother? poor mother! whom will she feed now with her wonderfulcabbage soup? and i believe you’re whimpering too,vassily ivanovich! why, if christianity doesn’t help you, be aphilosopher, a stoic, and that sort of thing!surely you prided yourself on being a philosopher?" "what kind of philosopher am i!" sobbedvassily ivanovich, and the tears streamed down his cheeks.
bazarov got worse with every hour; thedisease progressed rapidly, as usually happens in cases of surgical poisoning. he had not yet lost consciousness andunderstood what was said to him; he still struggled. "i don’t want to start raving," hemuttered, clenching his fists; "what rubbish it all is!"and then he said abruptly, "come, take ten from eight, what remains?" vassily ivanovich wandered about like onepossessed, proposing first one remedy, then another, and ended by doing nothing exceptcover up his son’s feet.
"try wrapping up in coldsheets…emetic…mustard plasters on the stomach…bleeding," he said with aneffort. the doctor, whom he had begged to stay,agreed with everything he said, gave the patient lemonade to drink, and for himselfasked for a pipe and for something "warming and strengthening"–meaning vodka. arina vlasyevna sat on a low stool near thedoor and only went out from time to time to pray. a few days previously, a little mirror hadslipped out of her hands and broken, and she had always considered this as a badomen; even anfisushka was unable to say
anything to her. timofeich had gone off to madame odintsov’splace. the night passed badly for bazarov…highfever tortured him. towards the morning he felt a littleeasier. he asked arina vlasyevna to comb his hair,kissed her hand and swallowed a few sips of tea. vassily ivanovich revived a little."thank god!" he repeated, "the crisis is near…the crisis is coming.""there, think of that!" muttered bazarov. "what a lot a word can do!
he’s found one; he said ‘crisis’ and iscomforted. it’s an astounding thing how human beingshave faith in words. you tell a man, for instance, that he’s afool, and even if you don’t thrash him he’ll be miserable; call him a cleverfellow, and he’ll be delighted even if you go off without paying him." this little speech of bazarov’s, recallinghis old sallies, greatly moved vassily ivanovich. "bravo! splendidly said, splendid!" heexclaimed, making as though to clap his hands.bazarov smiled ruefully.
"well, so do you think the crisis is overor approaching?" "you’re better, that’s what i see, that’swhat rejoices me. "very well; there’s never any harm inrejoicing. and, do you remember, did you send themessage to her?" "of course i did." the change for the better did not lastlong. the disease resumed its onslaughts.vassily ivanovich was sitting close to the old man seemed to be tormented by someparticular anguish. he tried several times to speak–but couldnot.
"evgeny!" he ejaculated at last, "my son,my dear, beloved son!" this unexpected outburst produced an effecton bazarov…he turned his head a little, evidently trying to fight against the loadof oblivion weighing down on him, and said, "what is it, father?" "evgeny," went on vassily ivanovich, andfell on his knees in front of his son, who had not opened his eyes and could not seehim. "you’re better now; please god, you willrecover; but make good use of this interval, comfort your mother and me,fulfill your duty as a christian! how hard it is for me to say this to you–how terrible; but still more terrible would
be…forever and ever, evgeny…just thinkwhat…" the old man’s voice broke and a strangelook passed over his son’s face, though he still lay with his eyes closed. "i won’t refuse, if it’s going to bring anycomfort to you, he muttered at last; "but it seems to me there’s no need to hurryabout it. you say yourself, i’m better." "yes, evgeny, you’re better, certainly, butwho knows, all that is in god’s hands, and in fulfilling your duty..""no, i’ll wait a bit," interrupted bazarov. "i agree with you that the crisis has come.
but if we’re mistaken, what then?surely they give the sacrament to people who are already unconscious.""for heaven’s sake, evgeny,.." "i’ll wait, i want to sleep now. don’t disturb me."and he laid his head back on the pillow. the old man rose from his knees, sat downon a chair and clutching at his chin began to bite his fingers…." the sound of a carriage on springs, a soundso remarkably distinguishable in the depths of the country, suddenly struck upon hishearing. the light wheels rolled nearer and nearer;the snorting of the horses was already
audible….vassily ivanovich jumped up andran to the window. a two-seated carriage harnessed with fourhorses was driving into the courtyard of his little house. without stopping to consider what thiscould mean, feeling a kind of senseless outburst of joy, he ran out into theporch…a livened groom was opening the carriage door; a lady in a black shawl, her face covered with a black veil, stepped outof it… "i am madame odintsov," she murmured."is evgeny vassilich still alive? are you his father?
i have brought a doctor with me." "benefactress!" exclaimed vassilyivanovich, and seizing her hand, he pressed it convulsively to his lips, while thedoctor brought by anna sergeyevna, a little man in spectacles, with a german face, climbed very deliberately out of thecarriage. "he’s still alive, my evgeny is alive andnow he will be saved! wife! wife!an angel from heaven has come to us…" "what is this, my god!" stammered the oldwoman, running out of the drawing room, and
understanding nothing, she fell on the spotin the hall at anna sergeyevna’s feet and began kissing her skirt like a mad woman. "what are you doing?" protested annasergeyevna; but arina vlasyevna did not heed her and vassily ivanovich could onlyrepeat, "an angel! an angel!" "wo ist der kranke?where is the patient?" said the doctor at last in some indignation.vassily ivanovich came to his senses. "here, this way, please follow me,werthester herr kollege," he added, remembering his old habits."ah!" said the german with a sour grin.
vassily ivanovich led him into the study. "a doctor from anna sergeyevna odintsov,"he said, bending right down to his son’s ear, "and she herself is here."bazarov suddenly opened his eyes. "what did you say?" "i tell you that anna sergeyevna is hereand has brought this gentleman, a doctor, with her."bazarov’s eyes looked round the room. "she is here…i want to see her." "you will see her, evgeny; but first wemust have a talk with the doctor. i will tell him the whole history of yourillness, as sidor sidorich (this was the
district doctor’s name) has gone, and wewill have a little consultation." bazarov glanced at the german. "well, talk away quickly, only not inlatin; you see i know the meaning of ‘jam moritur.’" "der herr scheint des deutschen machtig zusein," began the new disciple of aesculapius, turning to vassily ivanovich.""ich…gabe…we had better speak russian," said the old man. "ah! so that’s how it is…by all means…"and the consultation began. half an hour later anna sergeyevna,accompanied by vassily ivanovich, entered
the study. the doctor managed to whisper to her thatit was hopeless even to think that the patient might recover. she looked at bazarov, and stopped short inthe doorway–so abruptly was she struck by his inflamed and at the same time deathlikeface and by his dim eyes fixed on her. she felt a pang of sheer terror, a cold andexhausting terror; the thought that she would not have felt like this if she hadreally loved him–flashed for a moment through her mind. "thank you," he said in a strained voice;"i never expected this.
it is a good deed.so we see each other once more, as you promised." "anna sergeyevna was so good…" beganvassily ivanovich. "father, leave us alone…anna sergeyevna,you will allow it, i think, now…" with a motion of his head he indicated hisprostrate helpless body. vassily ivanovich went out."well, thank you," repeated bazarov. "this is royally done. they say that emperors also visit thedying." "evgeny vassilich, i hope…""ah, anna sergeyevna, let’s speak the
it’s all over with me.i’ve fallen under the wheel. so it turns out that there was no point inthinking about the future. death is an old joke, but it comes like newto everyone. so far i’m not afraid…but soon i’ll loseconsciousness and that’s the end!" (he waved his hand feebly.) "well, what have i to say to you…i lovedyou? that had no sense even before, and lessthan ever now. love is a form, but my own form is alreadydissolving. better for me to say–how wonderful youare!
and now you stand there, so beautiful…" anna sergeyevna involuntarily shuddered."never mind, don’t be agitated…sit down over there…don’t come close to me; you know my disease is infectious." anna sergeyevna walked quickly across theroom and sat down in the armchair near the sofa on which bazarov was lying."noble-hearted," he whispered. "oh, how near, and how young, fresh andpure…in this disgusting room! well, good-by!live long, that’s best of all, and made the most of it while there is time.
you see, what a hideous spectacle, a worm,half-crushed, but writhing still. of course i also thought, i’ll break downso many things, i won’t die, why should i? there are problems for me to solve, and i’ma giant! and now the only problem of this giant ishow to die decently, though that too makes no difference to anyone…never mind; i’mnot going to wag my tail." barazov fell silent and began feeling withhis hand for the glass. anna sergeyevna gave him some water todrink, without taking off her glove and breathing apprehensively. "you will forget me," he began again."the dead is no companion for the living.
my father will tell you what a man russiahas lost in me… that’s nonsense, but don’t disillusion theold man. whatever toy comforts the child…you know.and be kind to my mother. people like them can’t be found in yourgreat world even if you search for them by day with a torch…russia needed me…no,clearly i wasn’t needed. and who is needed? the shoemaker’s needed, the tailor’sneeded, the butcher…sells meat…the butcher–wait a bit, i’m getting mixedup…there’s a forest here…" bazarov put his hand on his forehead.
anna sergeyevna bent over him."evgeny vassilich, i am here…" he at once took his hand away and raisedhimself. "good-by," he said with sudden force, andhis eyes flashed with a parting gleam. "good-by…listen…you know i never kissedyou then…breathe on the dying lamp and let it go out." anna sergeyevna touched his forehead withher lips. "enough," he murmured, and fell back on thepillow. "and now…darkness…" anna sergeyevna slipped softly out."well?"
vassily ivanovich asked her in a whisper."he has fallen asleep," she answered, almost inaudibly. bazarov was not destined to awaken again.towards evening he sank into a complete coma, and the following day he died.father alexei performed the last rites of religion over him. when they anointed him, and the holy oiltouched his breast, one of his eyes opened, and it seemed as though, at the sight ofthe priest in his vestments, of the smoking censer, of the candle burning in front of the image, something like a shudder ofhorror passed through his death-stricken
face. when at last he had stopped breathing and ageneral lamentation arose in the house, vassily ivanovich was seized by a suddenfit of frenzy. "i said i should rebel!" he shoutedhoarsely, his face red and distorted, and shaking his fist in the air as if he werethreatening someone. "and i rebel, i rebel!" but arina vlasyevna, all in tears, flungher arms round his neck and both fell on their knees together. "so side by side," related anfisushkaafterwards in the servants’ room, "they
bowed their poor heads like lambs in theheat of noon-day…" but the heat of noonday passes and isfollowed by evening and night, and there comes the return to a quiet refuge wheresleep is sweet for the tormented and weary… fathers and sons by ivan turgenevchapter 28 six months passed. white winter had set in with the cruelstillness of cloudless frosts, with its thick crunching snow, rosy hoarfrost on thetrees, pale emerald sky, wreaths of smoke curling above the chimneys, steam emerging
from momentarily opened doors, with thosefresh faces which look bitten by cold, and the hurried trot of shivering horses. a january day was drawing to its close; theevening cold pierced keenly through the motionless air, and a brilliant sunset wasrapidly dying away. lights were burning in the windows of thehouse at maryino; prokovich in a black tail coat and white gloves, with an air ofunusual solemnity, was laying the table for seven. a week earlier in the small parish church,two weddings had taken place quietly, almost without witnesses–arkady’s marriageto katya and that of nikolai petrovich to
fenichka; and on this day nikolai petrovich was giving a farewell dinner for hisbrother, who was going away to moscow on some business. anna sergeyevna had also gone theredirectly the wedding was over, after making generous presents to the young couple.punctually at three o’clock the whole company assembled at the table. mitya was brought along too and with himappeared a nurse in an embroidered peasant headdress. pavel petrovich sat between katya andfenichka; the husbands sat next to their
wives. our friends had somewhat changed lately;they all seemed to have grown better looking and stronger; only pavel petrovichhad become thinner, which, incidentally, still further enhanced the elegant and "grand seigneur" quality of his expressivefeatures…fenichka, too, was different. in a fresh-colored silk dress with a widevelvet headdress on her hair, and a gold chain round her neck, she sat respectfullymotionless, respectful towards herself and everyone around her, and smiled, as if she wanted to say: "excuse me, i’m not toblame."
and not only she–the others also allsmiled and seemed to excuse themselves; they all felt a little awkward, a littlesad, but fundamentally happy. they all helped each other with an amusingattentiveness, as if they had agreed in advance to act some good-natured comedy. katya was quieter than any of the others;she looked confidently around her, and it was already noticeable that nikolaipetrovich had managed to become quite devoted to her. just before the dinner was over he stood upand, holding his glass in his hand, turned to pavel petrovich.
"you are leaving us…you are leaving us,dear brother," he began, "not for long, of course; but still i can’t help telling youwhat i…what we…how much i…how much we… that’s the worst of it, we don’t know howto make speeches. arkady, you speak.""no, daddy, i’m not prepared for it." "and i’m so well prepared! well, brother, i simply say, allow us toembrace you, to wish you all the best, and come back to us soon!" pavel petrovich exchanged kisses witheveryone, not excluding mitya, of course;
moreover, he kissed fenichka’s hand, whichshe had not yet learned to offer properly, and drinking off his refilled glass, he said with a deep sigh: "be happy, myfriends! farewell!"this english ending passed unnoticed; but everyone was deeply touched. "to bazarov’s memory," whispered katya inher husband’s ear as she clinked glasses with him. arkady pressed her hand warmly in response,but he did not venture to propose that toast aloud.
this would seem to be the end; but perhapssome of our readers would care to know what each of the characters we have introducedis doing now, at the present moment. we are ready to satisfy that interest. anna sergeyevna has recently married again,not for love but out of reasonable conviction, a man who may be one of thefuture leaders of russia, a very clever lawyer with vigorous practical sense, a strong will and a remarkable gift ofeloquence–still young, good-natured, and cold as ice. they live very harmoniously together andmay live to the point of attaining
happiness…perhaps even love.princess x. is dead, forgotten on the day of her death. the kirsanovs, father and son, live atmaryino. their fortunes are beginning to mend. arkady has become assiduous in themanagement of the estate, and the "farm" now yields a fairly substantial income. nikolai petrovich has become one of thearbitrators in the land reforms and works with all his energy; he is constantlydriving about the district, delivers long speeches (he belongs to those who believe
that the peasants must be "made tounderstand," meaning that by frequent repetition of the same words they should bebrought into a state of quiescence); and yet, to tell the truth, he does not fully satisfy either the cultured landowners,talking with a hiss or with a sigh about the emancipation (pronouncing it like afrench word) or the uncultured ones who without ceremony curse the "damnedemancipation." he is too softhearted for either set. katerina sergeyevna has a son, kolya, andmitya already runs about fearlessly, and talks a lot.
fenichka, fedosya nikolaevna, after herhusband and mitya, adores no one so much as her daughter-in-law, and when katerinaplays the piano, she would gladly spend the whole day at her side. a passing word about pyotr. he has grown quite rigid with stupidity andself-importance, and pronounces all his o’s like u’s, but he too is married, andreceived a respectable dowry with his wife, the daughter of a market gardener in the town, who had refused two excellentsuitors, only because they had no watches; while pyotr not only had a watch–he evenhad a pair of patent leather shoes.
in dresden on the bruhl terrace, betweentwo and four o’clock–the most fashionable time for walking–you may meet a man ofabout fifty, already quite grey and looking as though he suffered from gout, but still handsome, elegantly dressed and with thatspecial style which comes only to those who have long been accustomed to move in thehigher ranks of society. this man is pavel petrovich. from moscow he went abroad for his health,and has settled down in dresden, where he associates chiefly with english people andwith russian visitors. with the english he behaves simply, almostmodestly, but with dignity; they find him a
trifle boring but respect him for being, asthey say, "a perfect gentleman." with russians he is more free and easy,gives vent to his spleen, makes fun of them and of himself, but he does all this veryagreeably, with an air of ease and civility. he holds slavophil views; this is known tobe regarded in the best society as tres distingue. he reads nothing in russian, but on hiswriting-desk there stands a silver ash tray in the shape of a peasant’s plaited shoe.he is much sought after by our russian tourists.
matvei ilyich kolyazin, happening to be "intemporary opposition," paid him a ceremonious visit on his way to a bohemianwatering place; and the local population, with whom, incidentally, he has little to do, treat him with an almost awestruckveneration. no one can so readily and quickly securetickets for the court choir and the theater as the herr baron von kirsanov. he does as much good as he can; he stillcauses some stir in the world, not for nothing was he once such a great sociallion; but his life is a burden to him…a heavier burden than he himself suspects.
one should look at him in the russianchurch: when leaning against the wall on one side, he stands absorbed in thoughtwithout stirring for a long time, bitterly compressing his lips, then suddenly recollects himself and begins almostimperceptibly to cross himself… madame kukshina also settled abroad. she is now in heidelberg, and is no longerstudying natural history but has turned to architecture, in which, according to herown account, she has discovered new laws. as before, she associates with students,especially with young russians studying physics and chemistry with whom heidelbergis crowded, and who at first astonish the
naive german professors by their sober outlook on things, but later on astound thesame professors by their complete incapability and absolute laziness. in company with two or three such youngchemistry students, who cannot distinguish oxygen from nitrogen, but are brimming overwith destructive criticism and conceit, sitnikov, together with the great elisyevich, also prepares to become a greatman; he roams about in petersburg, convinced that he is carrying on the "task"of bazarov. there is a story that someone recently gavehim a beating, but that he secured his
revenge: in an obscure little article,hidden away in some obscure little periodical, he hinted that the man who hadbeaten him was–a coward. he calls this irony. his father bullies him as before, while hiswife regards him as a fool…and a literary man.there is a small village graveyard in one of the remote corners of russia. like almost all our graveyards, it has amelancholy look; the ditches surrounding it have long been overgrown; grey woodencrosses have fallen askew and rotted under their once painted gables; the gravestones
are all out of position, just as if someonehad pushed them from below; two or three bare trees hardly provide some meagershade; the sheep wander unchecked among the tombs…but among them is one grave untouched by human beings and not trampledon by any animal; only the birds perch on it and sing at daybreak. an iron railing surrounds it and two youngfir trees have been planted there, one at each end; evgeny bazarov is buried in thistomb. often from the near-by village two frailold people come to visit it–a husband and wife.
supporting one another, they walk withheavy steps; they go up to the iron railing, fall on their knees and weep longand bitterly, and gaze intently at the silent stone under which their son lies buried; they exchange a few words, wipeaway the dust from the stone or tidy up some branches of a fir tree, then start topray again and cannot tear themselves away from that place where they seem to be nearer to their son, to their memories ofhim…can it be that their prayers and their tears are fruitless?can it be that love, sacred devoted love, is not all powerful?
oh, no! however passionate, sinful or rebelliousthe heart hidden in the tomb, the flowers growing over it peep at us serenely withtheir innocent eyes; they tell us not only of eternal peace, of that great peace of "indifferent" nature; they tell us also ofeternal reconciliation and of life without end.