it
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 
 fs. 
 
 i
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 (1861) 
 
 GGGIGS
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 WELL, Piotr? Is anything to be seen yet? " 
 inquired a gentleman a little over forty 
 years of age, in a dusty coat and cheeked trou- 
 sers, on May 20th, 1859, as he emerged hatless 
 upon the low porch of a posting-station on the 
 * * * highway, of his servant, a chubby-faced 
 young fellow, with whitish down on Iiis chin, and 
 small, dull eyes. 
 
 The servant, whose every characteristic— the 
 turquoise ear-ring in his ear, and his pomaded, 
 party-coloured hair, and the urbane movements 
 of his body,— everj^thing, in a word,— betrayed a 
 man of the newest, perfected generation, gazed 
 condescendingly along the road, and replied: 
 " Nothing at all, sir, is to be seen." 
 
 " Is nothing to be seen? " repeated the gentle- 
 man. 
 
 " Nothing is to be seen," replied the servant, 
 for the second time. 
 
 His master sighed, and seated himself on the 
 bench. Let us make the reader acquainted with 
 him, while he sits there, with his feet tucked up 
 under him, and gazing thoughtfully around him. 
 
 3
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 His name is Nikolai Petrovitch Kirsanoff . At 
 a distance of fifteen versts ^ from the posting-sta- 
 tion, he has a fine estate of two hundred souls, or — 
 as he is in the habit of expressing it since he por- 
 tioned off to the peasants their land and set up 
 a " farm "—of two thousand desyatinas " of land. 
 His father, a fighting general of 1812, able to 
 read and write only indifferently, coarse, but not 
 vicious, a Russian man, had toiled hard for a live- 
 lihood all his life, had commanded first a brigade, 
 then a division, and had lived uninterruptedly in 
 the rural districts, where, by virtue of his rank, 
 he had played a f airty prominent part. Nikolai 
 Petr6\dtch had been born in the south of Russia, 
 like his elder brother Pavel, of whom we shall 
 speak hereafter, and had been reared, up to his 
 fourteenth year, at home, surrounded by cheap 
 tutors, free-and-easy but obsequious adjutants, 
 and other regimental and staff officers. His mo- 
 ther, from the family of the Kolyazins, called 
 Agathe as a young girl, and as Madame the wife 
 of the General, Agafoklea Kuzminishna Kirsa- 
 noff, belonged to the category of " master ful- 
 commanderesses," — wore sumptuous caps and 
 rustling silken gowns, went up first to kiss the 
 cross in church, talked loudly and much, admitted 
 her children to kiss her hand every morning, made 
 the sign of the cross in blessing over them at night, 
 
 1 Ten miles. — Translator. 
 2 A desyatina equals 2.70 acres. — Translator. 
 
 4
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 —in a word, led an enjoyable life. In his quality 
 of son of a general, Nikolai Petrovitch, although 
 he not only was not distinguished for courage, but 
 had even earned the nickname of a little coward, 
 was forced, like his brother Pavel, to enter the 
 mihtary service ; but he broke his leg the very day 
 that the news of his appointment arrived, and, 
 after lying in bed for two months, remained a 
 " limpy " for the rest of his life. His father gave 
 up all hope of him, and allowed him to enter the 
 civil service. He took him to Petersburg, as soon 
 as he was eighteen, and placed him in the uni- 
 versity. His brother, by the way, graduated into 
 the Guards as an officer, just about that time. 
 The young men began to live together, in one set 
 of lodgings, under the remote supervision of a 
 grand-uncle on their mother's side, Ilya Kolyazin, 
 an important official. Their father went back to 
 his division and to his spouse, and only occasion- 
 ally sent to his sons big quarto sheets of grey pa- 
 per, scrawled over in a bold, clerkly script. At 
 the end of these quarto sheets, carefully encircled 
 by "curly-cues," flaunted the words: " Piotr 
 Kirsanoff, Major-General." In 1835 Nikolai Pe- 
 trovitch graduated from the university with the 
 degree of candidate, and, in that same year. Gen- 
 eral Kirsanoff, having been put on the retired list 
 for an unsuccessful review, arrived in Petersburg 
 with his wife, with the intention of living there. 
 He was on the point of hiring a house near the 
 
 5
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 Taiiris Garden,* and joining the English Chib, 
 when he suddenly died of apoplexy. Agafoklea 
 Kiizminishna speedily followed him: she could not 
 get accustomed to the dull life of the capital; the 
 grief of her position on the retired list worried her 
 to death. In the meantime, Nikolai Petrovitch 
 had succeeded, already during the lifetime of his 
 parents, and to their no small chagrin, in falling 
 in love with the daughter of an official named 
 Prepolovensky, the former landlord of his lodg- 
 ings, a pretty and, it was said, a well-educated 
 young girl : she read the serious articles, under the 
 department labelled " Science," in the news- 
 papers. He married her, as soon as the period 
 of mourning was over, and quitting the Ministry 
 of the Imperial Appanages, where he had been 
 entered through the influence of his father, he en- 
 joyed felicity with his Masha, first in a villa near 
 the Forestry Institute, then in town, in a tiny and 
 pretty apartment with a clean staircase and a 
 rather cold drawing-room, and, at last, in the coun- 
 try, where he definitively settled down, and where 
 a son, Arkady, was shortly born to him. The hus- 
 band and wife lived very well and quietly: thej^ 
 were hardly ever separated — they read together, 
 played four-handed pieces together on the piano, 
 
 ^ The Tauris Garden, part of which is open to the public in summer, 
 lies in a good residential quarter of the town, attached to the Tauris 
 Palace. The latter was built in 1783 by the Empress Katharine 11. 
 for Prince Patydmkin, after his conquest of the Crimea. It was soon 
 bought back, at Patyomkin's death, by the Crown. — Tranhlator. 
 
 6
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 sang duets; she planted flowers, and supervised 
 the poultry-yard; he went hunting on rare occa- 
 sions, and occupied himself with the farming; and 
 Ai-kady grew, and grew— also well and quietly. 
 In the year '47, Kirsanoff 's wife died. He hardly 
 survived this blow, and his hair turned grey in the 
 course of a few weeks: he contemplated going 
 abroad, for the purpose of diverting his mind . . . 
 
 buttheyear '48 arrived at this juncture 
 
 willy-nilly, he returned to the country, and after 
 a rather prolonged season of inactivity he under- 
 took agricultural reforms. In the year 1855, he 
 took his son to the university : he spent three win- 
 ters with him in Petersburg, going out hardly at 
 all, and endeavouring to strike up acquaintance 
 with Arkady's youthful comrades. He was un- 
 able to come for the last winter,— and here we be- 
 hold him, in May of the year 1859, already com- 
 pletely grey, plump, and rather stooping: he is 
 awaiting his son, who, like himself in years gone 
 by, has graduated with the degree of candidate. 
 The servant, out of a sense of decorum, and 
 possibly also because he did not wish to remain 
 under his master's eye, stepped under the gate- 
 arch and lighted his pipe. Nikolai Petrovitch 
 hung his head, and began to stare at the decrepit 
 steps of the porch ; a large, piebald chicken stalked 
 pompously past him, with a sturdy thud of its 
 big, yellow feet; a bespattered cat stared at him 
 in hostile wise, as she crouched primly on the rail- 
 
 7
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 ing. The sun was burning hot: from the half- 
 dark anteroom of the posting-station an odour of 
 warm rye bread was wafted. Our Nikolai Petro- 
 viteh fell into a reverie: " Son . . . candidate .... 
 Arkasha . . . ." kept incessantly circling through 
 his brain ; he made an efi'ort to think of something 
 else, and again reverted to the same thoughts. He 
 called to mind his dead wife. ..." She did not 
 live to see this day! " he whispered mournfully. 
 .... A fat, dark-blue pigeon flew down into the 
 road, and hastily betook itself to the puddle be- 
 side the well, to drink. Nikolai Petrovitch began 
 to stare at it, but his ear already caught the 
 rumble of approaching wheels. 
 
 " I think they are coming, sir," announced the 
 servant, popping out from under the gate. 
 
 Nikolai Petrovitch sprang to his feet, and 
 strained his eyes along the road. A tarantas 
 made its appearance, drawn by a troika of post- 
 ing-horses: in the tarantas there was a gleam of 
 the band of a student's cap, the familiar outline 
 of a beloved face. 
 
 " Arkasha! Arkasha! " shouted KirsanofF, and 
 
 started on a run, flourishing his arms A 
 
 few moments later, his lips were glued to the 
 beardless, dusty, and sunburnt cheek of the young 
 candidate. 
 
 8
 
 II 
 
 " Let me shake myself, papa,"— said Arkady, in 
 a voice that was rather hoarse from the journey, 
 but ringing and youthful, cheerily responding to 
 his father's caresses,—" I am daubing thee all 
 
 over." 
 
 " Never mind, never mind," Nikolai Petrovitch 
 repeated again and again, with a smile of emotion, 
 and he administered a couple of blows with his 
 hand on the collar of his son's cloak and on his 
 own overcoat.—" Let me look at thee, let me look 
 at thee," he added, stepping oif , but immediately 
 strode toward the posting-station with hasty 
 steps, reiterating: "Here, come along, come 
 along, and let us have horses as speedily as 
 possible." 
 
 Nikolai Petr6\dtch appeared to be far more 
 agitated than his son: it was as though he were 
 somewhat bewildered, as though he were intimi- 
 dated. Arkady stopped him. 
 
 " Papa," he said, " allow me to introduce to 
 thee my good friend Bazaroff, of whom I have 
 so often written to thee. He has been so amiable 
 as to consent to pay us a visit." 
 
 9
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 Nikolai Petrovitch wheeled swiftly round, and 
 stepping up to a man of lofty stature, in a long 
 peasant's overcoat with tassels, who had only just 
 alighted from the tarantas, he warmly shook the 
 bare, red hand which the man did not immediately 
 offer him. 
 
 " I am heartily glad," he began, — " and grate- 
 ful to you for your kind intention to visit us: I 
 hope . . . Permit me to inquire your name and 
 patronymic? " 
 
 " Evgeny Vasilitch,"— replied Bazaroif, in a 
 languid but manly voice, and turning down the 
 collar of the peasant coat, he displayed his entire 
 face to Nikolai Petrovitch. Long and thin, with 
 a broad forehead, a nose which M^as flat at the top 
 and pointed at the tip, with large, greenish eyes, 
 and pendent sidewhiskers of a sandy hue, it was 
 rendered animated by a calm smile, and expressed 
 self-confidence and cleverness. 
 
 " I trust, my dearest Evgeny Vasilitch, that 
 you will not be bored with us," — went on Nikolai 
 Petrovitch. 
 
 Bazaroff's thin lips moved slightly; but he 
 made no reply, and merely lifted his cap. His 
 dark-blond hair, long and thick, did not conceal 
 the huge protuberances of his ample skull. 
 
 " Well, what are we to do, Arkady? " — began 
 Nikolai Petrovitch, again turning to his son. — 
 " Shall we have the horses put to at once? Or do 
 you wish to rest? "
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 " We will rest at home, papa; give orders to 
 have the horses put to." 
 
 " Immediateh% immediately," assented his 
 father. — " Hey, there, Piotr, dost thou hear? 
 Look lively there, my good brother; see to things." 
 
 Piotr, who, in his quality of improved domestic, 
 had not kissed his young master's hand, but had 
 merely bowed to him from a distance, again van- 
 ished inside the gate. 
 
 " I am here with a calash, but there are three 
 horses for thy tarantas," said Nikolai Petrovitch 
 hastily, while Arkady was drinking water out of 
 an iron dipper brought bj^ the keeper of the post- 
 ing-station, and BazaroiF lighted his pipe and 
 stepped up to the postilion, who was unharnessing 
 his horses. — " The calash has only two seats, and 
 I do not know how thy friend . . . ." 
 
 " He will drive in the tarantas,"— interrupted 
 Arkady, in an undertone. — " Please do not stand 
 on ceremony with him. He 's a splendid young 
 fellow, so simple, — thou wilt see." 
 
 Nikolai Petrovitch's coachman brought out the 
 horses. 
 
 " Come, turn round, Thickbeard!" — said Ba- 
 zaroiF to the postilion. 
 
 " Dost hear, Mitiiikha," put in another pos- 
 tilion, who was standing near, with his hands 
 thrust into the rear slits of his sheepskin coat, — 
 " what the gentleman called thee? Thickbeard 
 it was. 
 
 11
 
 FATHERS AXD CHILDREN 
 
 Mitiukha merely shook his cap, and drew the 
 reins from the sweating shaft-horse. 
 
 " Be quick, be quick, my lads, lend a hand," — 
 exclaimed Nikolai Petrovitch, — " and you '11 get 
 something for liquor! " 
 
 In a few minutes the horses were harnessed; 
 father and son seated themselves in the calash, and 
 Piotr climbed on the box; BazarofF jumped into 
 the tarantas and buried his head in the leather pil- 
 low, — and both equipages rolled off. 
 
 12
 
 Ill 
 
 " So here thou art a candidate at last, and hast 
 come home," — said Nikolai Petrovitch, touching 
 Arkady now on the shoulder, now on the knee: — 
 " at last ! " 
 
 '' And how is uncle? Well? " asked Arkady, 
 who, despite the genuine, almost childish joy 
 which filled his heart, wished to change the conver- 
 sation as speedily as possible from an agitated into 
 a commonplace current. 
 
 *' Yes. He had intended to drive over with me 
 to meet thee, but changed his mind for some rea- 
 son or other." 
 
 " And hast thou been waiting long for me? " — 
 asked Arkad}^ 
 
 " Why, about five hours." 
 
 "Good papa!" 
 
 Arkady turned briskly toward his father, and 
 gave him a resounding smack on the cheek. Niko- 
 lai Petrovitch laughed softly. 
 
 " What a magnificent horse I have prepared 
 for thee! "—he began:— " thou wilt see. And 
 thy room has been papered." 
 
 " And is there a chamber for Bazaroff ? " 
 
 " We '11 find one for him also." 
 
 13
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 " Please, papa, do pet him a bit. I cannot ex- 
 press to thee to what a degree I prize his friend- 
 ship." 
 
 " Thou hast not known him very long? " 
 
 " Not very long." 
 
 " That is why I did not see him last winter. In 
 what does he interest himself? " 
 
 "His principal subject is the natural sciences. 
 But he knows everything. He wants to take 
 his examination for the doctor's degree next 
 year." 
 
 "Ah! so he's in the medical faculty,"— re- 
 marked Nikolai Petrovitch, and relapsed into 
 silence. — " Piotr," he added, and stretched out 
 his hand, — "aren't those our peasants coming 
 yonder? " 
 
 Piotr gazed on one side, in the direction whither 
 his master was pointing. Several peasant carts, 
 drawn by horses with slackened bridles, were roll- 
 ing briskly along the narrow country road. In 
 each cart sat one, or at the most two, peasants in 
 sheepskin coats which were open on the breast. — 
 " Exactly so, sir," said Piotr. 
 
 " Whither are they going— to town? " 
 
 " I suppose it must be to the town. To the 
 dram-shop,"— he added scornfully, and leaned a 
 little toward the coachman, as though referring to 
 him. But the latter did not even stir: he was a 
 man of the old school, who did not share the latest 
 views. 
 
 14.
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 " I am having a great deal of trouble with the 
 peasants this year,"— pursued Nikolai Petrovitch, 
 addressing his son.—" They will not pay their 
 quit-rent.^ What wouldst thou do? " 
 
 " And art thou satisfied with thy hired la- 
 bourers? " 
 
 " Yes,"— said Nikolai Petrovitch between his 
 teeth.—" They are stirring them up to mischief, 
 that 's the trouble ; however, no regular attempt 
 has been made, as yet. They ruin the harnesses. 
 But they have done the ploughing all right. 
 When difficulties are surmounted, all goes well 
 again. But art thou already interested in the 
 farming? " 
 
 " You have no shade, and that 's a great pity," 
 —remarked Arkady, without answering the last 
 question. 
 
 " I have added a large awning on the north 
 side, over the balcony," said Nikolai Petrovitch: 
 — " and now we can dine in the open air." 
 
 " It will look awfully like a suburban villa . . . 
 however, all that is of no consequence. What air 
 there is here! How splendidly fragrant it is! 
 Really, it seems to me that nowhere in the w^orld 
 is it so fragrant as in these parts! And then the 
 skv here ..." 
 
 Arkady suddenly paused, cast a sidelong 
 glance behind him, and became silent. 
 
 " Of course,"— remarked Nikolai Petrovitch, 
 
 The obrok, or sum paid in lieu of personal labor. — Translator. 
 
 15
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 — *' thou wert born here, and everything here 
 ought to seem to thee peculiarly . . . ." 
 
 " Well, papa, it makes no difference where a 
 man was born." 
 
 " But . . . ." 
 
 " No, it makes absolutely no difference." 
 
 Nikolai Petrovitch gazed askance at his son, 
 and the calash had traversed half a verst before 
 the conversation was resumed between them. 
 
 " I do not remember whether I wrote to thee," 
 — began Nikolai Petrovitch, — " that thy former 
 nurse, Egorovna, was dead." 
 
 "Really? Poor old woman! And is Proko- 
 fitch alive?" 
 
 " Yes, and has not changed in the least. He 
 still grumbles as of old. On the whole, thou wilt 
 not find many changes at Marino." 
 
 " Hast thou still the same overseer? " 
 
 " Why, the change in the overseer is about 
 the only one I have made. I have decided not 
 to keep any more emancipated, former house- 
 servants, or, at least, not to entrust them with any 
 duties which involve responsibility." (Arkady 
 indicated Piotr with his eyes. ) " 11 est libre, en 
 effet'' — remarked Nikolai Petrovitch, in a low 
 tone,—" but, you see, he is my valet. Now I 
 have a petty burgher as overseer ; he seems a prac- 
 tical young fellow. I have appointed him a salary 
 of two hundred and fifty rubles a year. How- 
 ever,"— added Nikolai Petrovitch, rubbing his 
 
 16
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 forehead and eyebrows with his hand, whicli with 
 him was always a sign of inward perturbation, — 
 " I have just told thee that thou wouldst not find 
 any changes at Marino. . . That is not quite cor- 
 rect. I consider it my duty to warn thee, al- 
 though ..." 
 
 He faltered for a moment, and then continued, 
 in French. 
 
 " A strict moralist would regard my frankness 
 as misplaced, but, in the first place, it is impos- 
 sible to conceal the fact, and, in the second, thou 
 art well aware that I have always entertained pe- 
 culiar principles with regard to the relations be- 
 tween father and son. But, of course, thou wilt 
 have a right to condemn me. At my age .... 
 In a word . . . that . . . that young girl, of 
 whom thou hast, in all probability, already 
 heard ..." 
 
 " Fenitchka? " asked Arkady easily. 
 
 Nikolai Petrovitch flushed.— " Please do not 
 mention her name aloud. . . . Well, yes . . . she 
 is now living with me. I have lodged her in my 
 house .... there were two small rooms there. 
 However, that can be changed." 
 
 " And why, pray, papa? " 
 
 " Thy friend is to visit thee . . it is awkward . . ." 
 
 " Please do not worry thyself, so far as Ba- 
 zarofF is concerned. He is above all that sort of 
 thing." 
 " Well, thou ... in short,"-said Nikolai Petro- 
 
 17
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 vitch, — " the small wing is in a sorry state — that 's 
 the difficulty." 
 
 " Upon my word, papa,"— interpolated Ar- 
 kady,—" thou wouldst seem to be making apolo- 
 gies; art thou not ashamed of thyself? " 
 
 " Of course, I ought to be ashamed of myself," 
 — replied Nikolai Petro vitch, growing more and 
 more crimson in the face. 
 
 " Enough, papa, — enough, please,"— Arkady 
 smiled affectionately. " What is there to apolo- 
 gise for! " he thought to himself, and a sensation 
 of condescending tenderness toward his kind, 
 gentle father, mingled with a feeling of a certain 
 superiority over him, filled his soul. — " Stop, 
 please," — he repeated once more, involuntarily 
 enjoying the consciousness of his own progres- 
 siveness and freedom. 
 
 Nikolai Petrovitch cast a look at him from be- 
 neath the fingers of the hand with which he con- 
 tinued to rub his forehead, and something stung 
 him at the heart. . . . But he immediately took 
 himself to task. 
 
 " Here is where our fields begin,"— he said, 
 after a long silence. 
 
 " And that is our forest, yonder ahead, I 
 think? "—inquired Arkady. 
 
 " Yes, it is ours. Only, I have sold it. It will 
 be felled this year." 
 
 " Why didst thou sell it? " 
 
 18
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 " I needed the money: and, besides, this land 
 goes to the peasants." 
 
 " Who do not pay thee their quit-rent? " 
 
 "That's their affair; however, they will pay 
 up some time or other." 
 
 " It is a pity about the forest," — remarked Ar- 
 kady, and began to gaze about him. 
 
 The localities through which they were passing 
 could not be called picturesque. Fields, nothing 
 but fields, stretched away to the very horizon, now 
 rising gently, again sinking ; here and there small 
 patches of forest were visible, and here and there 
 ravines, overgrown with sparse, low bushes, 
 wound in and out, recalling to the eye the repre- 
 sentations of them on ancient plans of the time 
 of Katherine 11. Here and there, also, small 
 streams were to be encountered, with washed-out 
 banks, and tiny ponds with wretched dams, and 
 little hamlets with low cottages under dark 
 roofs, which often had been half swept away, and 
 lop-sided thresliing-sheds with wattled walls of 
 brushwood, and churches, now of brick with the 
 stucco peeled off in places, now of wood, with 
 slanting crosses and ruined graveyards. Ar- 
 kady's heart gradually contracted. As though 
 expressly, they kept meeting peasants in clothing 
 which was too tight with long wear, on wretched 
 nags ; like beggars in rags stood the roadside wil- 
 lows, with tattered bark and broken branches; 
 
 19
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 thill, scabby, apparently famished cows were 
 greedilj'- nibbHng at the grass along the ditches. 
 Thej^ seemed to have just succeeded in tearing 
 themselves from some menacing, death-dealing 
 talons, — and, evoked by the pitiful aspect of the 
 debilitated beasts, amid the fine spring day, there 
 arose the white wraith of the cheerless, endless 
 winter, with its blizzards, frosts, and snows. . . . 
 " No,"— thought Arkady, " this is not a rich 
 land; it does not strike the beholder with its 
 abundance or its industry; it is impossible, im- 
 possible for it to remain like this ; reforms are in- 
 dispensable . . . but how are they to be brought 
 about, how is one to set to work? . . ." 
 
 Thus did Arkady meditate . . . and while he was 
 meditating, the spring asserted its rights. Every- 
 thing round about was ringing with a golden 
 sound, everything was stirring with broad, soft 
 agitation and shining beneath the tranquil breath 
 of the warm breeze, — everything, — trees, bushes, 
 and grass; everywhere the larks were carolling 
 in unending, sonorous floods; the lapwings were 
 alternately shrilling, as they soared in circles 
 above the low-lying meadows, and silently hop- 
 ping over the hillocks; the daws stalked about, 
 handsomely black against the tender green of the 
 spring rye, which was still low of growth; they 
 preached sermons in the rye, which was ah'eady 
 turning slightly whitish, only now and then show- 
 ing their heads amid its smokelike billows. Ar- 
 
 20
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 kady gazed, and gazed, and his meditations grad- 
 ually faded away, then vanished altogether. . . . 
 He flung off his uniform coat, and looked at his 
 father so merrily, so much Hke a young boy, that 
 the latter embraced him once more. 
 
 " We have not much further to go now,"— re- 
 marked Nikolai Petrovitch,— " we have only to 
 ascend yonder hill, and the house will be visible. 
 We are going to get on together splendidly, Ar- 
 kasha ; thou shalt help me with the farming, if it 
 does not bore thee. We must become intimate 
 with each other now; we must know each other 
 well, must we not? " 
 
 "Of course,"— said Arkady:— "but what a 
 magnificent day this is! " 
 
 "It is in honour of thy arrival, dear heart. 
 Yes, it is spring in all its glory. But I agree 
 with Pushkin— dost thou remember, in ' Evgeny 
 Onyegin ' : 
 
 "How sad is thy coming to me, 
 Spring, spring, the time of love! 
 How . . . ." 
 
 "Arkady! "—rang out BazarofF's voice from 
 the tarantas:— " send me a match. I have no 
 means of lighting my pipe." 
 
 Nikolai Petrovitch relapsed into silence, and 
 fVrkady, who had begun to listen to him, not with- 
 out a certain surprise, but also not without sym- 
 
 21
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 pathy, hastened to pull a silver match-box from 
 his pocket and despatch it to BazarofF by Piotr. 
 
 " Wilt thou have a cigar? "—shouted Bazaroif 
 again. 
 
 " Hand it over,"— replied Arkady. 
 
 Piotr returned to the calash, and handed him, 
 in company with the match-box, a thick, black 
 cigar, which Arkady inmiediately lighted, dis- 
 seminating about him such a strong and acrid 
 odour of rank tobacco that Nikolai Petrovitch, 
 who had never smoked in his hfe, involuntarily— 
 though unperceived, in order not to offend his 
 son — turned away his nose. 
 
 A quarter of an hour later, both carriages drew 
 up at the steps of a new wooden house, painted 
 grey, and covered with a red iron roof. This was 
 Marino, also Novaya-Slobodka; or, according to 
 the peasants' name for it, Bobyly-Khutor.* 
 
 1 N6vaya-Slob6dka, New Suburb: Bohyly-KhutSr, Landless Farm. — 
 
 Teakslatob. 
 
 22
 
 IV 
 
 No throng of house-servants poured forth upon 
 the porch to welcome the masters : the only person 
 who showed herself was a little girl of twelve, and 
 in her wake there emerged from the house a 
 young lad who bore a strong resemblance to 
 Piotr, clad in a grey, livery round jacket, with 
 white armouried buttons, the servant of Pavel Pe- 
 trovitch KirsanofF. He silently opened the door 
 of the calash, and unbuttoned the apron of the 
 tarantas. Nikolai Petrovitch, with his son and 
 Bazaroff, walked through a dark and almost 
 empty hall,^ from behind whose door thej?^ caught 
 a fleeting glimpse of a young, feminine face, to 
 the drawing-room, which was already furnished 
 in the latest taste. 
 
 " Here we are at home," — said Nikolai Petro- 
 vitch, removing his cap, and shaking back his 
 hair. — " The chief thing now is to have supper 
 and to rest." 
 
 "It really would not be a bad idea to have some- 
 thing to eat," — remarked Bazaroff, stretching 
 himself, and dropping down on a couch. 
 
 " Yes, yes, serve supper as quickly as possible." 
 
 1 The "hall" is a combination of music-room, ball-room, and play- 
 room. — Thaxsi.atoh. 
 
 23
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 — Nikolai Petrovitch stamped his feet, without 
 any visible cause. — " By the way, here is Proko- 
 fitch." 
 
 There entered a man of fifty, white-haired, thin, 
 and swarthy, in a light-brown frock-coat with 
 brass buttons, and a pink kerchief round his 
 throat. He grinned, kissed Ai'kady's hand, and 
 bowing to the guest, retreated to the door, and 
 put his hands behind him. 
 
 " Here he is, Prokofitch," — began Nikolai Pe- 
 trovitch, — " he has come to us, at last. . . . Well? 
 What dost thou think of him? " 
 
 " He is in the best condition, sir," said the old 
 man, and grinned again, but immediately knit 
 his thick brows. — " Do you command the table 
 to be set? " — he said impressively. 
 
 " Yes, yes, if you please. But will you not go 
 to your room first, Evgeny Vasilitch? " 
 
 " No, thank you, there 's no necessity. Only, 
 please give orders to have my little trunk carried 
 thither, and this horrid old garment, also," he 
 added, taking off the peasant-coat. 
 
 "Very good. Prokofitch, take his coat." (Pro- 
 kofitch, in a sort of stupefaction, grasped the 
 " horrid old garment " in both hands, and ele- 
 vating it high above his head, withdrew on tiptoe. ) 
 " And thou, Arkady, wilt thou go to thine own 
 room for a minute? " 
 
 " Yes, I must get myself clean," replied Ar- 
 kady, and started toward the door; but at that 
 
 2i
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 moment there entered the drawing-room a man 
 of medium stature, dressed in a dark English 
 suit, a fashionable, low necktie, and low, patent- 
 leather shoes, — Pavel Petrovitch KirsanofF. In 
 appearance, he was about forty-five years of age : 
 his closely-clipped grey hair shaded dark in certain 
 lights, like new silver ; his face, sallow, but devoid 
 of wrinkles, remarkably regular and pure in out- 
 line, as though carved out with a light, delicate 
 chisel, displayed traces of remarkable beauty: 
 especially fine were his brilliant, black, almond- 
 shaped eyes. The whole person of Ai'kady's 
 uncle, elegant and high-bred, preserved its youth- 
 ful grace, and that aspiration, upward, away 
 from the earth, which generally disappears after 
 the twentieth year. Pavel Petrovitch drew from 
 the pocket of his trousers his beautiful hand with 
 its long, rosy nails, which seemed still more beauti- 
 ful from the snow-whiteness of his cuff buttoned 
 with a single large opal, and gave it to his nephew. 
 Having accomplished the preliminary European 
 " shake-hands," he exchanged three kisses with 
 him, in Russian fashion, — that is to sav, he thrice 
 touched his cheek with his perfumed moustache, 
 —and said: " Welcome! " 
 
 Nikolai Petrovitch introduced him to Bazaroff : 
 Pavel Petrovitch slight^ bent his supple form, 
 and slightly smiled, but he did not offer his hand, 
 and even put it back in his pocket. 
 
 " I had already begun to think that you would 
 
 25
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 not arrive to-day," — he said in a pleasant voice, 
 amiably swaying, twitching his shoulders, and dis- 
 playing his very fine white teeth. — " Did any- 
 thing happen on the road? " 
 
 " Nothing happened," replied Arkady,—" we 
 were a little late, that is all. But we are as hungry 
 as wolves. Hurry up Prokofitch, papa, and I 
 w^ill be back immediately." 
 
 " Wait, I will go with thee,"— exclaimed Ba- 
 zarofF, suddenly tearing himself from the divan. 
 The two young men left the room. 
 
 " Who is that? "—asked Pavel Petrovitch. 
 
 " A friend of Arkasha's, a very clever man, ac- 
 cording to him." 
 
 " Is he going to make you a visit? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " That hirsute fellow? " 
 
 " Well, yes." 
 
 Pavel Petrovitch di'ummed on the table with his 
 finger-nails:— " I think that Arkady s'est de- 
 gourdi/' he remarked. — " I am glad he has come 
 back." 
 
 At supper there was very little conversation. 
 Bazaroif, in particular, said hardly a word, but 
 he ate a great deal. Nikolai Petrovitch narrated 
 \'arious anecdotes from his farmer's life, as he ex- 
 l^ressed it, discussed the impending administra- 
 tive measures, committees, delegates, the necessity 
 of introducing machinery, and so forth. Pavel 
 Petr6\'itch paced slowly to and fro in the dining- 
 
 26
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 room (he never supped) , once in a while taking a 
 sip from his wine-glass filled with red wine, and 
 still more rarely uttering some remark, or, rather, 
 some exclamation, like " All! " " Ehe! " " H'm! " 
 Arkady communicated some Petersburg news, 
 but he felt a slight embarrassment— the embar- 
 rassment which generally takes possession of a 
 young man when he has just ceased to be a child 
 and has returned to the place where people have 
 been accustomed to see him and regard him as a 
 child. He lengthened out his speech unneces- 
 sarily, avoided the word " papa," and once he even 
 superseded it with the word " father,"— emitted, 
 it is true, through his teeth; with superfluously 
 free and easy manner, he poured out into his glass 
 a great deal more wine than he wanted, and drank 
 the whole of it. Prokofitch never took his eyes 
 off him, and merely made a chewing movement 
 with his lips. They all separated immediately 
 after supper. 
 
 " That uncle of thine is a queer sort of fish," 
 —said BazarofF to Arkady, sitting down in his 
 dressing-gown beside him on his bed, and sucking 
 away at a short pipe.—" One can't help thinking 
 that he has a pretty dandified style for the coun- 
 try. And liis nails, why, you could send his nails 
 to the exposition ! " 
 
 " But thou art, evidently, ignorant of the fact," 
 —replied Arkady, — " that he was a society lion 
 in his time. I will tell thee his history one of these 
 
 27
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 days. You see, he was a beauty, and turned the 
 women's heads." 
 
 " You don't say so ! He does it now in memory 
 of the old days. There is n't any one to fascinate 
 here, more's the pity. I kept watching him: 
 what wonderful cuffs he has, just as though 
 they were made of stone, and his chin is so accu- 
 rately shaved. It 's ridiculous, is n't it, Arkady 
 Nikolaevitch?" 
 
 " Possibly: only, he really is a fine man." 
 " An archaic manifestation! But thy father is 
 a splendid fellow. There 's no good in his reading 
 poetry, and he probably has n't much sense about 
 the farming, but he 's a good soul." 
 " My father is a man of gold." 
 " Hast thou noticed that he is timid? " 
 Arkady shook his head, just as though he were 
 not timid himself. 
 
 " Astonishing phenomenon these elderly ro- 
 manticists! "—went on BazarofF. "They de- 
 velop their nervous system to the point of ex- 
 asperation . . . well, and then the equilibrium is 
 destroyed. But good-bye ! There 's an English 
 washstand in my room, but the door will not lock. 
 All the same, English washstands ^ — that is to 
 say, progress — must be encouraged! " 
 
 Bazaroff went off, and a sensation of joy 
 took possession of Arkady. It is sweet to fall 
 
 ^ The Russian washstand has a reservoir of water on top, and no 
 plug, and the water is Hberated by a foot-treadle.— Translator. 
 
 28
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 asleep in the parental home, in the familiar bed. 
 over which loved hands have toiled, perhaps the 
 hands of an old nurse, those caressing, kind, in- 
 defatigable hands. Arkady recalled Egorovna, 
 and sighed, and breathed a prayer that the king- 
 dom of heaven might be hers. . . He did not pray 
 for himself. 
 
 Both he and BazarofF promptly fell asleep, but 
 it was a long time still before the other persons in 
 the house got to sleep. The return of his son had 
 excited Nikolai Petrovitch. He went to bed, but 
 did not extinguish his candle, and propping his 
 head on his hand, he indulged in a prolonged 
 reverie. His brother sat in his study until long 
 after midnight, in a capacious GamboiF^ easy- 
 chair, in front of the fireplace, in which hard coal 
 was faintly smouldering. Pavel Petrovitch had 
 not undressed himself, but had merely replaced 
 his low patent-leather pumps with red Chinese 
 slippers without heels. He held in his hands the 
 last number of Galignani, but he did not read it ; 
 he stared intently into the grate, where the bluish 
 flame flickered, now dying down, now flashing up 
 
 God knows where his thoughts were roaming, 
 
 but they were not roaming in the past alone : the 
 expression of his face was concentrated and 
 gloomy, which is not the case when a man is en- 
 grossed in memories only. And in a tinv rear 
 room, on a large cofl'er, sat the young woman, Fe- 
 
 1 A well-known cabinet-maker of that period. — Translator. 
 
 29
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 nitchka, In a sky-blue short jacket,^ with a white 
 kerchief thrown over her dark hair, and alter- 
 nately listened, dozed, and stared at the door, 
 which stood ajar, beyond which a child's bed was 
 visible, and the even breathing of a sleeping child 
 was audible. 
 
 ^ Literally a "soul-warmer": a wadded peasant-jacket, either tight 
 fitting to the waist, below which it has close organ plaits : or falling 
 from the shoulders in broad box-plaits to the waist: and with very 
 long, tapering sleeves. — Tbaxslator. 
 
 30
 
 On the following morning, BazarofF awoke 
 earlier than any of the others, and went out of 
 doors, " Ehe! " he thought, after casting a glance 
 around him, " this is n't a very showy place." 
 When Nikolai Petrovitch had portioned off the 
 land between himself and the peasants, he had 
 been obliged to assign for his new manor-house 
 four desyatinas of perfectly flat and naked fields. 
 He had erected a house, offices, and farm-build- 
 ings, had laid out a garden, had dug a pond and 
 a couple of wells ; but the young trees had struck 
 root badlj^ very little water had collected in the 
 pond, and the water in the wells proved to have a 
 brackish taste. Only one arbour of lilacs and 
 acacia had grown fairly well : in it they sometimes 
 drank tea and dined. In a few minutes, Bazaroff 
 had made the round of all the paths in the garden, 
 had paid a little visit to the cattle-yard and to 
 the stable, had hunted out two small boj^s be- 
 longing to the house-servants, with whom he had 
 immediately struck up an acquaintance, and had 
 gone off with them to a small marsh, situated 
 about a verst distant from the manor-house, in 
 quest of frogs. 
 
 31
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 " What dost thou want frogs for, master? " 
 one of the Httle boys asked him. 
 
 " Why, for this,"— repHed Bazaroff, who pos- 
 sessed a special faculty for inspiring the lower 
 classes with confidence in him, although he never 
 indulged them, and treated them carelessly: — 
 " I 'm going to split the frog open, and see what 
 is going on inside of it; and as thou and I are 
 exactly like frogs, except that we walk on our 
 legs, then I shall also know what is going on inside 
 of us." 
 
 " But what dost thou want to know that for? " 
 
 " In order that I may not make mistakes, if 
 thou shouldst fall ill and I had to cure thee." 
 
 " Art thou a doctur? " ^ 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Dost hear, Vaska, the gentleman says that 
 thou and I are just the same as frogs. Won- 
 derful! " 
 
 " I 'm afraid of them, of frogs,"— remarked 
 Vaska, a lad of seven, with a head as white as 
 flax, clad in a grey kazak coat with a standing 
 coUar, and barefooted. 
 
 " What is there to be afraid of? they don't bite, 
 do they? " 
 
 " Come, now, hop into the water, you philos- 
 ophers," — said Bazaroff. 
 
 In the meantime, Nikolai Petrovitch had also 
 waked up, and liad betaken himself to Arkidy, 
 
 ^ The peasant pronunciation.— Translator. 
 
 32
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 ■whom he found dressed. Father and son went out 
 on the veranda, under the shelter of the awning : 
 close to the railings, on a table between big 
 bunches of lilacs, the samovar was alreadv bub- 
 bling. A little girl made her appearance — the 
 same one who had been the first to meet 
 the travellers on the porch— and said in a shrill 
 voice : 
 
 " Feodosya Nikolaevna does not feel quite well, 
 and cannot come; she ordered me to ask you, 
 whether you will pour tea for yourselves, or shall 
 she send Dunyasha? " 
 
 " I will pour it ntyself, myself," — Nikolai Pe- 
 trovitch caught her up hastily. — " How dost thou 
 take thy tea, Arkady, — with cream or with 
 lemon? " 
 
 " With cream,"— replied Arkady, and after a 
 brief pause he ejaculated: — " Papa! " 
 
 Nikolai Petrovitch looked at his son with dis- 
 comfiture.— " What? "—he said. 
 
 Arkady dropped his eyes. 
 
 " Excuse me, papa, if my question seems to 
 thee improper," — he began; "but thou, thyself, 
 by thy frankness yesterday, hast challenged me 
 to frankness .... thou wilt not be angry? . . . ." 
 
 " Speak on." 
 
 " Thou givest me boldness to ask thee. . . Is n't 
 Fen ... is n't it because I am here that she is not 
 coming to pour the tea? " 
 
 Nikolai Petrovitch turned slightly aside. 
 
 33
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 <( 
 
 Perhaps," — he said at last, — " she supposes 
 . . . she is ashamed . . . ." 
 
 Arkady swiftly turned his eyes on his father. 
 
 " There is no necessity for her to feel ashamed. 
 In the first place, thou art acquainted with my 
 manner of thought " (Arkady found it extremely 
 pleasant to utter these words) ; " and, in the sec- 
 ond place, have I the desire to interfere, by so 
 much as a hair's-breadth, with thy life, thy habits ? 
 Moreover, I am convinced, that thou couldst not 
 make a bad choice: if thou hast permitted her to 
 live under one roof with thee, she must be worthy 
 of it; in any case, the son is not his father's judge, 
 and in particular I— and in particular of such a 
 father, who, like thyself, has never restricted my 
 freedom in any respect whatever." 
 
 Arkady's voice had trembled at first: he felt 
 that he was magnanimous, but, at the same time, 
 he understood that he was delivering something 
 in the nature of an exhortation to his father ; but 
 the sound of his own speech acts powerfully on 
 a man, and Arkady uttered his closing words 
 firmly, even effectively. 
 
 " Thanks, Arkasha,"— said Nikolai Petrovitch 
 in a dull tone, and again his fingers strayed over 
 his eyebrows and his forehead.—" Thy assump- 
 tions really are correct. Of course, if that girl 
 were not worthy . . . This is not a fickle fancy. 
 It is not easy for me to talk to thee about this; 
 but thou understandest that it was difficult for 
 
 34,
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 Iier to come hither, into thy presence, especially 
 on the first day of thy home-coming." 
 
 " In that case, I will go to her myself," — cried 
 Arkady, with a fresh impulse of magnanimous 
 sentiments, and he jumped up from the table. — 
 " I will explain to her that she has no cause to 
 feel ashamed before me." 
 
 Nikolai Petrovitch rose also. 
 
 " Arkady," — he began, — " please . . . how is it 
 possible . . . there .... I have not forewarned 
 thee . . . ." 
 
 But Arkady was no longer listening to him, 
 and had quitted the veranda. Nikolai Petrovitch 
 looked after him, and sank down on his chair in 
 confusion. His heart beat violently. . . . Whether 
 it was that, at that moment, the inevitable strange- 
 ness of the future relations between him and his 
 son presented itself to him, or that he recognised 
 the fact that Arkady would have shown almost 
 more respect for him had he not touched on that 
 matter at all, or whether he was reproaching him- 
 self with weakness — it would be difficult to say: 
 all those feelings were within him, but in the shape 
 of sensations — and not clear sensations, at that: 
 but the flush did not leave his face, and his heart 
 beat violently. 
 
 Hasty footsteps became audible, and Arkady 
 emerged upon the veranda. — " We have made 
 acquaintance, father! "—he cried, with an exi:)res- 
 sion of affectionate and amiable triumph on his
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 face. — " Feodosya NIkolaevna realty is not very 
 well to-day, and will come later. But why didst 
 not thou tell me that I had a brother? I would 
 have given him a good kissing yesterday evening, 
 as I have done just now." 
 
 Nikolai Petrovitch tried to say something, tried 
 to rise and hold out his arms. . . 
 
 Arkady threw himself on his neck. 
 
 " What 's this? Hugging each other again? " 
 — rang out Pavel Petrovitch's voice behind them. 
 
 Father and son were equally delighted at his 
 appearance at that moment: there are touch- 
 ing situations, from which, notwithstanding, one 
 wishes to escape as promptly as possible. 
 
 " Why art thou surprised? " — said Nikolai 
 Petrovitch merrily. — " I have been longing for 
 Arkasha for ages .... I have n't yet had a 
 chance to stare my fill at him since yesterday." 
 
 " I 'm not surprised in the least,"— remarked 
 Pavel Petrovitch: — " I 'm even not disinclined to 
 give him a hug myself." 
 
 Arkady stepped up to his uncle, and again felt 
 on his cheeks the touch of his perfumed mous- 
 tache. Pavel Petrovitch seated himself at the 
 table. He wore an elegant morning costume, in 
 English fashion ; his head was adorned with a tiny 
 fez. This fez and his carelessl}^ knotted tie hinted 
 at the freedom of country life; but the stiff shirt- 
 collar — not white, it is true, but coloured, as is 
 
 36
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 proper for a morning toilet — impinged upon the 
 well-shaved chin with its habitual implacability. 
 
 " Where is thy new friend? "—he asked Ar- 
 kady. 
 
 " He is not in the house ; he generally rises early 
 and goes off somewhere. The chief point is, that 
 one need paj'' no attention to him: he is not fond 
 of ceremony." 
 
 " Yes, that is evident." — Pavel Petrovitch be- 
 gan, in a leisurely way, to spread butter on his 
 bread. — " Is he going to make thee a long visit? " 
 
 " That is as it happens. He has turned aside 
 here, on his way to his father's." 
 
 " And where does his father live? " 
 
 " In our government, eighty versts from here. 
 He has a small estate there. He used to be a regi- 
 mental doctor." 
 
 " Te, te, te, te That is precisely the reason 
 
 why I have kept asking myself: Where have I 
 heard that name BazarofF? . . . Nikolai, does 
 my memory serve me, and was not the medical 
 man in our father's division BazarofF? " 
 
 " It strikes me that it was." 
 
 " Precisely, precisely. So that medical man is 
 his father. H'm!"— Pavel Petrovitch twitched 
 his moustache.—" Well, and what sort of person 
 is Mr. Bazaroff himself? " he asked, with pauses 
 between the words. 
 
 " What sort of person is Bazaroff? "— Ar- 
 
 87
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 kady laughed.—" Would you like to have me tell 
 3'ou, my dear uncle, what sort of person he is? " 
 
 " Pray do, my dear nephew." 
 
 " He is a nihilist." 
 
 " What? "—asked Nikolai Petrovitch; and 
 Pavel Petrovitch elevated his knife, with a bit of 
 butter sticking to the blade, in the air, and re- 
 mained motionless. 
 
 " He is a nihilist," — repeated Arkady. 
 
 " A nihilist," said Nikolai Petrovitch. — 
 " That comes from the Latin nihil, nothing, so 
 far as I can judge ; consequently, that word desig- 
 nates a man who . . . who recognises nothing." 
 
 " Say: ' who respects nothing,' " — put in Pavel 
 Petrovitch, and devoted himself once more to his 
 butter. 
 
 " Who treats everything from a critical point 
 of view," — remarked Arkady. 
 
 " And is n't that exactly the same thing? " — 
 inquired Pavel Petrovitch. 
 
 " No, it is not exactly the same thing. A nihil- 
 ist is a man who does not bow before any au- 
 thority whatever, who does not accept a single 
 principle on faith, with whatever respect that 
 principle may be environed." 
 
 " And dost thou think that is a good thing? " 
 — interrupted Pavel Petrovitch. 
 
 " That depends on who it is, dear uncle. It is 
 all right for one man, and very bad for another." 
 
 " You don't say so. Well, I perceive that that 
 
 38
 
 / 
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 is not in our line. We people of the old school 
 assume that, without principles " (Pavel Petro- 
 vitch pronounced this word softly, in the French 
 style. Arkady, on the contrary, pronounced it 
 " principles," throwing the accent on the first syl- 
 lable) , " without accepted principles, as thou say- 
 est, it is impossible to take a step, or to breathe, 
 on faith. Vous avez change tout cela. God grant 
 us health and the rank of general, but we will 
 content ourselves with admiring the Messrs. 
 what do you call it? " 
 
 " The nihilists,"— said Arkady with much dis- 
 tinctness. 
 
 " Yes. They used to be Hegelists, and now 
 they are nihilists. Let us see, how you will exist 
 in the vacuum, in the atmospheric expanse; but 
 now, be so good as to ring the bell, brother, Niko- 
 lai Petrovitch, it is time for me to drink my 
 cocoa." 
 
 Nikolai Petrovitch rang, and shouted: " Dun- 
 yasha!" But, instead of Dunyasha, Fenitchka 
 herself made her appearance on the veranda. She 
 was a young woman of three and twenty, all white 
 and soft, with dark hair and eyes, red, child- 
 ishly-plump lips, and tender hands. She wore a 
 neat print gown ; a new, light-blue kerchief rested 
 lightly on her plump shoulders. She carried 
 a large cup of cocoa, and setting it down in front 
 of Pavel Petrovitch, became covered with con- 
 fusion: the hot blood diffused itself in a crimson 
 
 39
 
 \ 
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 flood beneath the deKcate skin of her pretty face. 
 She dropped her eyes, and remained standing be- 
 side the table, Hghtly resting upon it the very tips 
 of her fingers. She seemed to be ashamed of hav- 
 ing come, and, at the same time, she felt, ap- 
 parently, that she had a right to come. 
 
 Pavel Petrovitch knit his brows sternly, and 
 Nikolai Petrovitch was overwhelmed with con- 
 fusion. 
 
 " Good morning, Fenitchka," — he muttered 
 through his teeth. 
 
 " Good morning, sir," — she replied, in a sonor- 
 ous but not loud voice, and, casting a sidelong 
 glance at Arkady, who bestowed a friendly smile 
 on her, she softly withdrew. She walked with a 
 slight waddle, but it suited her. 
 
 Silence reigned on the veranda for the space 
 of several minutes. Pavel Petrovitch sipped his 
 cocoa, and suddenly raised his head. — " Here is 
 Mr. Nihilist about to favor us with his company," 
 — he said, in an undertone. 
 
 And, in fact, BazarofF was coming through the 
 garden, striding across the flower-beds. His 
 linen coat and trousers were spattered with mud ; 
 a clinging marsh plant encircled the crown of his 
 old, round hat; in his right hand he grasped a 
 small bag; in the bag some live creature was 
 squirming. He rapidly approached the veranda, 
 and nodding his head, he said: — " Good morning, 
 gentlemen ; excuse me for being late to tea ; I will 
 
 m
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 be back directly; I must j)rovide for these pris- 
 
 oners." 
 
 "What have you there — leeches?" — inquired 
 Pavel Petrovitch. 
 
 " No, frogs." 
 
 " Do you eat them — or raise them? " 
 
 " They are for experiments," — said Bazaroff 
 indifferently, and went into the house. 
 
 " He is going to cut them up," — remarked 
 Pavel Petrovitch. — " He does not believe in prin- 
 ciples, but he does believe in frogs." 
 
 Arkady gazed at his uncle with compassion; 
 Nikolai Petrovitch shrugged his shoulders on the 
 sly. Pavel Petrovitch himself was conscious that 
 his witticism had not been a success, and began to 
 talk about the farming operations, and the new 
 overseer, who had come to him on the previous 
 day to complain that labourer Foma was " de- 
 baucheering " and was incorrigible. " He 's a 
 regular ^sop," he said, among other things: " he 
 has protested everywhere that he is a bad man; 
 after he has lived a while longer, he '11 get rid of 
 his foUy." 
 
 41
 
 VI 
 
 Bazaroff returned, sat down at the table, and 
 began hastily to drink tea. Both brothers stared 
 at him in silence, while Arkady glanced stealth- 
 ily, now at his father, now at his uncle. 
 
 " Have you walked far from here? "—asked 
 Nikolai Petrovitch at last. 
 
 " You have a small swamp yonder, alongside 
 the aspen grove. I started up five woodcock; 
 thou mightest shoot them, Arkady." 
 
 " Don't you shoot? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Do you occupy yourself with the physical 
 sciences in particular? " — inquired Pavel Petro- 
 vitch, in his turn. 
 
 " Yes, with physics; with the natural sciences 
 in general." 
 
 " The Germans, I am told, have made great 
 progress in that department of late." 
 
 " Yes, the Germans are our teachers in that," 
 — replied BazaroiF carelessly. 
 
 The word " Germantzy " Pavel Petrovitch 
 had employed, instead of " nyemtzy," ^ by way of 
 irony, which, however, no one noticed. 
 
 " Have you so high an opinion of the Ger- 
 
 ^ Nyeraetz, "the dumb one," (that is to say: a person who cannot 
 talk the language of the country), is applied to foreigners in general, 
 and Germans in particular. — Thansiatoii. 
 
 42
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 mans?" — said Pavel Petrovitch, with sedulous 
 courtesy. He had begun to feel a secret irrita- 
 tion. His aristocratic nature was stirred to re- 
 volt by BazarofF's perfectly free-and-easy man- 
 ners. That medical man's son was not only not 
 afraid, he even replied abruptly and reluctant^, 
 and there was something rude, almost insulting, 
 in the very sound of his voice. 
 
 " The learned men there are a practical race." 
 
 " Just so, just so. Well, you probably have 
 not so flattering an opinion of the Russian sci- 
 entists? " 
 
 " Probably, that is so." 
 
 " That is very praiseworthy self-renunciation," 
 — ejaculated Pavel Petrovitch, drawing up his 
 figure, and throwing his head back. — " But how 
 comes it that, as Arkady Nikolaitch was just 
 telling us, you do not recognise any authorities? 
 Do not you believe* in them? " 
 
 " But why should I recognise them? And 
 what should I believe in? They tell me a fact, 
 and I believe it, that is all." 
 
 " But do the Germans all speak facts? " — said 
 Pavel Petrovitch, and his face assumed an indif- 
 ferent, distant expression, as though he had 
 wholly withdrawn into some height above the 
 clouds. 
 
 " Not all,"— replied BazarofF, with a short 
 j'^awn, being, evidently, unwilling to prolong the 
 controversy. 
 
 Pavel Petrovitch darted a glance at Arkady, 
 
 43
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 as much as to say: " Thy friend is polite, thou 
 must admit that." — " So far as I myself am con- 
 cerned," — he began again, not without an effort, 
 — " sinful man that I am, I am not fond of the 
 Germans. I am not alluding to the Russian- 
 Germans of course ; every one knows what sort of 
 birds they are. But I cannot stomach the Ger- 
 man-Germans either. Those of former days are 
 well enough; then they had Schiller, I believe, 
 
 Goetthe My brother here, accords them 
 
 special favour. . . But now a lot of chemists and 
 materialists have sprung up among them " 
 
 " A respectable chemist is twenty times more 
 useful than any poet,"— interrupted Bazaroff. 
 
 " You don't say so! " — said Pavel Petrovitch, 
 and barely elevated his eyebrows, exactly as 
 though he were in a doze. — " I suppose that you 
 do not recognise art? " 
 
 " The art of making money without sensational 
 aids!" — exclaimed Bazaroif, with a scornful 
 sneer. 
 
 " Exactly so, sir; exactly so, sir. You are 
 pleased to jest. So you reject that? Let us as- 
 sume that you do. That means that you believe 
 only in science? " 
 
 " I have already told you that I believe in 
 nothing; and what is science — science in general? 
 There is science which is a trade, a vocation ; but 
 science in the abstract does not exist." 
 
 " Very good, sir. Well, and in regard to other 
 
 44t
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 laws, which are accepted in Iniman existence, — 
 do you hold the same negative course about 
 them? " 
 
 " What is this, a cross-examination? " inquired 
 BazarofF. 
 
 Pavel Petrovitch paled slightly Nikolai 
 
 Petrovitch regarded it as his duty to join in the 
 conversation. 
 
 " You and I will discuss this subject more in 
 detail, sometime, my dear Evgeny Vasilitch; I 
 will learn your opinion, and express my own. 
 For my own part, I am very glad that you. are 
 devoting yourself to the natural sciences. I have 
 heard that Liebig has made wonderful discoveries 
 in regard to fertilising the land. You may be 
 able to assist me in mj^ agricultural work: you 
 may be able to give me some useful advice." 
 
 " I am at your service, Nikolai Petrovitch; but 
 what have we to do with Liebig! One must first 
 learn the alphabet, and then take hold of a book, 
 but so far we have not even set our ej^es on A." 
 
 " Well, I perceive that thou really art a ni- 
 hilist," thought Nikolai Petrovitch.— " Never- 
 theless, permit me to have recourse to you, in case 
 of need,"— he added aloud. — " And now, bro- 
 ther, I think it is time for us to go and have a 
 talk with the overseer." 
 
 Pavel Petrovitch rose from his chair. 
 
 " Yes," — said he, without looking at any one, 
 — " 't is a great misfortune to live thus for five 
 
 45
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 j'^ears in the country, at a distance from great 
 minds! One becomes a downright fool. One is 
 endeavouring not to forget what he has learned, 
 when — bang! — it suddenly appears that it is all 
 nonsense, and one is told that sensible folks do 
 not bother themselves any longer about such fol- 
 lies, and that one is as good as a simpleton who 
 has fallen behind the times. What is one to do! 
 Evidently, the young folks are really wiser than 
 we are." 
 
 Pavel Petrovitch wheeled slowly round on his 
 heels, and slowly withdrew; Nikolai Petrovitch 
 followed him. 
 
 " Well, is he always like that? "—inquired Ba- 
 zarofF coolly of Arkady, as soon as the door 
 closed behind the two others. 
 
 " See here, Evgeny, thy manner toward him 
 has been altogether too abrupt," — remarked Ar- 
 kady.—" Thou hast offended him." 
 
 " Why, the idea of my coddling these rural aris- 
 tocrats ! Why, it 's nothing but self-conceit, the 
 habits of a society lion, foppishness. Come now, 
 he ought to have continued his career in Peters- 
 burg, since that is the cut of his jib. . . . How- 
 ever, God be with him— I wash my hands of him 
 altogether ! I have found a pretty rare specimen 
 of a water-beetle, Dytiscus marginatus — dost 
 thou know it? I '11 show it to thee." 
 
 " I promised to narrate his history to thee," 
 began Arkady. 
 
 46
 
 1 ATllEKS AND CHILDREN 
 
 (( n 
 
 The history of the beetle? " 
 
 " Come, stop that, Evgeny. My uncle's his- 
 tory. Thou wilt see that he is not the sort of 
 man that thou imaginest. He is more deserving 
 of pity than of ridicule." 
 
 *' I do not dispute that; but what is it to thee 
 anyhow? " 
 
 " We must be just, Evgeny." 
 
 " On what grounds? " 
 
 " No, listen. . . ." 
 
 And Arkady related to him his uncle's story. 
 The reader will find it in the following chapter.
 
 VII 
 
 Pavel Petrovitch Kirsanoff had received his 
 earliest education at home, hke his j^ounger bro- 
 ther, Nikolai, and, later on, in the Pages Corps. 
 From his childhood, he had been distinguished 
 for his remarkable beauty; added to this, he was 
 self-confident, given to raillery, and splenetic in 
 a rather amusing fashion — he could not fail to 
 please. He began to be seen everywhere, as soon 
 as he had become an officer. He was petted, and 
 he coddled himself; he even played the fool, he 
 even indulged in caprices, but this suited his 
 style. The women went wild over him, the men 
 called him a fop, and secretly envied him. He 
 lived, as we have already said, in an apartment 
 with his brother, whom he sincerelv loved, al- 
 though he did not resemble him in the least. 
 Nikolai Petrovitch walked with a slight limp, had 
 small, agreeable, but rather melancholy features, 
 small, black eyes, and soft, thin hair; he liked to 
 be lazy, but was also fond of reading, and was 
 afraid of society. Pavel Petrovitch never spent 
 a single evening at home, gloried in his audacity 
 and cleverness (he had brouglit gymnastics into 
 fashion among the young men) , and had read not 
 
 48
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 more than five or six books— in French— alto- 
 gether. At the age of eight and twenty, he was 
 already a captain; a brilliant career awaited him. 
 All of a sudden, everything was changed. 
 
 At that time, a woman who has not yet been 
 forgotten. Princess R . . , was wont to make her 
 appearance, from time to time, in Petersburg 
 society. She had a well-educated and decorous 
 but somewhat stupid husband, and no children. 
 She would suddenly go abroad, and as suddenly 
 return to Russia, and, in general, she led a 
 strange life. She bore the reputation of being a 
 giddy coquette, gave herself up with enthusiasm 
 to all sorts of pleasures, danced until she was 
 ready to drop, laughed loudly and jested with the 
 young men, whom she received, before dinner, 
 in a half -darkened drawing-room, and at night 
 wept and pra3^ed, and found rest nowhere, and 
 often flung herself about the room until day- 
 break, wringing her hands with grief, or sat, all 
 pale and cold, reading the Psalter. Day arrived, 
 and again she turned into a woman of the world, 
 again she went out into society, laughed, chat- 
 tered, and fairly rushed at everything which 
 could afford the least diversion. She was won- 
 derfully built; her hair, golden in hue and as 
 heavy as gold, hung below her knees ; yet no one 
 would have called her a beauty; the only good 
 point about her face was her eyes, and not even 
 her eyes themselves— they were not large, and 
 
 49
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 were grey— but their glance, swift and deep, 
 heedless to recklessness, and thoughtful to melan- 
 choly, — was a mysterious glance. There was an 
 unusual gleam about them, even when her tongue 
 was babbling the most idle nonsense. She dressed 
 with elegance. Pavel Petrovitch met her at a 
 ball, danced the mazurka with her, in the course 
 of which she did not utter a single sensible word, 
 and fell passionately in love with her. Being 
 accustomed to conquests, he speedily attained his 
 object in this case also; but the ease of his victory 
 did not chill him. On the contrary, he became 
 still more torturingly, still more firmly attached 
 to this woman, in whom, even when she had given 
 herself irrevocably, there still seemed to linger 
 something intimate and inaccessible, into which 
 no one could penetrate. What it was that nested 
 in that soul, — God only knows! She appeared 
 to be in the grasp of some powers which were 
 mysterious and unknown even to herself; they 
 played with her as they would; her limited mind 
 could not reconcile itself to their freaks. . . . Her 
 whole conduct presented a series of incongrui- 
 ties; the only letters which might have aroused 
 the just suspicions of her husband she wrote 
 to a man who was almost a stranger to her, and 
 her love had a taste of sadness: she neither 
 laughed nor jested with the one whom she had 
 chosen, and she listened to him, and gazed at him, 
 with surprise. Sometimes, and in the majority 
 
 50
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 of cases suddenly, this surprise passed over into 
 cold terror; her face assumed a wild and death- 
 like expression ; she locked herself up in her bed- 
 room, and her maid, by putting her ear to the 
 kej'^hole, could hear her subdued sobbing. More 
 than once, on returning home after a tender tryst, 
 Kirsanoff felt in his heart that lacerating and 
 bitter vexation which springs up in the heart 
 after a decisive failure. " What more do I 
 want? " he would ask himself, but his heart con- 
 tinued to ache. One daj^ he gave her a ring with 
 a sphinx carved on the stone. 
 
 " What is this? "—she asked:—" a sphinx? " 
 
 " Yes,"— he replied,—" and that sphinx is— 
 yourself." 
 
 "I? " — she asked, and slowly raised her enig- 
 matic eyes to his.— "Do you know that is very 
 flattering? " — she added, with an insignificant 
 smile, but her eyes continued to wear their 
 strange gaze. 
 
 Pavel Petrovitch felt heavj'- at heart even 
 when Princess R . . loved him ; but when she grew 
 cold toward him — and this came about rather 
 promptly, he almost went crazy. He tormented 
 himself, he raged with jealousy, he gave her no 
 peace, he tagged about everywhere after her; his 
 importunate persecution bored her, and she went 
 abroad. He resigned from the service, despite 
 the entreaties of his friends and the exhortations 
 of his superior officers, and followed the Prin- 
 
 51
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 cess; he spent four years in foreign lands, now 
 chasing after her, now intentionally losing sight 
 of her; he was ashamed of himself, he was en- 
 raged at his pusillanimity .... but nothing did 
 an}^ good. Her image, that incomprehensible, 
 almost absurd, but enchanting image, had en- 
 sconced itself too deeply in his soul. In Baden 
 he somehow resumed his former relations with 
 her, and, to all appearances, she had never loved 
 him so passionately . . . but in a month all was at 
 an end ; the flame had flared up for the last time, 
 and had been extinguished forever. With a 
 foreboding of the inevitable parting, he endeav- 
 oured, at least, to remain her friend, as though 
 friendship with such a woman were possible. . . . 
 She quietly left Baden, and, from that day forth 
 persistently avoided Kirsanoff*. He returned to 
 Russia, tried to take up his old life, but could no 
 longer get into the former track. Like a hunted 
 animal, he wandered from place to place; he still 
 went into society — he had preserved all the habits 
 of a man of the world; he could boast of two or 
 three new conquests; but he no longer expected 
 anything special of himself, or of others; he un- 
 dertook no enterprises. He grew old, his hair 
 turned grey ; it became a necessitj^ with him to sit 
 at the club, to get bitterly bored, to dispute coldly 
 in bachelor society, — which is well known to be 
 a bad sign. As a matter of course, he did not 
 dream of marriage. Ten years passed in this 
 
 52 
 
 >t
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 manner, in a colorless, fruitless, swift, frightfully 
 swift fashion. Nowhere does time fly so rapidly 
 as in Russia; it is said that it flies still more 
 swiftly in prison. One da}^ at dinner in the club, 
 Pavel Petrovitch heard of Princess R . . 's death. 
 She had died in Paris, in a condition bordering 
 on insanity. He rose from the table, and paced 
 the rooms of the club for a long time, pausing, 
 as though rooted to the spot, beside the card- 
 tables, but he did not return home any earlier 
 than usual. Some time later, he received a 
 packet addressed to him: it contained the ring 
 which he had given to the Princess. She had 
 drawn lines, in the form of a cross, over the 
 sphinx, and had requested that he should be told 
 that the cross was the solution of the riddle. 
 
 This happened in the beginning of 1848, at 
 the very time when Nikolai Petrovitch, having 
 lost his wife, had come to Petersburg. Pavel 
 Petrovitch had hardly seen his brother since the 
 latter had settled down in the country; Nikolai 
 Petrovitch's marriage had coincided with the 
 very first days of Pavel Petrovitch's acquaintance 
 with the Princess. On his return from abroad, 
 he had gone to him, with the intention of spend- 
 ing a couple of months with him, of admiring his 
 happiness, but he had lived only one week with 
 him. The difl*erence in the situation of the two 
 brothers had proved to be too great. In 1848 that 
 difl'erence was lessened: Nikolai Petrovitch had 
 
 53
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 lost his wife, Pavel Petrovitch had lost his mem- 
 ories: after the death of the Princess, he tried 
 not to think of her. But Nikolai retained the 
 ponsciousness of a life which had been regularly 
 spent, his son was growing up before his eyes; 
 Pavel, on the contrary, a sohtary bachelor, had 
 entered upon that confused, twilight period, the 
 period of regrets which resemble hopes, of hopes 
 which resemble regrets, when youth is gone, and 
 old age has not yet come. 
 
 This period was more difficult for Pavel Petro- 
 ^4tch than for any other man : having lost his past, 
 he had lost all. 
 
 " I do not invite thee to oNIarino now," — Niko- 
 lai Petrovitch said to liim one day (he had given 
 his estate that name, in honour of his "wife),— 
 " thou wert bored there even during the lifetime 
 of the deceased, but now, I think, thou wouldst 
 perish with irksomeness." 
 
 " I was still stu23id and restless then," — replied 
 Pavel Petrovitch:— " since that time I have 
 calmed down, even if I have not grown any wiser. 
 Now, on the contrary, if thou shouldst invite me, 
 I am readv to settle down in thv house forever." 
 
 In place of a reply, Nikolai Petrovitch em- 
 braced him; but a year and a half elapsed after 
 this conversation before Pavel Petrovitch made 
 up his mind to put his intention into execution. 
 On the other hand, having once settled down in 
 the country, he did not again leave it, even during 
 
 54i
 
 FATHERS A\D CHILDREN 
 
 those three winters which Nikolai Petrovitch 
 spent in Petersburg with his son. He began to 
 read, chiefly in English; he arranged his whole 
 life, in general, on the English pattern, rarely met 
 his neighbours, and went out onl}' to the elections,^ 
 where he mostly held his tongue, only occasionally 
 teasing and frightening the old-fashioned gentry 
 by hberal sallies, and not making approaches to 
 the younger generation. And both the former 
 and the latter thought liim a haughty man; and 
 both sets of people respected him for his distin- 
 guished, aristocratic manners ; for the rumours of 
 his conquests; because he dressed very well and 
 always occupied the best room in the hotel; be- 
 cause he dined well, as a rule, and had once even 
 dined with Welhngton at Louis PhiHppe's; be- 
 cause he always carried about with him every- 
 where a real silver toilet set, and a camp bath-tub ; 
 because he emitted an odour of some unusual, 
 wonderful^ "noble" perfumes; because he 
 played wliist in a masterly manner, and always 
 lost; and, in conclusion, they respected him also 
 because of his impeccable honest}\ The ladies 
 regarded him as a fascinating misanthrope, but 
 he did not consort with the ladies. . . . 
 
 " So, now thou seest, Evgeny,"— said Arkady, 
 at the conclusion of his story,— "how unjustly 
 thou judgest of my uncle! I will not even men- 
 tion the fact that he has more than once rescued 
 
 1 As Marshal of the Nobility.— TaAxsLAXoE. 
 
 ■•» «» 
 DO
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 my father from a catastrophe, has given him 
 all his own money, — perhaps thou art not 
 aware that their estate has not been divided, 
 — but he is glad to help any one, and, among 
 other things, he always stands up for the peas- 
 ants; it is true that when he talks with them 
 he wrinkles up his face and inhales eau de 
 cologne. ..." 
 
 " Of course: nerves," — interrupted Bazaroif. 
 
 " Perhaps, only he has a very kind heart. And 
 he is far from stupid. What useful advice he has 
 given me .... especially . . . especially about 
 my relations with women." 
 
 "Aha! He has burnt himself with his own 
 milk, so he blows on other people's w^ater. We 
 know all about that! " 
 
 "Well, in a word,"— went on Arkady:— "he 
 is profoundly unhappy, believe me; it is a sin to 
 despise him." 
 
 " Well, who despises him? "—retorted Ba- 
 zaroff.— " But I will say, nevertheless, that a 
 man who has staked his whole life on a woman's 
 love, and, when that card was trumped, turned 
 sour and lost heart to such an extent that he be- 
 came incapable of anything,— such a man— is not 
 a man, but a male. Thou sayest that he is un- 
 happy — thou knowest best; but all the whims have 
 not gone out of him. I am convinced that he 
 seriously regards himself as a practical man, be- 
 cause he reads that miserable Galignani and 
 
 56
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 once a month rescues a peasant from chastise- 
 ment." 
 
 " But remember his education, the period in 
 which he Hved,"— remarked Arkady. 
 
 "His education?" retorted BazarofF.—" Ev- 
 ery man is bound to educate himself,— well, 
 as I have done myself, for example. . . . And 
 so far as the period is concerned, who am I to de- 
 pend upon that ? Rather, let it depend upon me. 
 No, brother, all that is groundless and frivolous ! 
 And what is there mysterious about the relations 
 between a man and a woman? We physiologists 
 know what those relations are. Just study the 
 anatomy of the eye : where does what thou callest 
 an enigmatic glance come from? That 's all ro- 
 manticism, stuff and nonsense, rot, art. Come 
 on, we 'd better go and look at my beetle." 
 
 And the two friends betook themselves to Ba- 
 zaroif' s room, in which a certain medico-surgical 
 odour, mingled with the scent of cheap tobacco, 
 had already contrived to establish itself. 
 
 57
 
 VIII 
 
 Pavel Petrovitch did not remain present long 
 at the interview between his brother and the man- 
 ager, a tall, thin man, with a sweet, consumptive 
 voice and crafty eyes, who, to all Nikolai Petro- 
 vitch's remarks, replied, " Certainly sir; that 's a 
 fact, sir," and tried to make out that the peasants 
 were drunkards and thieves. The farming, which 
 had recently been rearranged on a new plan, was 
 squeaking like an ungreased wheel, and cracking 
 like home-made furniture fabricated from green 
 wood. Nikolai Petrovitch was not discouraged, 
 but he sighed frequently, and became thoughtful : 
 he was conscious that matters would not go right 
 without money, and almost all his money was ex- 
 hausted. Arkady had spoken the truth: Pavel 
 Petrovitch had helped his brother more than once ; 
 more than once, perceiving that he was strug- 
 gling and racking his brains in the effort to de- 
 vise a way of escape, Pavel Petrovitch had 
 strolled slowl}^ to the window, and, thrusting his 
 hands into his pockets, had muttered through his 
 teeth, "Mais je puis vous donner de Vargent," 
 and had given him monej^ ; but on this particular 
 day he had nothing, and he preferred to with- 
 
 58 
 
 M
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 draw. The sordid details of farming made him 
 melancholy; and, in addition, it constantly 
 seemed to him that Nikolai Petrovitch, notwith- 
 standing his zeal and industry, did not take hold 
 of the business in the proper way; although he 
 would not have been capable of pointing out to 
 Nikolai Petrovitch precisely where he was in er- 
 ror. " My brother is not sufficiently practical," 
 — he argued with himself, — " people cheat him." 
 Nikolai Petrovitch, on the other hand, enter- 
 tained a loftj'- opinion as to Pavel Petrovitch's 
 practical qualities, and always asked his advice. 
 " I am a soft, weak man; I have spent all mj^ life 
 in the wilds,"— he was wont to say; " but not for 
 nothing hast thou lived so much with people, thou 
 knowest them well: thou hast the eye of an eagle." 
 Pavel Petrovitch's only reply to these words was 
 to turn away; but he did not seek to change his 
 brother's conviction. 
 
 Leaving Nikolai Petrovitch in the study, he 
 walked along the corridor which separated the 
 front part of the house from the rear part, and, 
 reaching a low-browed door, he paused in 
 thought, tugged at his moustache, and knocked. 
 
 "Who's there? Come in," — rang out Fe- 
 nitchka's voice. 
 
 " It is I," — said Pavel Petrovitch, and opened 
 the door. 
 
 Fenitchka sprang up from the chair on which 
 she was sitting with her baby, and placing it in 
 
 59
 
 FATHERS AXD CHILDREN 
 
 the arms of the little girl, who immediately car- 
 ried it out of the room, hastily adjusted her 
 kercliief. 
 
 " Pardon me if I intrude," — began Pavel Pe- 
 trovitch, without looking at her: — " I merely 
 wished to ask you .... I believe some one is 
 going to the town to-daj^ .... order some green 
 tea to be bought for me." 
 
 " Yes, sir," — replied Fenitchka: — "how much 
 do }'ou order to be purchased? " 
 
 " Why, half a pound will be sufficient, I sup- 
 pose. And I notice that j^ou have made some 
 changes here," — he added, darting a swift glance 
 around, which glided over Fenitchka's face also. 
 — " Those curtains, j^onder," — he said, seeing 
 that she did not understand him. 
 
 " Yes, sir, the curtains; Nikolai Petrovitch was 
 so good as to give them to me; but they have 
 been hung this long time." 
 
 " Yes, and I have not been to see you for a 
 long time. You are very nicety established here 
 now." 
 
 " Thanks to Nikolai Petrovitch,"— whispered 
 Fenitchka. 
 
 " Are you more comfortable here than in your 
 former wing? " — inquired Pavel Petrovitch po- 
 litelv, but without the trace of a smile. 
 
 " Of course I am, sir." 
 
 " Who has been put in your place? " 
 
 " The laundress lives there now." 
 
 60
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 Pavel Petrovitch relapsed into silence. " Now 
 he will go away," thought Fenitchka. But he did 
 not go away, and she stood before him, as though 
 rooted to the spot, weakly twisting her fingers. 
 
 " Why did vou have your httle one carried 
 away?"— said Pavel Petrovitch, at last.— " I 
 love children: show it to me." 
 
 Fenitchka blushed scarlet all over ^vith confu- 
 sion and joy. She was afraid of Pavel Petro- 
 vitch : he hardly ever spoke to her. 
 
 " Dunyasha,"— she called:— " bring Mitya " 
 (Fenitchka addressed every one in the house as 
 "you"). — "But no, wait, I must put a clean 
 dress on him."— Fenitchka went toward the door. 
 
 " Never mind about that,"— remarked Pavel 
 Petrovitch. 
 
 " I will be back in a moment,"— replied Fe- 
 nitchka, and hastity left the room. 
 
 Pavel Petrovitch was left alone, and this time 
 he looked about him with x^articular attention. 
 The contracted, low-ceiled little room in which he 
 found himself was very clean and cosey. It 
 smelted of the recently painted floor, of camo- 
 mile and balm. Along the walls stood chairs with 
 backs in the form of lyres ; they had been bought 
 by the late General, in Poland, during the cam- 
 paign ; in one corner stood a small bedstead, with 
 muslin curtains, alongside a wrought-iron chest 
 with a rounded lid. In the opposite corner burned 
 
 61
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 a shrine-lamp in front of a large, dark-coloured 
 image of St. Nicholas the Wonder-worker ; a tiny- 
 porcelain egg, suspended from the halo by a red 
 ribbon, hung on the saint's breast; on the 
 window-sills glass jars, with last year's preserves 
 carefully tied up, admitted a green light ; on their 
 paper lids Fenitchka herself had written in large 
 letters: " gosebery." Nikolai Petrovitch was 
 especially fond of that preserve. From the 
 ceiling, on a long cord, hung a cage containing 
 a bob-tailed canary-bird ; it twittered and hopped 
 about incessantly, and the cage incessantly rocked 
 and trembled ; grains of hemp-seed fell to the floor 
 with a soft patter. On the wall between the win- 
 dows, over a small chest of drawers, hung several 
 fairly bad photographs of Nikolai Petrovitch, in 
 various attitudes, made by itinerant artists ; there, 
 also, hung a photograph of Fenitchka herself, 
 which was an utter failure: some sort of an eye- 
 less visage smiled constrainedly out of the dark 
 frame, — and nothing more could be distin- 
 guished ; and over Fenitchka, ErmoloiF, in a felt 
 cloak, was frowning in a menacing manner at the 
 Caucasus Mountains in the distance, from be- 
 neath a silken slipper for pins, which fell clear 
 down on his brow. 
 
 Five minutes elapsed. In the adjoining room 
 rustling and whispering were audible. Pavel 
 Petr6\itch picked up from the chest of drawers a 
 greas}'^ book, an odd volume of Masalsky's " The 
 
 62
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 Sharp-shooters" (" Stryeltzy "), and turned 
 over a few pages. . . . The door opened, and 
 Fenitchka entered, with Mitya in her arms. She 
 had dressed him in a Httle red shirt with galloon 
 on the collar, and had brushed his hair and wiped 
 off his face: he breathed heavily, threw himself 
 about with his whole body, and flourished his little 
 hands, as all health}^ babies do; but the foppish 
 little shirt had taken effect on him: an expres- 
 sion of satisfaction emanated from his whole 
 plump form. Fenitchka had brought her own 
 hair into order also, and had put on her kerchief 
 in the best possible manner ; but she might as well 
 have remained as she was. And, as a matter of 
 fact, is there anything in the world more fas- 
 cinating than a young and beautiful mother with 
 a healthy baby in her arms? 
 
 "What a chubby child,"— said Pavel Pe- 
 trovitch condescendingly, and tickled Mitya's 
 double chin with the tip of the long nail on his 
 forefinger ; the child fixed his eyes on the canary- 
 bird, and began to laugh. 
 
 " This is uncle,"— said Fenitchka, bending her 
 face over him, and rocking him softly, while 
 Dunyasha quietly set a lighted pastille on the 
 window-sill, placing a copper coin beneath it. 
 
 " How many months old is he? "—inquired 
 Pavel Petrovitch. 
 
 " Six months; the seventh month will begin 
 soon, on the eleventh." 
 
 63
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 " Won't it be the eighth, Feodosya Niko- 
 laevna? " — interposed Dunyasha, not without 
 timidity. 
 
 " No, the seventh; how is that possible! " — The 
 child crowed again, fixed his eyes on the chest, 
 and suddenly grasped his mother's nose and lips 
 with all five fingers. — " The spoiled child," — said 
 Fenitchka, without removing her face from his 
 fingers. 
 
 " He resembles my brother,"— remarked Pavel 
 Petrovitch. 
 
 " Whom should he resemble, then? " thought 
 Fenitchka. 
 
 " Yes," — pursued Pavel Petrovitch, as though 
 talking to himself, — " there is an indubitable like- 
 ness." — He gazed at Fenitchka attentively, al- 
 most sadly. 
 
 " This is uncle," — repeated she, in a whisper 
 this time. 
 
 "Ah! Pavel! so thou art here!"— rang out 
 Nikolai Petrovitch's voice suddenly. 
 
 Pavel Petrovitch hastily wheeled round, and 
 knit his brows; but his brother gazed at him so 
 joyfully, so gratefully, that he could not do 
 otherwise than respond to him by a smile. 
 
 " Thou hast a splendid boy,"— he said, and 
 looked at his watch;—" I dropped in here about 
 my tea " 
 
 And, assuming an indiiFerent expression, 
 Pavel Petrovitch immediately left the room. 
 
 64
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 " Did he come of his own accord? "—Nikolai 
 Petrovitch asked Fenitchka. 
 
 *' Yes, sir; he knocked and entered." 
 
 " Well, and has n't Arkasha been to see thee 
 again f 
 
 " No. Would n't it be better for me to remove 
 to the wing, Nikolai Petrovitch? " 
 
 "Why so?" 
 
 " I am wondering whether it would not be bet- 
 ter, at first." 
 
 " N . . . . no," — articulated Nikolai Petrovitch 
 with hesitation, and rubbed his forehead. — " It 
 ought to have been done before. . . Good morn- 
 ing, thou fat little ball," — he said, with sudden 
 animation, and approaching the baby, he kissed 
 him on the cheek; then he bent down a httle, 
 and pressed his lips on Fenitchka's hand, which 
 shone white as milk against Mitya's little red 
 shirt. 
 
 "Nikolai Petrovitch! what are you doing?" 
 — she stammered, and dropped her eyes, then 
 quietly raised them again. . . . The expression 
 of her eyes was charming when she gazed, as it 
 were, from beneath her brows, with an affection- 
 ate and somewhat stupid smile. 
 
 Nikolai Petrovitch had become acquainted 
 with Fenitchka in the following manner. One 
 day, three years before this time, he had been 
 obliged to pass the night at a posting-station in a 
 distant provincial town. He had been pleasantly 
 
 65
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 surprised at the cleanliness of the room which was 
 assigned to him, and the freshness of the bed- 
 linen: " Is not the landlady a German? " flashed 
 through his mind ; but it appeared that the house- 
 wife was a Russian, a woman of fifty, neatly 
 dressed, with comely, sensible face and dignified 
 speech. He chatted with her over his tea; she 
 pleased him greatly. Nikolai Petrovitch, at that 
 time, had just moved into his new manor-house, 
 and, not wishing to keep serfs about him, was on 
 the lookout for hired servants; the landlady, on 
 her side, complained of the small number of trav- 
 ellers in the town, of hard times; he proposed to 
 her that she should enter his house in the capacity 
 of housekeeper ; she accepted. Her husband had 
 been long dead, and had left her with only a 
 daughter, Fenitchka. Two weeks later, Arina 
 Savishna (such was the name of the new house- 
 keeper) arrived in company with her daughter 
 at Marino, and established herself in the wing. 
 Nikolai Petrovitch's choice turned out to be a 
 happy one. Arina introduced order into the 
 house. Of Fenitchka, who was already seven- 
 teen years old, no one spoke, and it was rarely 
 that any one saw her : she lived quietly, modestly, 
 and only on Sundays did Nikolai Petrovitch per- 
 ceive in the parisli church, somewhere on one side, 
 the delicate profile of her rather i^ale face. More 
 than a year passed in this manner. 
 
 One morning, Arina presented herself in his 
 
 66 
 
 a,
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 study, and after making him a low reverence, ac- 
 cording to her wont, she asked him whether he 
 could not help her daughter, who had got a spark 
 from the stove in her eye. Nikolai Petrovitch, 
 like all staj^-at-homes, occupied himself with med- 
 ical treatment, and had even bought a homoeo- 
 pathic medicine-chest. He immediately ordered 
 Arina to bring the sufferer. On learning that 
 the master wanted her, Fenitchka was seized with 
 a violent fit of timidity, but she followed her 
 mother. Nikolai Petrovitch led her to the win- 
 dow, and grasped her head with both hands. Af- 
 ter taking a good look at her reddened and 
 swollen eye, he prescribed an eye-wash, which he 
 himself compounded on the spot, and, tearing 
 up his handkerchief, he showed her how she must 
 bathe it ; Fenitchka heard him out, and started to 
 leave the room. " Come, kiss the master's hand, 
 thou stupid creature," said Arina to her. Nikolai 
 Petrovitch did not give her his hand, but, becom- 
 ing confused, he kissed her on her bowed head, 
 where the hair parted. 
 
 Fenitchka's eye soon got well, but the impres- 
 sion which she had made upon Nikolai Petrovitch 
 did not soon pass away. Visions of that pure, 
 tender, timidly uplifted face pursued him : he felt 
 beneath his palms that soft hair; he beheld those 
 innocent, slightly parted lips, from between 
 which tlie pearly teetli gleamed moistly in the 
 sunlight. He began, with great attention, to 
 
 ._ 67
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 watch her in church; he tried to enter into con- 
 versation with her. At first she was shy of him, 
 and one day, toward evening, when she encoun- 
 tered him on a narrow path made by pedestrians 
 through a rj^e-field, she retreated into the tall, 
 thick rye, overrun with wormwood and corn- 
 flowers, simply for the sake of escaping his eyes. 
 He caught a glimpse of her little head athwart 
 the golden network of the grain-ears, whence she 
 was peeping like a small wild animal, and called 
 out to her pleasantly: 
 
 " Good day, Fenitchka! I don't bite! " 
 
 " Good day," — she whispered, without quit- 
 ting her ambush. 
 
 Little by little she began to grow accustomed 
 to him; but she was still timid in his presence 
 when, suddenly, her mother Arina died of the 
 cholera. Where was Fenitchka to go? She had 
 inherited from her mother a love of orderliness, 
 good judgment, and dignity; but she was so 
 young, so isolated ; Nikolai Petrovitch was so kind 
 and discreet. . . . There is no need to narrate 
 the rest 
 
 " So my brother just walked into thy room? " 
 — Nikolai Petrovitch asked her. — " He knocked 
 and walked in? " 
 
 " Yes, sir," 
 
 " Well, that 's good. Let me toss Mitya." 
 
 And Nikolai Petrovitch began to toss liim up 
 almost to the very ceiling, to the great delight 
 
 68
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 of the boy, and to the no small anxiety of the 
 mother, who, at eveiy upward flight, stretched 
 out her hands toward his bare legs. 
 
 But Pavel Petrovitch returned to his elegant 
 study, hung with handsome paper of a grey tone, 
 with weapons suspended on a motley-hued Per- 
 sian rug, with walnut-wood furniture upholstered 
 in dark-green mock velvet, a book-case in Ren- 
 aissance style of antique dark oak, bronze stat- 
 uettes on the magnificent writing-table, and a 
 firej^lace. . . . He flung himself on the couch, 
 placed his hands under his head, and re- 
 mained motionless, staring at the ceiling al- 
 most with despair. Whether it was that he wished 
 to conceal from the very walls what was taking 
 place on his face, or from some other cause, at 
 all events, he rose, dropped the hea^y window- 
 curtains, and again flung himself on the couch. 
 
 (69
 
 IX 
 
 On that same day, BazarofF also made acquain- 
 tance with Fenitchka. He was walking about 
 the garden with Arkady, and explaining to him 
 why certain young trees, especially the oaks, had 
 not taken root. 
 
 " You ought to set out as many silver poplars 
 as possible here, and firs, and lindens, if you like, 
 after adding black loam. That arbour, yonder, 
 has thriven well,"— he added:—" because acacias 
 and lilacs are good fellows— they require no nurs- 
 ing. Ba! why, there is some one there." 
 
 Fenitchka was sitting in the arbour with Dun- 
 yasha and Mitj^a. BazarofF came to a halt, and 
 Arkady nodded to Fenitchka as to an old ac- 
 quaintance. 
 
 " Who is that? "-BazarofF asked him, as soon 
 as they had passed on.—" What a pretty 
 woman! " 
 
 "Of whom art thou speaking? " 
 
 " It 's plain enough; there was only one pretty 
 woman." 
 
 Arkady, not without embarrassment, ex- 
 plained to him, in brief words, who Fenitchka 
 was. 
 
 "Aha! "-said BazarofF :—" thy father, evi- 
 
 70
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 deiitly, knows a good thing when he sees it. And 
 I like thy father, I swear I do! He 's a fine fel- 
 low. But I must scrape acquaintance,"— he 
 added, and went back to the arbour. 
 
 " Evgeny! "—Arkady shouted after him, in 
 alarm: — " be more cautious, for God's sake." 
 
 " Don't get excited,"— said Bazaroff :— " I 'm 
 a person of experience, I 've lived in cities." 
 
 Approaching Fenitchka, he pulled off his cap. 
 
 " Permit me to introduce myself,"— he began, 
 with a polite bow:—" I 'm the friend of Arkady 
 Nikolaevitch, and a man of peace." 
 
 Fenitchka half -rose from the bench, and gazed 
 at him in silence. 
 
 "What a magnificent baby!"— went on Ba- 
 zaroff.—" Don't be alarmed, I have never cast 
 the evil eye on any one yet. What makes his 
 cheeks so red? Is he cutting his teeth? " 
 
 "Yes, sir,"— said Fenitchka:— " he has cut 
 four teeth already, and now his gums have 
 swollen up again." 
 
 " Show me .... come, don't be afraid, I 'm a 
 doctor." 
 
 Bazaroff took the child in his arms, and, to the 
 astonishment of Fenitchka and Dunyasha, it dis- 
 played no resistance, and was not frightened. 
 
 " I see, I see. ... It 's nothing; everything is 
 all right : he 's going to have large teeth. If any- 
 thing happens, let me know. And are you well 
 yourself? " 
 
 » 
 
 71
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 " Yes, thank God." 
 
 " Thank God— that is the best of all. And 
 you? " — added BazarofF, turning to Dunyasha. 
 
 Dunyasha, a girl who was very prim in the 
 rooms of her mistress, and a great giggler else- 
 where, only snorted bj^ way of reply. 
 
 " Well, that 's fine. Here 's your hero for 
 you." 
 
 Fenitchka took her baby in her arms. 
 
 " How quietly he sat with you! "—she said, in 
 a low tone. 
 
 " All children behave quietly with me," — re- 
 pHed BazarofF, — " I know the trick." 
 
 " Children feel who loves them," — remarked 
 Dunyasha. 
 
 " That is true,"— assented Fenitchka. " Here 
 is Mitya,— he will not let some people take him 
 in their arms on any terms." 
 
 " And will he come to me? " — asked Arkady, 
 who, after standing for a time a little aloof, had 
 now approached the arbour. 
 
 He allured Mitya to him ; but Mitya flung his 
 head back and began to scream, which greatly 
 mortified Fenitchka. 
 
 " Another time— when he has managed to get 
 used to me," — said Arkady condescendingly, and 
 the two friends went their way. 
 
 " What the deuce is her name? "—inquired 
 BazarofF. 
 
 " Fenitchka . Feodosya,"— replied Arkady. 
 
 72
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 "And her patronymic? I must know that 
 also." 
 
 " Nikolaevna." 
 
 " Bene. What I hke about her is that she does 
 not get too much embarrassed. Any one else 
 would, probably, condemn that in her. What 
 nonsense! what is there to be embarrassed 
 about? She is a mother — well, and she is in the 
 right." 
 
 " She is in the right," — remarked Arkady, — 
 ' but there is my father " 
 
 "He is right too," — interrupted BazarofF. 
 
 " Well, no, I don't think so." 
 
 " Evidently, an extra heir is not to our taste! " 
 
 " Art not thou ashamed to presuppose such 
 thoughts in me! " — put in Arkady, with heat. — 
 " It is not from that j)oint of view that I regard 
 my father as in the wrong. I think he ought to 
 marry her." 
 
 "Ehe-he!"— said Bazaroff calmly.-" How 
 magnanimous we are ! Thou still attributest sig- 
 nificance to marriage; I had not expected that 
 from thee." 
 
 The friends advanced several paces in silence. 
 
 " I have seen all thy father's outfit," — be- 
 gan BazarofF again.—" The cattle are poor, 
 and the horses are broken-down. The buildings, 
 also, are pretty bad; the workmen are arrant 
 idlers ; and the overseer is either a fool or a rascal ; 
 I have not yet thoroughly made out which." 
 
 73
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 " Thou art severe to-day, Evgeny Vasilie- 
 vitch." 
 
 " And the good-natured peasants cheat thy 
 father, without the shadow of a doubt. Thou 
 knowest the adage : ' The Russian peasant will 
 fool even God himself.' " 
 
 " I am beginning to agree with my uncle," — 
 remarked Arkady,—" thou certainly hast a bad 
 opinion of the Russians." 
 
 "That's no great matter! The only good 
 point about the Russian man is, that he has a very 
 bad opinion of himself. The important thing 
 is that twice two makes four, and that the rest 
 is all nonsense." 
 
 " And is nature nonsense? " — said Arkady, 
 gazing thoughtfully far away, across the mottled 
 fields, beautifully and softly illuminated by the 
 sun, which was already near to setting. 
 
 " And nature, also, is nonsense, in the sense in 
 which thou understandest it. Nature is not a 
 temple, but a workshop, and man is a workman 
 therein." 
 
 The slow sounds of a violoncello floated to them 
 from the house at that moment. 
 
 Some one was playing with feeling, although 
 with an inexperienced hand, Schubert's " Ex- 
 pectation," and the sweet melody poured forth 
 on the air like honey. 
 
 " Who 's that? " — ejaculated BazarofF in 
 amazement. 
 
 74
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 " That is my father." 
 
 " Does thy father play on the violoncello? '* 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Why, how old is thy father? " 
 
 " Forty-four." 
 
 BazarofF suddenly burst into loud laughter. 
 
 " What art thou laughing at? " 
 
 " Upon my word! at the age of forty-four, a 
 man, paterfamilias, in the * * * district, plays on 
 the violoncello! " 
 
 BazarofF continued to laugh; but Arkady, in 
 spite of the fact that he worshipped his teacher, 
 did not even smile on this occasion. 
 
 75
 
 X 
 
 About a fortnight passed. Life in Marino 
 flowed on in its usual current: Arkady led the 
 life of a Sybarite, Bazaroif worked. Every one 
 in the house had got accustomed to him, to his 
 careless manners, to his uncomplicated and ab- 
 rupt speeches. Fenitchka, in particular, had be- 
 come so familiar with him that once she ordered 
 him to be awakened at night: Mitya had been 
 seized with convulsions; and he came, as was his 
 wont, half -jesting, half -yawning, sat with her a 
 couple of hours, and relieved the baby. On the 
 other hand, Pavel Petrovitch hated BazarofF 
 with all the powers of his soul : he considered him 
 proud, arrogant, a cynic, a plebeian; he had a 
 suspicion that BazarofF did not respect him, that 
 he almost despised him — him, Pavel KirsanoiF! 
 I Nikolai Petrovitch was afraid of the young 
 i " nihilist," and had doubts as to the advantage 
 of his influence on Arkady; but he liked to listen 
 to him, he liked to be present at his physical and 
 chemical experiments . . Bazaroff" had brought 
 a microscope with him, and busied himself with 
 it for hours together. The servants, also, became 
 attached to him, although he jeered at them: they 
 
 76
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 felt that, nevertheless, he was their brother, not 
 a lordly master. Diinyasha was fond of giggling 
 with him, and cast oblique, significant glances at 
 him as she flitted past like " a snipe "; Piotr, a 
 man in the highest degree conceited and stupid, 
 with strained furrows forever on his brow, a man 
 whose sole merit lay in the fact that he had a 
 polite aspect, read by spelling out the words, and 
 frequently cleaned his coat with a brush— he, also, 
 smiled and beamed as soon as BazarofF directed 
 his attention to him ; the house-servants' brats ran 
 after the " doctur " like puppies. Old Prokofitch 
 was the only one who did not like him, served him 
 his food at table with a grim aspect, called him 
 a " knacker " and a " swindler," and asserted 
 that he, with his side-whiskers, was a regular pig 
 in a bush. Prokofitch was, in his way, as much of 
 an aristocrat as Pavel Petrovitch. 
 
 The best days in the year arrived — the early 
 days of June. The weather was fine; it is true 
 that the cholera was threatening again at a dis- 
 tance, but the inhabitants of the * * * Govern- 
 ment had already got used to its visitations. Ba- 
 zaroff rose very early, and went off two or three 
 versts, not for a walk — he could not endure to 
 walk without an object— but to collect herbs and 
 insects. Sometimes he took Arkady with him. 
 On the way home, they general^ got into a dis- 
 pute, and Arkady was generally worsted, al- 
 though he talked more than his comrade. 
 
 77
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 One day they were very late, for some reason; 
 Nikolai Petrovitch went out into the garden to 
 meet them, and when he got on a level with the 
 arbour he suddenly heard the swift footsteps and 
 the voices of the two young men. They were 
 walking on the other side of the arbour, and could 
 not see him. 
 
 " Thou art not sufficiently well acquainted with 
 my father,"— Arkady was saying. 
 
 Nikolai Petrovitcli concealed himself. 
 
 " Thy father is a nice fellow,"— said BazarofF, 
 — " but he 's a man who is behind the times,^ his 
 song is sung." 
 
 Nikolai Petrovitch lent an ear. . . . Arkady 
 made no repl3\ 
 
 The man who was " behind the times " stood 
 motionless for a couple of minutes, and slowly 
 wended his way homeward. 
 
 " Day before yesterday I saw him reading 
 Pushkin," — went on Bazaroff. ..." Please ex- 
 plain to him that he ought not to do that. He 
 is n't a boy, thou knowest : it 's time for him to 
 fling aside all that twaddle. The idea of being a 
 romanticist at the present day! Give him some- 
 thing practical to read." 
 
 "What ought I to give him?"— asked 
 Arkady. 
 
 " Why, Bruchner's ' StofF und Kraft,' I think, 
 as a starter." 
 
 1 The equivalent of **a back number."— Translatob. 
 
 78
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 *' I think so myself,"— remarked Arkady ap- 
 provingly. — " 'StofF und Kraft ' is written in 
 popular language " 
 
 " See now, how thou and I,"— said Nikolai 
 Petrovitch, after dinner on that same day, to his 
 brother, as he sat in his study:—" have fallen into 
 the ranks of the men behind the times, our song 
 is sung. Well, what of that? Perhaps Bazaroff 
 is right; but I am hurt, I must confess: I had 
 hoped, precisely at this time, to get into close and 
 friendly relations with Arkady, but it turns out 
 that I have lagged behind, he has gone ahead, 
 and we cannot understand each other." 
 
 " But has he gone ahead? And in what way 
 is he so greatly different from us?" exclaimed 
 Pavel Petrovitch impatiently.—" It 's that signor 
 who has put all that into his head. I hate that 
 miserable medical student; in my opinion, he is 
 simply a charlatan; I am convinced that he has 
 not got very far in physics, even with all his 
 frogs." 
 
 " No, brother, do not say that : Bazaroff is 
 clever and learned." 
 
 "And what repulsive conceit! "—interrupted 
 Pavel Petrovitch again. 
 
 " Yes,"— remarked Nikolai Petrovitch:— " he 
 is conceited. But, evidently, that cannot be dis- 
 pensed with; only, this is what I cannot under- 
 stand. Apparently, I am doing everything, in 
 order not to be left behind the age : I have estab- 
 
 79
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 lished my peasants, I have set up a farm, so that 
 I am even spoken of throughout the Govern- 
 ment as a ' red.' I read, I study, — in general, 
 I strive to keep up with contemporary require- 
 ments, — but they say that my song is sung. And 
 I am beginning, brother, to think myself that it 
 is sung." 
 
 " Why so? " 
 
 " This is why. To-day I was sitting and read- 
 ing Pushkin. ... I remember that I had hap- 
 pened upon ' The Gipsies.' . . All at once, Arkady 
 came up to me, and in silence, with such affec- 
 tionate compassion on his face, took the book 
 away from me softly, as from a child, and laid 
 before me another, a German book . . . smiled, 
 and went away, carrying Pushkin with him." 
 
 " You don't say so! And what book did he 
 give thee? " 
 
 " This one." 
 
 And Nikolai Petrovitch drew from the rear 
 pocket of his coat Bruchner's very renowned 
 pamphlet, in the ninth edition. 
 
 Pavel Petrovitch turned it over in his hands. — 
 *' H'm! "—he muttered. — " Arkady Nikolaevitch 
 is attending to thy education. Well, and hast 
 thou tried to read it? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Well, and what was the result? " 
 
 " Either I am stupid, or all this is— nonsense. 
 —It must be that I am stupid." 
 
 80
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 "But thou hast not forgotten thy German? " — 
 asked Pavel Petrovitch. 
 
 " I understand German." 
 
 Again Pavel Petrovitch turned the book over 
 in his hands, and cast a sidelong glance at his 
 brother. Both maintained silence. 
 
 " Yes, by the way,"— began Nikolai Petro- 
 vitch, being, evidently, desirous of changing the 
 conversation, — " I have received a letter from 
 Kolyazin." 
 
 "FromMatvyeillitch?" 
 
 " Yes. He has come to * * * to inspect the 
 Government. He has become a big-wig now, and 
 writes to me that, as a relation, he wishes to see us, 
 and he invites thee and me and Arkady to the 
 town." 
 
 " Wilt thou go? "—asked Pavel Petrovitch. 
 
 "No;-and thou?" 
 
 " And I shall not go, either. What do I want 
 to drag myself fifty versts for, to eat potato-flour 
 pudding. Mathieu wants to exhibit himself to 
 us in all his glory. Devil take him ! the guberna- 
 torial incense will be enough for him ; he '11 get 
 along without us. And a Privy Councillor is not 
 such a great dignitary, after all! If I had re- 
 mained in the service, if I had gone on tugging 
 away at that stupid hauling-collar, I should have 
 been an adjutant-general by this time. And thou 
 and I are people who are behind the times, to 
 boot." 
 
 81
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 " Yes, brother, evidently it is time for us to 
 order our coffins, and cross our hands upon our 
 breasts for the grave," — remarked Nikolai Pe- 
 trovitch, with a sigh. 
 
 " Well, I shall not give in so promptly," — 
 muttered his brother. — " We shall have a fight yet 
 with that medical man, I foresee that." 
 
 The fight took place that very day, at evening 
 tea. Pavel Petrovitch entered the drawing-room 
 all ready for the fray, irritated and with his mind 
 made up. He was merely awaiting a pretext in 
 order to hurl himself upon the enemy, but for a 
 long time, no pretext presented itself. BazarofF, 
 in general, had little to say in the presence 
 of " the old KirsanofFs " (that was what he 
 called the two brothers), but on that evening 
 he felt out of sorts, and gulped down cup 
 after cup in silence. Pavel Petrovitch was all 
 afire with impatience; at last his desire was 
 realised. 
 
 The conversation turned upon one of the neigh- 
 bouring landed proprietors. — " Rubbish, a trashy, 
 would-be little aristocrat," indifferently re- 
 marked Bazaroff, who had met him in Peters- 
 burg. 
 
 " Permit me to ask you,"— began Pavel Petro- 
 vitch, and his lips quivered: — " According to 
 your ideas, do the words ' rubbish ' and ' aristo- 
 crat ' signify one and the same thing?" 
 
 " I said ' trashy, would-be little aristocrat,' "— 
 
 82
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 said BazarofF, lazily swallowing a mouthful of 
 tea. 
 
 " Exactly so, sir; but I assume that you hold 
 the same opinion concerning the aristocrats that 
 you do concerning the trashy, would-be little aris- 
 tocrats. I consider it my duty to inform you that 
 I do not share that view. I take the liberty of say- 
 ing that every one knows me to be a liberal man 
 and one who loves progress ; but, precisely for that 
 reason, I respect the aristocrats — the genuine 
 ones. Remember, my dear sir " (at these words, 
 BazarofF raised his eyes to Pavel Petrovitch) — 
 " remember, my dear sir," he repeated, with ex- 
 asperation:—" the English aristocrats. They do 
 not abate one iota of their rights, and therefore 
 they respect the rights of others; they demand 
 the fulfilment of obligations toward themselves, 
 and therefore they themselves fulfil their duties. 
 The aristocracy has given freedom to England, 
 and it maintains it." 
 
 " We've heard that time a great many times," 
 —retorted BazarofF:—" but what are you under- 
 taking to prove by this? " 
 
 " By this I am undertaking to prove, my dear 
 sir " (when Pavel Petrovitch was angry, he inten- 
 tionally said " eftim " and " efto," ' although he 
 knew perfectly well that the grammar does not 
 admit such words. In this freak, the relics of a 
 
 1 Instead of ^: eto (this) and etim (by this)—/.*., employing the forms 
 in use among the peasants. — Translator. 
 
 83
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 tradition of the epoch of Alexander manifested 
 itself. The big-wigs of that time, on rare occa- 
 sions, when talking in their native tongue, were 
 in the habit of using, some efto, others eoolito: as 
 much as to saj^: " We are thorough-going Rus- 
 sians, and, at the same time, we are grandees who 
 are permitted to scorn rules of school") — "by this 
 \_eftim^ I mean to prove that, without a sense of 
 one's own dignity, without respect for one's self, — 
 and in the aristocrat these sentiments are devel- 
 oped, — there is no stable foundation for the pub- 
 lic .. . bien public . . . the social structure. The 
 individuality, my dear sir, — that is the principal 
 thing: the human individuality must be strong 
 as a rock, for on it everything is erected. I know 
 very well, for example, that you see fit to regard 
 as ridiculous my habits, my toilet, my cleanli- 
 ness, to sum it up; but all that proceeds from a 
 sense of self-respect, from a sense of duty,— yes, 
 sir, yes, sir, of duty. I live in the country, in the 
 wilds, but I do not neglect myself, I respect the 
 man in myself." 
 
 " Pardon me, Pavel Petrovitch," — said Ba- 
 zarofF: — " here you are, respecting j^ourself, and 
 sitting with folded hands: wliere is the good of 
 tliat for the bien piihlic? You would do the same 
 thing, even if you did not respect yourself." 
 
 Pavel Petrovitch turned pallid. — " That is an 
 entirely different question. I am not in the least 
 bound to explain to you, now, why I sit with 
 
 84=
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 folded hands, as you are pleased to express your- 
 self. I merely wish to say that aristocracy is a 
 principle, and only immoral or frivolous people 
 can live in our day without principles. I said 
 that to Arkady the day after his arrival, and I 
 now repeat it to j^ou. Is not that so, Nikolai? " 
 
 Nikolai Petrovitch nodded his head. 
 
 " Aristocracy, liberalism, progress, principles," 
 — Bazaroff was saj^ing in the meantime: — "when 
 you come to think of it, how many foreign .... 
 and useless words! The Russian man does not 
 need them, even as a gift." 
 
 " What does he need, according to you? To 
 hear you, one would suppose that we were outside 
 the pale of humanity, outside its laws. Good 
 heavens! the logic of history demands 
 
 " But what do you want with that logic? We 
 can get along without it." 
 
 " How so? " 
 
 " Why, in this way : you need no logic, I hope, 
 in order to put a piece of bread into your mouth 
 when you are hungry. What use have we for 
 these abstractions? " 
 
 Pavel Petrovitch waved his hands in despair. — 
 " I do not understand you, after that. You are 
 insulting the Russian nation. I do not under- 
 stand how it is possible not to recognise princi- 
 ples and rules? By force of what do you act? " 
 
 " I have already told you, dear uncle, that we 
 recognise no authorities,"— put in Arkady. 
 
 85
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREX 
 
 " We act by force of that which we recognise 
 as useful,"— said BazarofF. — " At the present 
 time, the most useful thing of all is rejection — 
 we reject." 
 
 •' Everything? " 
 
 " Everything." 
 
 " What? Not only art, poetry . . . but also 
 ... it is terrible to utter it . . . ." 
 
 " Everything," — repeated BazarofF, with in- 
 expressible composure. 
 
 Pavel Petrovitch stared at him. He had not 
 expected this, and Arkady fairly flushed crim- 
 son with delight. 
 
 " But pardon me,"— began Nikolai Petro- 
 vitch. "You reject everything, or, to speak more 
 accurately, you demolish everything. . . . But 
 surely, it is necessary to build up also." 
 
 " That 's no affair of ours. . . The place must 
 first be cleared." 
 
 " The contemporary condition of the populace 
 \ demands this," — added Arkady, with impor- 
 tance:—" we must comply with that demand; we 
 have no right to devote ourselves to the gratifica- 
 tion of our personal egoism." 
 I The last phrase, evidently, did not please 
 BazarofF; it smacked of philosophy,— that is to 
 jsay, of romanticism, — for BazarofF called phil- 
 'osophy also romanticism, but he did not consider 
 it necessary to contradict his young disciple. 
 
 "No, nol " — exclaimed Pavel Petrovitch, 
 
 86
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 with a sudden impetuosity: — "I will not be- 
 lieve that you, gentlemen, are accurately ac- 
 quainted with the Russian people; that you are 
 representatives of its requirements, its aspira- 
 tions! No, the Russian people is not what you 
 imagine it to be. It sacredly respects tradition, 
 it is patriarchal, it cannot live without faith. . ." 
 
 "I will not dispute that! "—interrupted Ba- 
 zarofF; — "I am even prepared to agree that, in 
 that respect, you are right. . ." 
 
 " But if I am right . . ." 
 
 " Still, that proves nothing." 
 
 " Precisely, it proves nothing," — repeated 
 Arkady, with the confidence of an expert chess- 
 player who has foreseen his adversary's appar- 
 ently expert move, and hence is not in the least 
 disconcerted. 
 
 " Why does it prove nothing? " — muttered 
 the astounded Pavel Petrovitch. " Do you mean 
 to say tliat j^ou are marching against your 
 people ? " 
 
 " And what if I am? " — exclaimed BazarofF. 
 " The people assume that when the thunder 
 rumbles it is the prophet Elijah driving across 
 the sky in his chariot. What then? Am I 
 bound to agree with them? And, moreover, they 
 are Russians, and am not I a Russian myself? " 
 
 " No, you are not a Russian, after all you have 
 just said! I cannot acknowledge you as a Rus- 
 
 sian." 
 
 87
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 " My grandfather tilled the soil,"— replied 
 Bazaroff, with haughty pride.—" Ask any one 
 of your peasants, in which of us — in you or in 
 me— he would the more readily recognise a 
 fellow-countryman. You do not even know how 
 to talk with him." 
 
 " But you talk with him, and despise him, at 
 one and the same time." 
 
 " What of that, if he deserves to be despised? 
 You censure my tendency, but who told you that 
 it is accidental in my case; that it is not evoked 
 by that same spirit of the peoj^le in the name of 
 which you wage war? " 
 
 " The idea! Much need there is of nihilists! " 
 
 " Whether there is need for them or not, is not 
 for us to decide. Assuredly, you consider your- 
 self not devoid of usefulness." 
 
 " Gentlemen, gentlemen, please refrain from 
 personalities!" exclaimed Nikolai Petrovitch, 
 half -rising from his seat. 
 
 Pavel Petrovitch smiled, and laying his hand 
 on his brother's shoulder, he made him sit down 
 again. — " Don't worry," — he said. — I shall 
 not forget myself, precisely because of that sense 
 of dignity at which Mr. . . . Mr. Doctor jeers 
 so savagely. Pardon me," — he went on, address- 
 ing himself once more to Bazaroff: — " perhaps 
 you think your doctrine is a novelty? You are 
 mistaken in thinking so. The materialism which 
 you preach lias been in vogue more than once 
 
 88
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 already, and has always shown itself to be 
 inadequate. . . ." 
 
 " Another foreign word! " — interrupted Baza- 
 roff. He was beginning to get angry, and his 
 countenance assumed a sort of coarse, brazen 
 hue. — " In the first place, we are not preaching 
 anything; that is not our habit. . . ." 
 
 '*' What do you do, then? " 
 
 " This is what we do. Formerly, in days which 
 are not yet remote, we were accustomed to say 
 that our officials took bribes; that we had no 
 roads, no trade, no regular courts of justice. . ." 
 
 "Well, yes, yes, you are accusers,— I believe 
 that is what it is called. And with many of your 
 accusations I agree, but . . . ." 
 
 " But, later on, it dawned upon us that it 
 was not worth while to prate, and do nothing 
 but prate, about our ulcers; that that led only to 
 trivialities and doctrinairism ; we perceived that 
 our clever men, the so-called leading men and 
 accusers, were good for nothing, that we were 
 busying ourselves with nonsense, talking about 
 some sort of art, about unconscious creation, 
 about parliamentarism, about advocateship, and 
 the devil knows what else, when it was a ques- 
 tion of daily bread, when the crudest supersti- 
 tion was stifling us, when all our stock companies 
 w^ere failing simply through the lack of honest 
 men, when the very liberty which the Govern- 
 ment is working over is hardly likely to be of 
 
 89
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 any use to us, because our peasant Is ready to rob 
 himself, if only he may drink himself dead drunk 
 in the pot-house." 
 
 ** Exactly,"— interrupted Pavel Petrovitch,— 
 " exactly so: you have become convinced of all 
 this, and have made up your minds not to set 
 about anything seriously." 
 
 " And have decided not to set about any- 
 thing," — repeated Bazaroff grimly. He sud- 
 denly became vexed with himself for having 
 been so expansive in the presence of this gentle- 
 man. 
 
 "And only to rail?" 
 
 " Yes, only to rail." 
 
 " And that is called nihilism? " 
 
 " And that is called nihilism," — repeated Baza- 
 roff once more, this time with peculiar insolence. 
 
 Pavel Petrovitch narrowed his eyes slightly. 
 
 "So that's the way the wind blows! "—he 
 said, in a strangely quiet voice. — " Nihilism is 
 bound to aid every woe, and you, you are our 
 deliverers and heroes. But for what do you take 
 others, — those same deliverers, for example? Do 
 not you prate, like all the rest? " 
 
 " We are guilty in some other respects, but not 
 of that sin," — articulated Bazaroff through his 
 teeth. 
 
 " What, then? Do you do anything, pray? 
 Are you preparing to act? " 
 
 Bazaroff made no reply. Pdvel Petrovitch 
 
 90
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 was fairly quivering, but he immediately re- 
 gained control of himself. 
 
 "H'm! . . . To act, to demolish . . . ." he 
 continued. — " But why demolish without even 
 knowing the reason? " 
 
 " We demolish because we are a force," — re- 
 marked Arkady. 
 
 Pavel Petrovitch looked at his nephew, and 
 laughed. 
 
 " Yes, a force, — and a force, as such, does not 
 render an account of itself,"— said Arkady, and 
 straightened himself up. 
 
 "Unhappy man," — roared Pavel Petrovitch; 
 he positively was not able to restrain himself any 
 longer: — " thou mightest take into consideration 
 what it is in Russia that thou art upholding by 
 thy trivial judgment ! No, this is enough to make 
 an angel lose patience! Force! There is force 
 in the savage Kalmyk, and in the Mongolian also, 
 but what is that to us?— Civilisation is dear to us, 
 — yes, sir, yes, my dear sir, its fruits are dear to 
 us. And do not tell me that those fruits are in- 
 significant: the most wretched dauber, un har- 
 houilleur, a player of dance-music who is paid 
 five kopeks an evening, — all of them are more 
 useful than you, because they are representatives 
 of civilisation, and not of crude INIongolian force ! 
 You imagine that you are leaders, but the only 
 proper place for you is in a Kalmyk tent! A 
 force! But pray recollect, in conclusion, you 
 
 91
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 forceful gentlemen, that there are only four men 
 and a half of you, but there are millions of those 
 who will not permit you to trample under foot 
 their most sacred beliefs, who will crush you! " 
 
 " If they crush us, there lies the road," — said 
 Bazaroff . — " Only, that question has not yet been 
 decided. We are not so few in number as you 
 suppose." 
 
 " What? Jesting aside, do you think you will 
 be able to manage things ; that you are more than 
 a match for the whole nation? " 
 
 " Moscow was burned to the ground by a far- 
 thing candle, you know," — replied BazarofF. 
 
 " Precisely, precisely. First an almost satanic 
 pride, then derision. That — that is what seduces 
 the young generation, that is what subjugates the 
 inexperienced hearts of wretched little boys! 
 Look! there sits one of them by your side; you 
 see that he is almost worshipping you; admire 
 him." (Arkady turned aside and frowned.) 
 " And this infection is already widely dissem- 
 inated. I am told that our artists in Rome never 
 set foot inside the Vatican. They regard Ra- 
 phael as almost a fool, because, forsooth, he is an 
 authority; but they themselves are disgustingly 
 impotent and sterile, and their imagination goes 
 no further than ' A Girl at the Fountain,' say 
 what you will ! And the girl is very badly painted, 
 to boot. They are fine fellows in your opinion, 
 are n't they? " 
 
 92
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 " In my opinion,"— retorted Bazaroff :— " Ra- 
 phael is n't worth a copper farthing ; and they 
 are better than he ! " 
 
 " Bravo! bravo! Listen, Arkady .... that's 
 the way young men of the present day ought to 
 express themselves! And, when you come to 
 think of it, how can they help following you ! In 
 former days, young folks had to study ; they did 
 not care to bear the reputation of ignoramuses, 
 so they worked, willy-nilly. But now, all they 
 have to do is to say : ' Everything in the world is 
 nonsense! '—and that's the end of the matter. 
 The young folks are overjoyed. And, in fact, 
 formerly they were simply blockheads, but now 
 they have suddenly become nihilists." 
 
 " That 's where your boasted sense of personal 
 dignity has fooled you," — remarked Bazaroff 
 coolly, while Arkady flared up, and his eyes 
 flashed.—" Our dispute has gone too far. . . I 
 think it would be better to put an end to it. And 
 I shall be ready to agree with you," — he added, 
 rising,—" when you can bring forward a single 
 institution of our contemporary existence, either 
 domestic or social, which does not challenge total 
 rejection." 
 
 " I will present to you millions of such insti- 
 tutions,"— exclaimed Pavel Petrovitch:— "mil- 
 lions ! Why, take the commune, for example." 
 
 A cold sneer curled Bazaroff' s lips.—" Well, so 
 far as the commune is concerned,"— said he:— 
 
 93
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 " you had better talk with your brother. I think 
 he has now found out, in practice, what the com- 
 mune is hke: thorough security, sobriety, and all 
 that sort of thing." 
 
 " The family, then,— the famil)^ as it exists 
 among our peasants!" — shouted Pavel Petro- 
 vitch. 
 
 " That question, also, I think, it would be better 
 for you not to inquire into in detail. You have 
 heard, I fancy, of men making love to their sons' 
 wives? Listen to me, Pavel Petrovitch: give 
 yourself a couple of days of grace ; it is n't likely 
 that you will be able to find anything on the spot. 
 Sort over all classes of our society, and meditate 
 well over each one, and, in the meantime, Arkady 
 and I will . . ." 
 
 " Sneer at everything," — put in Pavel Petro- 
 vitch. 
 
 " No, cut up frogs. Come on, Arkady ; fare- 
 well for the present, gentlemen! " 
 
 The two friends quitted the room. The bro- 
 thers were left alone, and, at first, they merely 
 stared at each other. 
 
 " There," — began Pavel Petrovitch at last: — 
 " there 's the youth of the present day for you! 
 There they are — our heirs! " 
 
 " Our heirs," — repeated Nikolai Petrovitch, 
 with a sigh of depression. He had been sitting on 
 hot coals, as it were, during the whole course of 
 
 94
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 the dispute, and had merely cast furtive, pained 
 glances at Arkady. — " Dost thou know, brother, 
 what has recurred to my mind? One day, I quar- 
 relled with our deceased mother: she screamed, 
 and would not listen to me . . . At last I said 
 to her,—' You cannot understand me,' said I : ' we 
 belong to two different generations,' said I. She 
 was frightfully angry, and I thought to my- 
 self: What is to be done? The pill is bitter— 
 but it must be swallowed. So now, our turn 
 has come, and our successors can say to us: 
 ' You are not of our generation— swallow the 
 pill.' " 
 
 " Thou art too kind-hearted and modest,"— re- 
 turned Pavel Petrovitch;— " on the contrary, I 
 am convinced that thou and I are far more in the 
 right than those little gentlemen, although we ex- 
 press ourselves, perhaps, in somewhat antiquated 
 language, have vielli, and do not possess that au- 
 dacious self-conceit. . . And how puffed up 
 the young people of the present day are! Ask 
 one of them : ' What wine do you prefer, red or 
 white ? ' — ' I am accustomed to prefer red ! ' he 
 replies in a bass voice, and with as pompous a 
 visage, as though the whole universe were gazing 
 at him at the moment. . ." 
 
 " Would not you like some more tea? "—said 
 Fenitchka, sticking her head in at the door: she 
 had not been able to bring herself to enter the 
 
 95
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 drawing-room while the voices of the disputants 
 were resounding there. 
 
 " No, thou mayest give orders to have the 
 samovar removed," — replied Nikolai Petrovitch, 
 rising to greet her. Pavel Petrovitch abruptly 
 wished him " Bon soir" and went off to his own 
 study. 
 
 96
 
 \ 
 
 XI 
 
 Half an hour later, Nikolai Petrovitch betook 
 himself to the garden, to his favourite arbour. 
 Melancholy thoughts had taken possession of him. 
 For the first time he clearly realised the breach 
 between himself and his son ; he had a foreboding 
 that with every passing day it would become 
 wider and wider. So it was in vain that he had 
 sat, at Petersburg, over the newest books, during 
 the winter; in vain had he listened to the conver- 
 sations of the young men; in vain had he rejoiced 
 when he had succeeded in interpolating a remark 
 of his own into their fervent speeches. " My 
 brother says that we are in the right," he thought; 
 " and setting aside all self-conceit, it seems to me, / 
 also, that they are further from the truth than 
 we are; and, at the same time, I feel that they 
 have something which we do not possess, some su- 
 periority over us. . . Youth? No : it is not youth 
 alone. Does not their superiority consist in the 
 fact, that in them there are fewer traces of the 
 gentry regime than in us? " 
 
 Nikolai Petrovitch hung his head, and passed 
 his hand over his face. 
 
 "But must one reject poetry?"— he said to 
 
 97
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 himself again : " is one to feel no sympathy for 
 art, for nature? ..." 
 
 And he cast a glance around him, as though de- 
 sirous of understanding how it was possible not to 
 feel sympathy for nature. The shades of twilight 
 were already beginning to descend; the sun had 
 hidden itself behind a small aspen grove, which 
 lay half a verst distant from the garden; its 
 shadow stretched out illimitably across the mo- 
 tionless fields. A peasant was riding at a gallop 
 on a white horse, along the dark, narrow road 
 which skirted the edge of the grove: his whole 
 figure was clearly visible, everything about him, 
 down to the patch on his shoulder, in spite of the 
 fact that he was riding in the shadow; the hoofs 
 of the horse flashed out with pleasing distinctness. 
 The rays of the sun, on their side, made their wa}^ 
 into the grove, and piercing through the thick- 
 ets, flooded the boles of the trees with so warm a 
 glow, that these were made to resemble the boles 
 of pine-trees, while their foliage turned almost 
 blue, and above it rose the pale azure sky, 
 faintly crimsoned bj^ the sunset. The swallows 
 were flying high; the breeze had completely died 
 down; belated bees hummed languidly and sleep- 
 ily in the lilac blossoms ; midges hovered in a pillar 
 above an isolated, far-outstretching branch. " My 
 God, how beautiful!" thought Nikolai Petro- 
 vitch, and his favourite verses were on the point of 
 springing to liis lips: he recalled Arkady, — "StniF 
 
 98
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 und Kraft "—and fell silent, but continued to sit 
 on, continued to surrender himself to the sad and 
 cheering j^lay of his solitarj^ meditations. He 
 loved to meditate; country life had developed in 
 him this capacity. It was not so very long since 
 he had meditated as he waited for his son at the 
 posting-station, and since then a change had 
 taken place, and their relations, which had still 
 been ill-defined at that time, had become clearly 
 defined .... andin what a way! Again his de- 
 ceased wife presented herself to him, but not as 
 he had known her during the course of many 
 years, — not as a thrifty, kind housewife, but as a 
 young girl with a slender form, an innocently- 
 inquiring glance, and her hair closeh" coiled on 
 her childish neck. He recalled her as he had be- 
 held her for the first time. He was a student then. 
 He had met her on the staircase of the lodgings 
 in which he lived, and, unintentionally, he had jos- 
 tled her, had turned round, had endeavoured to 
 excuse himself, and had only been able to stam- 
 mer, "Pardon, monsieur" while she had bent her 
 head, had laughed, and then, suddenly, had 
 seemed to take fright, and had fled; but at the 
 turn of tlie staircase she had thrown a glance 
 backward at him, had assumed a serious mien, and 
 had blushed. And then, the first timid visits, the 
 half-words, tlie half -smiles, and the awkwardness, 
 and the sadness, and the outbursts, and, at last, 
 tliat panting joy. . . AVhither had all that whirled 
 
 99
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 away? She had become his wife; he had been 
 happy as few on earth are happy. . . " But," he 
 thought : — ' * those dehghtful first moments ; — why 
 could not thev Hve forever, with hfe immortal? " 
 
 He did not attempt to elucidate his thought to 
 himself, but he was conscious that he would have 
 liked to hold fast to that blissful time by some- 
 thing more forcible than memory ; he would have 
 liked to possess once more tangible evidence of his 
 Marya's nearness, to feel her warmth and her 
 breath; and he had already begun to fancy that, 
 above him 
 
 " Nikolai Petrovitch," — resounded Fenitchka's 
 voice near him: — " where are you? " 
 
 He shuddered. He was neither pained nor con- 
 science-stricken. . . He did not even admit the 
 possibility of a comparison between his wife and 
 Fenitchka, but he regretted that she had taken a 
 notion to hunt him up. Her voice instantaneously 
 reminded him of his grey hair, his advanced age, 
 his present .... 
 
 The world of enchantment, into which he had 
 already entered, which had sprung forth from the 
 misty waves of the past, trembled, — and vanished. 
 
 "I am here," — he replied: "I will come; go 
 along." " Here are traces of the old gentry re- 
 gime," flashed through his mind. Fenitchka 
 peeped silently at him in the arbour, and disap- 
 peared; and he noticed, with surprise, that night 
 liad descended since lie had begun to meditate. 
 
 100
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 Everything had grown dark and silent round 
 about, and Fenitchka's face flitted before him, 
 very white and small. He half -rose from his seat, 
 and was about to set out homeward ; but his soft- 
 ened heart would not calm down in his breast, and 
 he began to stroll slowly about the garden, now 
 thoughtfully staring at the ground beneath his 
 feet, now raising his eyes to the sky, where the 
 stars were swarming and twinkling. He walked 
 for a long time, almost to fatigue, and still the 
 tumult within him, a sort of importunate, unde- 
 fined, melancholy tumult, did not subside. Oh, 
 how BazarofF would have laughed at him, had he 
 known w hat was going on within him then ! Ai*- 
 kady himself would have condemned him. Tears, 
 causeless tears, welled up in his eyes— in the eyes 
 of the agriculturist and estate-owner; this was 
 a hundredfold worse than the violoncello. 
 
 Nikolai Petrovitch continued to walk, and 
 could not bring himself to enter the house, that 
 peaceful and cosey nest, which gazed with such 
 welcome at him from all its illuminated windows ; 
 he was not able to tear himself away from the 
 darkness, from the garden, from the feeling of 
 the cool air on his face, and from that sadness, 
 that agitation .... 
 
 At a turn in the path, Pavel Petrovitch met 
 him. 
 
 " What is the matter with thee? "—he asked 
 Nikolai Petrovitch:— " thou art as pale as a 
 
 101
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 ghost ; thou art not well ; why dost not thou go to 
 bed? " 
 
 Nikolai Petrovitch explained to him, in brief 
 words, his spiritual condition, and walked on. 
 Pavel Petrovitch went to the end of the garden, 
 and he also became thoughtful, and he also 
 raised his eyes to heaven. But in his fine, dark 
 eyes there was nothing reflected except the light 
 of the stars. He had not been born romantic, and 
 his elegantly-dry and passionate soul, misan- 
 thropic after the French fashion, did not know 
 how to meditate. ... 
 
 "Dost thou know what?" said Bazaroff to 
 Arkady, that same night. — " A magnificent idea 
 has come into my head. Thy father said, to-day, 
 that he had received an invitation from that dis- 
 tinguished relative of yours. Thy father will not 
 go; let 's flit off, thou and I, to * * * ; that gentle- 
 man has invited thee also, thou knowest. For 
 thou seest what sort of weather has set in here; 
 but we will have a drive, we '11 take a look at the 
 town. We '11 lounge about five or six days, and 
 —hasta!" 
 
 *' And wilt thou return here from there? " 
 
 " No, I must go to my father. Thou knowest 
 he is thirty versts from * * *. I have not seen him 
 for a long time, nor my mother either; I must 
 comfort the old folks. They are good people, 
 especially my father : he 's very amusing. And 
 1 'm their only child." 
 
 102
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 "And wilt thou remain long with them?" 
 
 " I think not. I shall be bored, I fancy." 
 
 " And wilt thou drop in to see us on thy way 
 back?" 
 
 " I don't know. . . I shall see. Come, how is it 
 to be? Shall we go?" 
 
 *' If thou wishest,"— remarked Arkady lazily. 
 
 At heart, he was greatly delighted at his > 
 friend's proposal, but he considered himself > 
 bound to conceal his feeling. Not for nothing 
 was he a nihilist. 
 
 On the following day, he drove off with Baza- 
 rofF to * * *. The young people at Marino re- 
 gretted their departure; Dunyasha even fell to 
 weeping . . . but the older men breathed more 
 freely. 
 
 lL03
 
 XII 
 
 The town of * * *, whither our friends had be- 
 taken themselves, lay in the jurisdiction of a gov- 
 ernor who belonged to the younger generation, 
 was progressive and a despot, as is often the case 
 in Russia. In the course of the first year of his 
 rule, he managed to quarrel, not only with the 
 Marshal of the Nobility for the Government, a 
 retired stafF-captain of cavalry in the Guards, 
 a horse-breeder and hospitable man, but also with 
 his own officials. The altercations which arose in 
 consequence finally attained to such dimensions 
 that the Ministry in Petersburg found it indis- 
 pensable to send a confidential person with a 
 commission to investigate everything on the spot. 
 The choice of the administration fell upon Mat- 
 vyei Ilitch Kolyazin, the son of that Kotyazin un- 
 der whose protection the Kirsanoff brothers had 
 once been. He, also, was one of the " young gen- 
 eration," that is to say, he had only recently passed 
 his fortieth birthdaj^; but he was already aiming 
 to become a statesman, and wore a star on each 
 side of his breast. One, to tell the truth, was of a 
 foreign Order, and of a petty Order, at that. 
 Like the Governor, whom he had come to judge, 
 
 101
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 he regarded himself as progressive, and, being 
 ah'eady a big-wig, did not resemble the majority 
 of big-wigs. He cherished the loftiest opinion of 
 himself; his vanity knew no bounds; but he bore 
 himself simpl}^ his gaze was approving, he lis- 
 tened aiFably and smiled so good-naturedly that, 
 at first sight, he might have passed for a " splen- 
 did fellow." But, on important occasions, he 
 knew how to kick up a row, as the expression goes. 
 " Energy is indispensable, " — he was wont to say 
 then, — " renergie est la preiniere qualite d'un 
 homme d'etat"; but, notwithstanding this, he gen- 
 erally got left in the lurch, and any official who 
 was in the least degree experienced rode him at 
 will. JNIatvyei Hitch referred with great respect 
 to Guizot, and tried to impress upon all and sun- 
 dry that he did not belong to the class of 
 routine men, and bureaucrats, who were be- 
 hind the times, that he let not a single important 
 phenomenon of social life escape his attention. . . 
 All such words were well known to him. He 
 even watched, with careless haughtiness, it is true, 
 the development of contemporary literature : like 
 a grown man who, on encountering upon the 
 street a procession of small boys, sometimes joins 
 their ranks. In reality, Mat"vyei Ilitch had not 
 got very far away from those statesmen of the 
 epoch of Alexander, who, when preparing to 
 spend the evening with Madame Svetchin, who 
 tlien resided in Petersburg, were accustomed to 
 
 105
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 read a page of Condillac in the morning: only, 
 his methods were different — more modern. He 
 was a clever courtier, a very artful blade, and 
 nothing more; he did not understand business, 
 he had no mind, but he knew how to manage his 
 own affairs; no one could saddle and ride him 
 in that quarter, and that is the chief thing, after 
 all. 
 
 Matvyei Hitch received Arkady with the affa- 
 bility peculiar to an enlightened dignitary, — we 
 will say more : with playfulness. Nevertheless, he 
 was amazed when he learned that the relatives 
 whom he had invited had remained in the country. 
 " Thy papa was always a queer fish," he re- 
 marked, twirling the tassels of his magnificent 
 velvet dressing-gown ; and, all at once, turning to 
 a young official in the most well-intentioned, 
 closely-buttoned undress-uniform, he exclaimed, 
 with an anxious aspect, " What? " The young 
 man, whose lips were glued fast together through 
 prolonged silence, rose, and stared at his superior 
 with surprise. But, after having stunned his sub- 
 ordinate, Matvyei Hitch paid no further atten- 
 tion to him. Our officials, in general, are fond of 
 stunning their subordinates, and the means to 
 which they resort for the attainment of this end 
 are decidedly varied. The following method, 
 among others, is frequently employed, — " is quite 
 a favourite," as the English say; the dignitary 
 suddenly ceases to understand the most simple 
 
 106
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREX 
 
 words, deafness descends upon him. He will ask, 
 for example; " What day is to-da}^? " 
 
 He is informed, in the most respectful man- 
 ner: " To-day is Friday, your 'c . . c'len . . . cy." 
 
 " How? What? What do you mean by Fri- 
 day? What Friday?" 
 
 " Friday, your 'c . . . . ccc . . . ccc 
 
 lencv, is a day of the week." 
 
 " Come, now, hast thou taken it into thy head 
 to teach me? " 
 
 Matvyei Hitch was a dignitary, all the same, 
 although he considered himself a liberal. 
 
 " I advise thee, my friend, to call upon the 
 Governor," — he said to Arkady: — " thou under- 
 standest, I give thee this advice, not because I am 
 wedded to antique conceptions as to the necessity 
 of going and making one's bow to the powers 
 that be, but simply because the Governor is a 
 nice man; moreover, thou art, probably, desirous 
 of making acquaintance with the local society. . . 
 For thou art not a bear, I hope ? And he is going 
 to give a great ball the day after to-morrow." 
 
 " Shall you be at the ball? " — inquired Arkady. 
 
 " He is giving it in my honour,"— said Mat\yei 
 Ilitch, almost with compunction. " Dost thou 
 dance?" 
 
 " Yes, but badly." 
 
 " That is a mistake. There are pretty women 
 here, and it is a shame for a j^oung man not to 
 dance. And again, I saj^ this not in virtue of an- 
 
 107
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 tique ideas ; I do not, in the least, assume that the 
 brain must be located in the feet, but Byronism is 
 ridiculous, il a fait son temps." 
 
 " Why, uncle, it is not in the least because of 
 Byronism that I 
 
 " I will introduce thee to the young ladies here, 
 I will take thee under my wing," — interrupted 
 Matvyei Ilitch, and laughed in a self-satisfied 
 way. " Thou wilt find it warm, hey? " 
 
 A servant entered and announced the arrival 
 of the chairman of the Court of Exchequer, a 
 soft-eyed old man, with wrinkled lips, who was ex- 
 tremely fond of nature, especially on a summer 
 day, when, according to his words, " every little 
 bee takes a bribe from every little blossom. . . " 
 Arkady withdrew. 
 
 He found Bazaroff in the inn where they had 
 put up, and tried for a long time to persuade him 
 to go to the Governor. " There 's nothing to be 
 done!" said Bazaroff at last,— "as you have made 
 your bed, so you must lie upon it. We have come 
 to inspect the landed gentry, so let 's inspect 
 them!" 
 
 The Governor received the young men cour- 
 teously, but did not invite them to sit down, 
 and did not sit down himself. He was forever 
 bustling and hurrying; he donned his tight un- 
 dress-uniform in the morning, and an excessively 
 tight neck-cloth, never ate or drank his fill, was 
 forever giving orders. He had been nicknamed 
 
 10$
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 in the Government " Bourdaloue, " the allusion 
 not being to the famous French preacher, but to 
 hurdd. ^ He invited Kirsanoff and BazarofF to 
 his ball, and a couple of minutes later he invited 
 them a second time, under the impression that 
 they were brothers, and calling them " Kaisa- 
 rofF." 
 
 They were on their way home from the Gov- 
 ernor's when, suddenly, from one of the passing 
 drozhkies there sprang out a man of short stature, 
 in a Slavyanophil hussar jacket, and with the 
 shout, " Evgeny Vasilitch! " flung himself on Ba- 
 zarofF. 
 
 " Ah! so it 's you, Herr Sitnikoff,"— said Ba- 
 zarofF, and he continued to stride along the side- 
 walk: — " how do you happen to be here? " 
 
 "Just imagine! quite by accident," — replied 
 the other, and, turning toward the di'ozhky, he 
 waved his hand five times, and shouted : " Follow 
 us, follow us! My father has business here," — he 
 went on, as he sprang across the gutter:—*' well, 
 and so he invited me. ... I learned to-day of 
 your arrival, and have already been to see you." 
 (In fact, the friends, on their return to their 
 room, found there a card with the corners turned 
 down, and the name of SitnikofF in French on 
 one side and in Slavonic script on the other.) " I 
 hope you are not coming from the Governor? " 
 
 " Do not hope, — we are straight from him." 
 
 1 A bad, muddy beverage. — Translator. 
 
 109
 
 FATHERS AND CIIILUREN 
 
 " Ah! in that case I shall call upon him also. . . 
 Evgeny Vasilitch, introduce me to your ... to 
 him. . ." 
 
 " SitnikofF—Kirsanoff,"— growled Bazaroff, 
 without halting. 
 
 " I feel greatly flattered," — began Sitnikoff, 
 walking sideways, grinning, and hastily pull- 
 ing off his far too elegant gloves. — " I have 
 heard a great deal .... I am an old acquain- 
 tance of Evgeny Vasilitch, and, I may say, his 
 disciple. I am indebted to him for my regenera- 
 tion " 
 
 Arkady looked at BazarofF's disciple. An agi- 
 tated and stupid expression lay upon the small 
 but agreeable features of his smoothty-licked 
 face ; his small eyes, which had the appearance of 
 being crushed in, stared intently and uneasily, 
 and he laughed uneasily, with a sort of curt, 
 wooden laugh. 
 
 "Would you believe it," — he went on: "that 
 when Evgenj^ Vasilitch said, for the first time, 
 in my presence, that one ought not to respect the 
 authorities, I experienced such rapture .... I 
 fairly seemed to have recovered my sight ! Here, 
 said I to myself, I have found a man, at last ! By 
 the way, Evgeny Vasilitch, you must, without 
 fail, call on one of the ladies here, who is thor- 
 oughly in a position to understand you, and for 
 whom your visit will constitute a veritable festi- 
 val; you have heard of her, I think? " 
 
 110
 
 FATHERS AXD CHILDREN 
 
 " Who is she? "—articulated Bazaroff unwill- 
 ingly. 
 
 " Madame Kukshin, Eudoxie, — Evdoksiya 
 Kukshin. She is a remarkable nature, emanci- 
 pee in the ti-ue sense of the word, a leading 
 woman. Do you know what? Let's go to her 
 now, all together. She lives a couple of paces 
 from here. We will breakfast there. You have 
 not breakfasted yet, of course? " 
 
 " Not yet." 
 
 " Well, that 's fine. She has separated from 
 her husband, you understand; she is not depen- 
 dent on anybody." 
 
 " Is she pretty? " interrupted Bazaroff. 
 
 ** N . . . no, I cannot say that she is." 
 
 " Then, why the devil do you invite us to go 
 to her? " 
 
 "Well, you jester, you jester! . . . She will 
 set us up a bottle of champagne." 
 
 " You don't sa}^ so ! The practical man is vis- 
 ible at once. By the way, is your father still en- 
 gaged in revenue-farming? " 
 
 " Yes," — said SitnikofF hastily, and emitted a 
 shrill laugh. " Well, how is it to be ? Is it a go? " 
 
 " I really do not know." 
 
 " Thou hast desired to observe people, so go," 
 — remarked Arkady in an undertone. 
 
 " But what of you, JNIr. KirsanofF? " inter- 
 posed Sitnikoff. "Pray come also; we cannot 
 get along without you." 
 
 HI
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 " But how can we all descend upon her at 
 oncef 
 
 " Never mind. Kukshina ^ is a splendid fel- 
 low." 
 
 " Will there be a bottle of champagne? " in- 
 quired Bazaroff. 
 
 "Three bottles!" exclaimed Sitnikoff.-" I 
 guarantee that." 
 
 " How? " 
 
 " By my own head." 
 
 " By your father's purse would be bettf. 
 However, we will go." 
 
 1 The feminine form of the surname, without prefix, is sometime" 
 used, as well as the masculine. — Translator. 
 
 112
 
 XIII 
 
 The tiny house of nobility, after the Moscow 
 fashion, in which dwelt Avdotya ^ Nikitishna, or 
 Evdoksiya Kukshin, was situated on one of the 
 recently-burned streets of the town of * * *; (it 
 is a well-known fact that our provincial capitals 
 burn down every five years) . At the door, over a 
 visiting-card nailed up askew, the bell-handle was 
 visible, and in the anteroom the visitors were met 
 by a woman, who was either a servant or a com- 
 panion, in a cap, — plain tokens of the house-mis- 
 tress's progressive tendencies. Sitnikoff inquired 
 whether Avdotya Nikitishna was at home. 
 
 " Is that you, Victor? " — rang out a shrill voice 
 from the adjoining room. — " Come in." 
 
 The woman in the cap immediately vanished. 
 
 " I am not alone,"— said Sitnikoff, briskly 
 flinging aside his Hungarian cloak, under which 
 appeared something in the nature of a waistcoat, 
 or a sack-coat, and casting a daring glance at Ar- 
 kady and BazaroiF. 
 
 " No matter,"— rephed the voice.— "Entrez! " 
 
 The young men entered. The room in which 
 they found themselves resembled a working- 
 
 ^ Avddtya is the vulgar, popular form of Evddksiya. — Tbahslator. 
 
 113
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 study rather than a drawing-room. Documents, 
 letters, thick numbers of Russian journals, chiefly 
 uncut, were scattered about on the dusty tables; 
 everywhere the discarded butts of cigarettes 
 gleamed whitely. On the leather couch half- 
 reclined a lady, young, fair-haired, rather dishev- 
 elled, in a silk gown which was not quite clean, 
 with big bracelets on her short arms, and a lace 
 kerchief on her head. She rose from the divan, 
 and carelessly drawing up on her shoulders a vel- 
 vet cloak lined with ermine which had grown yel- 
 low, she languidly said, " Good morning, Victor," 
 and shook SitnikofF by the hand. 
 
 " Bazaroff, KirsanofF,"— said he abruptly, in 
 imitation of BazarofF. 
 
 " You are welcome,"— replied Madame Kuk- 
 shin ; and riveting upon BazaroiF her round eyes, 
 between which, like an orphan, her tiny, snub nose 
 gleamed redly, she added:—" I know you,"— and 
 shook hands with him also. 
 
 BazarofF knit his brows. There was nothing 
 monstrous about the tiny and homely figure of the 
 emancipated woman; but the expression of her 
 face had an unpleasant efFect on the spectator. 
 One involuntaril}'^ wanted to ask her: "What's 
 the matter? Art thou hungry? or bored? or 
 afraid? Why art thou so gloomy?" Her 
 soul, like that of SitnikofF, was always aching. 
 She talked and moved in a very free-and-easy 
 way, but, at the same time, awkwardly: evidently 
 
 114.
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 she regarded herself as a good-natured and sim- 
 ple being, and yet, no matter what she did, it con- 
 stantly seemed to you that that was not precisely 
 what she meant ; everything turned out with her, 
 as the children say, done " on purpose "—that is 
 to say, not simply, not naturall3^ 
 
 " Yes, yes, I know you, Bazaroff,"— she re- 
 peated. ( She had a habit, pecuhar to many pro- 
 vincial and JMoscow ladies, of calling men by their 
 surnames on first acquaintance.) "Will you 
 have a cigar? " 
 
 " A cigar is all well enough,"— chimed in Sit- 
 nikoff , who had managed to throw himself into an 
 arm-chair, in a lolhng posture, and stick his foot 
 up in the air:—" but pray give us some breakfast. 
 We are frightfully hungry ; and order them to set 
 up a bottle of champagne." 
 
 " Sybarite,"— said Evdoksiya, and laughed. 
 ( When she laughed her upper gum was laid bare 
 above her teeth.) — " He 's a Sybarite, is n't he, 
 Bazaroff? " 
 
 " I love comfort, life,"— remarked Sitnikoff 
 pompousl}^ — " That does not prevent my being 
 a liberal." 
 
 "Yes, it does— it does prevent!" — exclaimed 
 Evdoksiya; but, nevertheless, she ordered her 
 maid-servant to attend to the breakfast and the 
 champagne. — " What do you think about it? "— 
 she added, addressing Bazaroff. — " I am con- 
 vinced that you share my opinion." 
 
 115
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 "Well, no," — returned Bazaroff: — "a piece 
 of meat is better than a piece of bread, even from 
 the chemical point of view." 
 
 " And do you occupy yourself with chemistry? 
 It is my passion. I have even invented a mastic 
 myself." 
 
 "A mastic? You?" 
 
 " Yes, I. And do you know with what object? 
 In order to make dolls, and heads which shall not 
 break. For I am practical too. But all is not 
 j^et ready. I must still read Liebig. By the way, 
 have you read Kislyakoff 's article about woman's 
 work, in the Moscow News? Read it, please. 
 You are interested in the woman question, of 
 course? And in schools also? What does your 
 friend do? What is his name? " 
 
 Madame Kukshin dropped all her questions, 
 one after another, with enervated carelessness, 
 without waiting for answers ; spoiled children talk 
 to their nurses in the same way. 
 
 " My name is Arkady Nikolaevitch Kirsa- 
 noff," — said Arkady: — "and I do nothing." 
 
 Evdoksiya laughed aloud. — " Isn't that nice? 
 What, don't you smoke? Victor, you know that 
 I am angry with you." 
 
 "What" for?" 
 
 " I hear that you have begun to praise Georges 
 Sand again. vShe 's out of date, and that 's all 
 there is about it! How is it possible to compare 
 
 116
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 her with Emerson! She has no ideas whatcv^er 
 as to education, or physiology, or anything. I am 
 convinced that she never even heard of embry- 
 ology; and in our time— how can you get along 
 without that? " ( Evdoksiya even flung her hands 
 apart.) " Akh, what a wonderful article Elisye- 
 vitch has written on that subject! He is a tal- 
 ented gentleman." (Evdoksiya constantly used 
 the word " gentleman " instead of " man.") — 
 " BazarofF, sit down beside me on the divan. Per- 
 haps you do not know that I am frightfully afraid 
 of you." 
 
 " Why so, permit me to inquire." 
 
 " You are a dangerous gentleman ; you are such 
 a critic. Akh, my God! I am ridiculous, I am 
 talking like some landed proprietress on the 
 steppe. However, I really am a landed proprie- 
 tress. I manage my own estate, and just imag- 
 ine! my superintendent, Erofei, is a wonderful 
 type, just like Cooper's Pathfinder: there is some- 
 thing direct about him. I have settled down here 
 for good. The town is intolerable, is n't it? But 
 what is one to do? " 
 
 " The town is just like the average town,"— re- 
 marked BazarofF coolly. 
 
 " All the interests are so petty,— that is what is 
 so dreadful ! I used to live in Moscow during the 
 winter . . . but now my spouse, M'sieu Kukshin, 
 lives there. And then, too, Moscow is now ... I 
 
 117
 
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 don't know what,— but not what it should be. I 
 think of going abroad; I was on the very point 
 of going last year." 
 
 " To Paris, of course? "—asked Bazaroif. 
 
 " To Paris, and to Heidelberg." 
 
 " Why to Heidelberg? " 
 
 " Good gracious!— why, Bunsen is there." 
 
 BazarofF found no answer to this. 
 
 " Pierre Sapozhnikoff ... do you know him? " 
 
 " No, I do not." 
 
 "Good gracious!— Pierre Sapozhnikoff . . . 
 he 's forever at Lydie KhostatoiF's house." 
 I do not know her, either." 
 Well, he offered to escort me. Thank God, 
 I am free, I have no children. . . "What was that 
 I said: thank G^o^/— However, it makes no dif- 
 ference." 
 
 Evdoksiya rolled a cigarette with her fingers 
 which were stained brown with tobacco, passed 
 her tongue across it, sucked it, and lighted it. A 
 maid-servant entered with a tray. 
 
 " Ah, here is breakfast ! Will you have some 
 appetiser? Victor, uncork the bottle. That 's in 
 your line." 
 
 " It is, it is," — murmured SitnikofF, and again 
 he laughed shrilly. 
 
 "Are there pretty women here?" — inquired 
 Bazaroff , as he drained his third glass. 
 
 " Yes,"— replied Evdoksiya:— " but they are 
 all sucli empty-headed things. For instance, mon 
 
 118
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 aviiCj Madame OdintzofF, is n't bad-looking. 
 It 's a pity that her reputation is rather .... But 
 that would be nothing, only she has no freedom 
 of views, no breadth, no ... . you know what. 
 The whole system of education must be changed. 
 I have already given thought to that subject; our 
 women are very badly brought up." 
 
 " You can do nothing with them,"— interposed 
 SitnikofF.— " One must scorn them, and I do 
 scorn them, wholly and completely! " (The pos- 
 sibility of scorning and expressing his scorn was 
 a most agreeable sensation for Sitnikoff ; he at- 
 tacked women in particular, without a suspicion 
 that, a few months later, he was doomed to cringe 
 before his own wife, merely because she had been 
 born a Princess Durdoleosoif.) — " Not one of 
 them has ever been in a condition to comprehend 
 our conversation; not one of them is worth it — 
 that we, serious men, should talk about her! " 
 
 " And they have no need whatever to compre- 
 hend our conversation,"— said BazarofF. 
 
 " Of whom are you speaking? "—put in 
 Evdoksiya. 
 
 " Of pretty women." 
 
 "What? So j^ou share the opinion of 
 Prud'hon? " 
 
 BazaroiF drew himself up haughtily. " I share 
 no one's opinions: I have my own." 
 
 "Down with authority! "—shouted SitnikofF, 
 delighted at the opportunity to express himself 
 
 119
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 harshly in the presence of a man before whom he 
 cringed. 
 
 " But Macaulay himself ..." began Madame 
 Kukshm. . . 
 
 "Down with Macaulay! "—thundered Sitni- 
 koff . — " Do you stand up for those mean peasant 
 women? " 
 
 " Not for the peasant women, but for the rights 
 of women, whom I have sworn to defend to the 
 last drop of my blood." 
 
 " Down with them!"— But here SitnikoiF came 
 to a halt.—" But I do not deny them,"— said he. 
 
 " Yes, I see that you are a Slavyanophil ! " 
 
 " No, I am not a Slavyanophil, although, of 
 course . . . ." 
 
 " Yes, yes, yes ! You are a Slavyanophil ! 
 You are the continuer of ' The Household Regu- 
 lations.' ^ You ought to have a whip in your 
 hand." 
 
 " A whip is a good thing,"— remarked Baza- 
 roff: " but here we have got to the last drops. . ." 
 
 " Of what? " — interrupted Evdoksiya. 
 
 " Of the champagne, most respected Avdotya 
 Nikitishna, — of the champagne — not of your 
 blood." 
 
 " I cannot listen with indifference when you 
 attack women,"— went on Evdoksiya.—" It is 
 
 1 "The Domostr6y" ("The House Regulator"; or, "The House- 
 hold Rcnrulations"): reputed to be by Priest Sylvester, the famous 
 Confessor of Ivin the Terrible in his youth. Its precepts concerning 
 women and their treatment are of patriarchal rigour. — Tuaxsi^ator. 
 
 120
 
 FATHERS AND CIIII.DREN 
 
 dreadful, dreadful. Instead of attacking them, 
 you had better read IVIichelet's ' De 1' Amour.' 
 It 's wonderful! Gentlemen, let us talk of love," 
 —added Evdoksiya, languidly dropping her hand 
 on the crumpled pillow of the divan. 
 
 A sudden silence ensued.—" No, why talk 
 about love?" — remarked BazarofF:— " but you 
 mentioned Madame Odintzoff a while ago — I be- 
 lieve that is what you called her? Who is that 
 lady? " 
 
 "A charming, charming creature!" squeaked 
 SitnikofF. " I will introduce you. She is clever, 
 wealthy, a widow. Unfortunately, she is not yet 
 sufficiently developed. She ought to become more 
 intimately acquainted with our Evdoksiya. I 
 drink to your health, Eiidoxie! Let us clink 
 glasses ! ' Et toe, et tin-tin-tin. Et toe, et toe, et 
 tin-tin-tin ! ' ". . . . 
 
 " Victor, you are a scapegrace." 
 
 Breakfast lasted a long time. The first bottle 
 of champagne was followed by a second, a third, 
 and even a fourth. . . . Evdoksiya chattered in- 
 cessantly; SitnikofF seconded her. They talked 
 a great deal on the subjects: what is marriage — 
 a prejudice or a crime? and how are people born 
 — all alike or not? and in what, precisely, does 
 individuality consist? At last, the discussion 
 reached a point where Evdoksiya, all flushed crim- 
 son with the wine she had drunk, and tapping 
 the keys of a discordant piano v/itli her flat nails, 
 
 121
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 began to sing, at first gipsy songs, then the ro- 
 mance of Seymour-SchifF, " Sleepy Granada 
 slumbers " ; and SitnikoiF bound up his head with 
 a scarf and represented the dying lover, at the 
 words : 
 
 (( 
 
 And melt my mouth with thine 
 In a burning kiss. ' "* 
 
 At last Arkady could endure it no longer. 
 '" Gentlemen, this has come to resemble Bedlam," 
 he remarked aloud. BazarofF, who had only in- 
 terjected a sneering word now and then into the 
 (Conversation, — he was mainly occupied with the 
 champagne, — yawned loudly, rose, and without 
 taking leave of the hostess, went away, in com- 
 pany with Arkady. SitnikofF rushed after them. 
 
 " Well, what do you think, — well, what do you 
 think? " — he kept asking, obsequiously running 
 now to the right, now to the left: — " did n't I tell 
 you she 's a remarkable person ! We ought to 
 have more women of that sort! In her way, she 
 is a highly -moral phenomenon." 
 
 " And is that establishment of thy father a 
 moral phenomenon also? " — said BazarofF, jerk- 
 ing his finger in the direction of a dram-shop 
 which they were passing at the moment. 
 
 Again SitnikofF emitted a squealing laugh. 
 He was very much ashamed of his origin, and did 
 not know whether to feel flattered or insulted by 
 JBazarofF's unexpectedly addressing him as iliou. 
 
 122
 
 XIV 
 
 A FEW days later the ball came off at the Gov- 
 ernor's. Matvyei Ilitch was the real " hero of the 
 festival "; the Marshal of Nobility for the Gov- 
 ernment announced to all and sundry that he had 
 come especially out of respect for him, and the 
 Governor, even at the ball, even although he still 
 remained impassive, continued to " issue orders.'* 
 Matvyei Ilitch's softness of manner was equalled 
 only by his stateliness. He flattered every 
 one— some with a touch of fastidiousness, others 
 with a touch of respect ; he lavished his attentions 
 upon the ladies, " en vrai chevalier franfais/' and 
 laughed incessantly^ with a ringing, isolated 
 laugh, as was befitting a dignitary. He slapped 
 Arkady on the back, and loudly called him his 
 " dear little nephew ": conferred upon Bazaroif, 
 who was dressed in a rather old dress suit, a pre- 
 occupied but condescending, sidelong glance 
 across his cheek, and an unintelligible but cour- 
 teous bellow, in which the only sounds distinguish- 
 able were *' I " and " ss'ma "; gave one finger to 
 Sitnikoff, and smiled at him, but with his head 
 already turned away; even to Madame Kukshin, 
 who made her appearance at the ball without any 
 
 123
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 crinoline whatever, and in dirty gloves, but with 
 a bird of paradise in her hair,— even to Madame 
 Kukshm he said " Enchante." There was a mul- 
 titude of people, and of cavaliers there was no 
 lack; the civilians chiefly congregated along the 
 wall, but the military men danced assiduously, 
 especially one of them who had spent six weeks 
 in Paris, where he had learned divers audacious 
 exclamations, such as: "Zut" ''Ah fichtrrrer 
 " Pst, pstj mon hibi/" and so forth. He pro- 
 nounced them to perfection, with genuine Pa- 
 risian chic, and, at the same time, he said '' si 
 j'aurais " instead of " si ^avais" " ahsolument " 
 in the sense of "without fail"; in a word, ex- 
 pressed himself in that Great Russian-French 
 dialect at which the French laugh so heartily 
 when they are under no necessity to assure us that 
 we speak their language like angels — " comme des 
 anges." 
 
 Arkady danced badly, as we already know, and 
 Bazaroff did not dance at all: both of them en- 
 sconced themselves in a corner, where Sitnikoff 
 joined them. With a sneering smile depicted on 
 his face, and emitting venomous comments, he 
 stared insolently around, and seemed to be gen- 
 uinely enjoying himself. All at once, his face 
 underwent a change, and turning to Arkady, he 
 said, as though discomfited: "Madame Odint- 
 zoff has arrived." 
 
 Arkady looked about him, and descried a wo- 
 
 12A
 
 FATHERS AND CIIILUREN 
 
 man of lofty stature, in a black gown, who was 
 standing at the door of the hall. Slie impressed 
 him by the dignity of her carriage. Her bare 
 arms hung beautifully along her stately figure; 
 light spraj^s of fuchsia fell, along with her gleam- 
 ing hair, upon her sloping shoulders; her bright 
 eyes gazed calmly and intelligently — that was ex- 
 actly it, calmly, not thoughtfully — from beneath 
 her somewhat overhanging white brow, and her 
 lips were wreathed in a barely perceptible smile. 
 A sort of soft, caressing force emanated from her 
 face. 
 
 "Do you know her? " — Arkady asked Sitni- 
 kofF. 
 
 " Intimately. Would you like to have me in- 
 troduce you? " 
 
 " Pray do ... . after this quadrille." 
 
 BazarofF also turned his attention to Madame 
 OdintzofF. 
 
 " What sort of a figure is that? "—he said. — 
 "She does not resemble the other women." 
 
 Having awaited the end of the quadrille, Sitni- 
 koff led Arkady up to Madame OdintzofF; but he 
 did not seem to be intimately acquainted with her, 
 and got tangled up in his speech, and she stared 
 at him in some surprise. But her face assumed a 
 cordial expression wlien she heard Arkady's sur- 
 name. She asked him whether he was not the son 
 of Nikolai Petrovitch? 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 125
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 " I have seen your father a couple of times ; and 
 I have heard a great deal about him," — she con- 
 tinued; — " I am very glad to make your acquain- 
 tance." 
 
 At that moment, some adjutant or other flew 
 up to her, and invited her for a quadrille. She 
 accepted. 
 
 "Do you dance? "—asked Arkady respect- 
 fully. 
 
 " Yes. But what makes you think that I do 
 not? Is it that I seem to you too old? " 
 
 " Good gracious, how can you ! ... In that 
 case, permit me to invite you for the mazurka." 
 
 Madame OdintzofF smiled graciously. " Very 
 well," — she said, and looked at Arkady, not ex- 
 actly with condescension, but as married sisters 
 look at very youthful brothers. Madame Odin- 
 tzofF was a little older than Arkady, — she was 
 nine-and-twenty, — but in her presence he felt 
 himself a school-boy, a student, as though the dif- 
 ference of j^ears between them were much greater. 
 Matvyei Hitch approached her with a majestic 
 mien and obsequious speeches. Arkady stepped 
 to one side, but continued to observe her : he never 
 took his eyes from her during the entire course of 
 the quadrille. She chatted with her partner as un- 
 constrainedly as with the dignitary; she moved 
 her head and eyes softly, and laughed softly a 
 couple of times. Her nose, as is the case with 
 most Russians, was rather thick, and her com- 
 
 126
 
 1 ATHERS AND CHILDliEN 
 
 plexion was not perfectly clear; notwithstanding 
 this, Arkady made up his mind that he had never 
 yet met so charming a woman. The sound of her 
 voice did not quit his ears; it seemed as though 
 the verj^ folds of her gown fell differently from 
 those of other women, in broader, more stately 
 wise, and her movements were particularly flow- 
 ing and natural, at one and the same time. 
 
 Arkadj^ felt a certain timidity at heart when, 
 at the first sounds of the mazurka,^ he seated him- 
 self by the side of his lady, and, preparing to 
 enter into conversation, merely passed his hand 
 over his hair, and could find not a single word to 
 say. But he did not remain quaking and agitated 
 long; Madame Odintzoff's composure communi- 
 cated itself to him : a quarter of an hour had not 
 elapsed before he was telling her about his father, 
 his uncle, life in Petersburg and in the country. 
 Madame Odintzoff listened to him with polite in- 
 terest, lightly opening and shutting her fan; his 
 chit-chat ceased when cavaliers led her out ; Sitni- 
 koff, among others, invited her twice. She re- 
 turned, sat down again, took up her fan, and her 
 bosom did not even heave more rapidly, while Ar- 
 kady began again to chatter, all permeated with 
 happiness to find himself near her, to talk with 
 her, gazing into her eyes, at her beautiful brow, 
 at the whole of her lovely, dignified, and clever 
 
 1 The mazurka greatly resembles the cotillon; but differs in the 
 animated, graceful step peculiar to it, and its spirited abandon, when 
 properly danced. — Tkanslatob. 
 
 127
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 countenance. She herself talked little, but know- 
 ledge of life was revealed in her words ; from some 
 of her remarks, Arkady inferred that this young 
 woman had already succeeded in feeling and 
 thinking a great deal. . . . 
 
 " Who was that you were standing with," — 
 she asked him,—" when Mr. SitnikofF led you up 
 to me? " 
 
 " Did you notice him? " — asked Arkady in his 
 turn. — " He has a splendid face, has n't he? He 
 is a certain Bazaroff , my friend." 
 
 Arkady began to talk about " his friend." 
 
 He talked about him in such detail, and with 
 such enthusiasm, that Madame OdintzofF turned 
 toward him, and looked attentively at him. In 
 the meantime, the mazurka was drawing to its 
 close. Arkady was sorry to part from his lady: 
 he had passed about an hour so pleasantly with 
 her! To tell the truth, during the whole course 
 of that time he had constantly felt as though she 
 were condescending to him, as though he ought to 
 be grateful to her . . . but young hearts are not 
 oppressed bj^ that feeling. 
 
 The music stopped. '' Merci, ''^— said Madame 
 Odintzoff, rising.— "You have promised to call 
 on me: bring your friend with you. I have a 
 great curiosity to see a man who has the boldness 
 not to believe in anything." 
 
 The Governor approached Madame Odintzoff, 
 announced that supper was ready, and, with a 
 
 [128
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 careworn countenance, offered lier his arm. As 
 she walked away, she turned round to bestow a 
 last smile and nod on Arkady. He bowed low, 
 gazed after her (how slender her figure seemed to 
 him, bathed in the greyish lustre of the black 
 silk!) , and thinking, " At this moment she has al- 
 ready forgotten my existence,"— he felt in his 
 soul a sort of exquisite submission. . . . 
 
 " Well, what now? "— BazarofF asked Arkady, 
 as soon as the latter returned to him in his corner. 
 —"Hast thou had pleasure? A gentleman has 
 just been telling me that that lady— oi, oi, oi; but, 
 apparently, the gentleman is a fool. Well, and, 
 in thy opinion, what is she, — really ' oi', oi, oi '? " 
 
 " I do not in the least understand that defini- 
 tion,"— replied Arkady. 
 
 " The idea! What innocence! " 
 
 " In that case, I do not understand your gentle- 
 man. Madame OdmtzofF is very lovely,— that is 
 indisputable,— but she bears herself so coldly and 
 strictly, that " 
 
 "Still waters . . . thou knowest! "— put in 
 Bazaroff . " Thou sayest she is cold. That 's 
 precisely where the savour comes in. Thou art 
 fond of ice-cream, art thou not? " 
 
 " Perhaps," stammered Arkady.—" I cannot 
 judge as to that. She wishes to make thy ac- 
 quaintance, and has asked me to bring thee to 
 her." 
 
 "I can imagine how tliou hast described me! 
 
 129
 
 / 
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 However, thou hast done well. Take me. What- 
 ever she may be, a simple provincial lioness, or 
 an ' emancijjee ' after the style of Madame Kuk- 
 shin, I have not seen such shoulders as hers in a 
 long time." 
 
 Arkady writhed at Bazaroff's cynicism; and, as 
 frequently happens, he reproved his friend, but 
 not for the precise thing which he did not like in 
 him. . . . 
 
 " Why art not thou willing to admit freedom 
 of thought in women? "—he said in a low voice. 
 
 " Because, brother, according to my observa- 
 tions, only the monsters among women think 
 freely." 
 
 At this the conversation terminated. Both 
 young men went away immediately after supper. 
 Madame Kukshin laughed behind their backs, in 
 a nervously-venomous way, but not without trep- 
 idation : her vanity had been profoundly wounded 
 by the fact that neither of them had paid her any 
 attention. She remained later than any one else 
 at the ball, and at three o'clock in the morning 
 danced the polka-mazurka with SitnikoiF, in the 
 Parisian style. And with this edifying spectacle 
 the gubernatorial festival wound up. 
 
 130
 
 XV 
 
 " Let us see to what class of mammals these 
 persons belong,"— said Bazaroff to Arkady on 
 the following day, as, in company with him, he as- 
 cended the stairs of the hotel in which Madame 
 Odintzoff was stopping. — " JNI}^ nose scents out 
 that everything is not quite as it should be." 
 
 " I am amazed at thee! " — exclaimed Ai'kadv. 
 — " What? Thou, thou, BazarofF, art wedded to 
 that narrow moralitj^ which " 
 
 " What a queer fellow thou art! " — interrupted 
 Bazaroff carelessly.—" Is it possible that thou 
 dost not know that in our jargon, and with the 
 like of us, ' not quite as it should be ' signifies * as 
 it should be '? It means there is something to be 
 gained out of it. Didst not thou thyself say to- 
 day that she had married strangely? — although, 
 in my opinion, to marry a wealthy old man is not 
 at all a strange affair, but, on the contrary, sen- 
 sible. I do not believe the town gossip ; but I like 
 to think, as our cultured Governor says, that it 
 is just." 
 
 Arkady made no reply and knocked at the door 
 of the room. A young footman in livery con- 
 ducted both friends into a large room, badty fur- 
 
 131
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 nished, like all rooms in Russian hotels, but filled 
 with flowers. Madame Odintzoff soon made her 
 appearance in a simple morning gown. She 
 seemed still younger, in the light of the spring 
 sunshine. Arkady presented BazarofF to her, and 
 observed, with secret surprise, that the latter ap- 
 peared to be disconcerted, while Madame Odin- 
 tzoff remained perfectly tranquil, as on the pre- 
 ceding evening. Bazaroff himself felt that he 
 was confused, and he grew vexed. " There thou 
 goest! — thou art afraid of a woman!" he 
 thought ; and lolling in an arm-chair, in a manner 
 quite equal to SitnikofF's, he began to talk with 
 exaggerated freedom, while Madame Odintzoff 
 never took her bright eyes off him. 
 
 Anna Sergyeevna Odintzoff was the daugh- 
 ter of Sergj^ei Nikolaevitch Lokteff, a famous 
 beauty, speculator, and gambler, who, after hav- 
 ing held out and brawled for fifteen years in Pe- 
 tersburg and Moscow, had ended by utterly ruin- 
 ing himself at cards, and being compelled to settle 
 down in the country, where, however, he speedily 
 died, leaving a diminutive property to his two 
 daughters, Anna, aged twenty, and Katerina, 
 aged twelve j'^ears. Their mother, from the pov- 
 erty-stricken race of the Princes X. . . . , had 
 died in Petersburg while her husband was still in 
 full feather. The position of Anna, after her 
 father's death, was very painful. The brilliant 
 education which she had received in Petersburg
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 had not prepared her for the endurance of cares 
 connected with housekeeping and the house, — for 
 dull country life. She knew positively no one in 
 the whole neighbourhood, and had no one with 
 whom to take counsel. Her father had endeav- 
 oured to avoid relations with the neighbours; he 
 scorned them and they scorned him, each after 
 his fashion. But she did not lose her head, and 
 immediately wrote to her mother's sister. Princess 
 Avdotya Stepanovna X. . . . , a malicious and 
 conceited old woman, who, when she settled 
 down in her nieces' house, apjiropriated to herself 
 the best rooms, grumbled and growled from 
 morning till night, and never walked, even in the 
 garden, otherwise than attended by her solitary 
 serf, a surly lackey in a threadbare, yellowish-grey 
 livery, with blue galloons and a three-cornered 
 hat. Anna patiently endured all her aunt's 
 whims, occupied herself somewhat with her sis- 
 ter's education, and, apparently, had already rec- 
 onciled herself to the idea of withering away in 
 the wilds. ... But fate decreed differently for 
 her. A certain OdintzofF saw her by accident, a 
 very rich man of six-and-f orty, an eccentric, a hy- 
 pochondriac, plump, heavy, and sour, but not 
 stupid, and not bad-tempered ; he fell in love with 
 her, and offered her his hand. She consented to 
 be his wife, — and he lived with her six years, then 
 died, having bequeathed his entire property to 
 her. Anna Sergyeevna did not leave the coun- 
 
 lo3
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 try at all, for about a j^ear after his death; then 
 she and her sister went abroad, but sojourned only 
 in Germany; she was bored, and returned to re- 
 side in her beloved Nikolskoe, which was situated 
 about forty versts from the town of * * *. There 
 she had a magnificent, well-furnished house, and 
 a beautiful park, with hothouses: the late Odin- 
 tzoiF had denied himself nothing. Anna Ser- 
 gyeevna very rarely made her appearance in 
 town, and then chiefly on business, and that not 
 for long. She was not liked in the Government; 
 there had been a great outcry over her marriage 
 with OdintzofF; all sorts of idle tales were nar- 
 rated about her : it was asserted that she had aided 
 her father in his cheating scrapes, that she had 
 not gone abroad without a cause, compelled 
 thereto to conceal the unfortunate consequences 
 . . . . "You understand of what?"— the in- 
 dignant narrators were wont to wind up. — 
 " She has been through fire and water," they 
 said of her; and the familiar governmental wit 
 generally added : " and through brass trumpets." 
 All these comments reached her ; but she let them 
 pass: she had a free and rather decided 
 character. 
 
 Madame Odintzoff sat, leaning against the 
 back of her arm-chair, and, clasping her hands, 
 she listened to Bazaroff . Contrary to his wont, he 
 talked a good deal, and evidently made efforts to 
 
 134
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 interest his interlocutor, which again surprised 
 Arkady. He could not make up liis mind whether 
 BazarofF was attaining his object or not. It was 
 difficult to divine from Anna Sergyeevna's face 
 what impressions she was receiving: it preserved 
 one and the same expression, courteous, refined; 
 her beautiful eyes beamed with attention, but un- 
 perturbed attention. BazarofF's airs during the 
 first moments of his visit had acted unpleasantly 
 on her, like a bad smell or a harsh sound ; but she 
 immediately comprehended that he was suffering 
 from confusion, and this was even flattering to 
 her. Only the commonplace repelled her, and no 
 one could have accused Bazaroff of being com- 
 monplace. It was Arkady's fate to be kept in a 
 constant state of wonderment on that day. He 
 had anticipated that Bazaroff would talk to Mad- 
 ame Odintzoff, as she was a clever woman of his 
 convictions and views : she herself had expressed a 
 desire to listen to a man " who has the audacity to 
 believe in nothing"; but, instead of that, Bazaroff 
 talked of medicine, of homoeopathy, of botany. 
 It turned out that Madame Odintzoff had not 
 wasted her time in her isolation : she had read sev- 
 eral good books, and expressed herself in correct 
 Russian. She turned the conversation on music, 
 but perceiving that Bazaroff did not recognise 
 art, she quietly returned to botany, although Ar- 
 kady had started in to discuss the significance of 
 
 135
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 popular melodies. Madame OdintzoiF continued 
 to treat him like a younger brother; apparently, 
 she prized in him the goodness and simj)le-mind- 
 edness of youth— and that was all. The conver- 
 sation lasted more than three hours, leisurely, 
 varied, and animated. 
 
 At last the friends rose and began to take leave. 
 Anna Sergyeevna gazed cordially at them, of- 
 fered each of them her beautiful, white hand, and, 
 after brief reflection, she said, with a decided but 
 agreeable smile:—" If you are not afraid of 
 being bored, gentlemen, come to visit me at 
 Nikolskoe." 
 
 " Really, Anna Sergyeevna,"— exclaimed Ar- 
 kady,—" I shall regard it as a special happi- 
 ness. . . ." 
 
 " And you. Monsieur Bazaroff ? " 
 
 Bazaroff merely bowed, — and Arkady was 
 obliged, for the last time, to marvel: he had ob- 
 served that his friend was blushing. 
 
 " Well? "—said he to him in the street:—" art 
 thou still of the same opinion, that she is — ' oi, 
 oi, oi'?" 
 
 " Who knows! Thou seest how she froze her- 
 self!" — retorted Bazaroff, and, after a pause, 
 he added: — "A duchess, a reigning personage. 
 All she needs is to wear a train behind her and a 
 crown on her head." 
 
 " Our duchesses do not speak Russian like 
 that," — remarked Arkady. 
 
 1S6
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 " She has been made over, my dear fellow; she 
 has eaten our bread." 
 
 " And, nevertheless, she is charming," — said 
 Arkady. 
 
 "Such a rich body!"— went on BazarofF: — 
 " she might go straight into the anatomical 
 theatre." 
 
 " Stop, for God's sake, Evgeny! Who ever 
 lieard the like! " 
 
 " Well, don't get angry, softy. I have said it 
 — she 's first class. We must go to her house." 
 
 "When?" 
 
 " Why, suppose we make it the day after to- 
 morrow. What is there for us to do here ! Drink 
 champagne with Madame Kukshin? Listen to 
 thy relative, the liberal big- wig? So let 's flit out 
 there the day after to-morrow. By the way, too, 
 my father's little manor-house is not far from 
 there. That Nikolskoe is on the * * * road, 
 is n't it?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Optime. There's no use in hesitating ; only 
 fools hesitate — and wise men. I tell thee: 't is a 
 rich body! " 
 
 Three days later, both friends were driving 
 along the road to Nikolskoe. The day was bright, 
 and not too hot, and the fat posting-horses trotted 
 briskly, slightly twitching their twisted and 
 plaited tails. Arkady gazed at the road, and 
 smiled, vrithoiit hiiiiself knov.'ing why. 
 
 137
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 " Congratulate me,"— exclaimed BazarofF sud- 
 denly, — "to-day is the twenty-second of June, 
 the day of my guardian angel. Let us see how 
 he takes care of me. They are expecting me at 
 home to-day," he added, lowering his voice. . . . 
 "Well, let them wait; it's of no great impor- 
 tance ! " 
 
 138
 
 XVI 
 
 The manor-house in which dwelt Anna Ser- 
 gyeevna stood on a sloping, open hill, not far from 
 a yellow stone church with a green roof, white 
 pillars, and an al fresco painting over the prin- 
 cipal entrance, representing the " Resurrection 
 of Christ," in the " Italian " taste. Especially 
 noteworthy for his rounded contours was a 
 swarthy warrior, in a short jacket, who sprawled 
 over the foreground. Behind the church, in two 
 long rows, extended the village, with chimneys 
 peeping above the straw thatches here and there. 
 The manor-house was spacious, in the same style 
 with the church— the style which is known among 
 us bv the name of the Alexandrine ; this house also 
 was painted yellow, and had a green roof and 
 white pillars, and a pediment with a coat of arms. 
 The governmental architect had erected both 
 buildings, with the approbation of the deceased 
 OdintzofF, who could not tolerate any empty and 
 new-fangled caprices, as he expressed it. Close 
 to the house on both sides lay the dusky trees of 
 the ancient park; an avenue of clipped firs led 
 to the entrance. 
 
 Our friends were received in the anteroom by 
 
 139
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 two robust footmen in livery ; one of them iumie- 
 diately ran for the butler. The butler, a fat man 
 in a black dress-coat, immediately presented him- 
 self, and directed the guests over the rug-covered 
 staircase to a special room, where already stood 
 two beds, with all the accessories of the toilet. It 
 was evident that order reigned in the house: 
 everything was clean, and there was some agree- 
 able perfume everywhere about, just as in minis- 
 terial receptions. 
 
 " Anna Sergyeevna begs that you will come 
 to her in half an hour,"— announced the but- 
 ler:— "have you no orders to give in the mean- 
 while? " 
 
 " We have no orders, my most respected,"— re- 
 plied BazarofF: — " unless you will be so good as 
 to bring a glass of vodka." 
 
 " I obey, sir,"— said the butler, not without sur- 
 prise, and retired, with squeaking boots. 
 
 "What grand ^^wre/""— remarked BazarofF: 
 — " I believe that is what it is called in your lan- 
 guage? A duchess, and that's all there is 
 about it." 
 
 "A good duchess," — replied Arkady;— "the 
 very first time she met such mighty aristocrats as 
 thou and I, she invited us to her house." 
 
 " Especially I, who am a medical man, the son 
 of a medical man, the grandson of a chanter. . . . 
 Of course thou knewest that I am the grandson 
 of a chanter? "
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 " Like Speransky," ^ — added Bazaroff, after a 
 brief silence and curling his lips. " But she has 
 indulged herself, all the same; okh, how this lady 
 has indulged herself. Ought not we to don our 
 dress-suits? " 
 
 Arkady merely shrugged his shoulders; . . . 
 but he, too, felt some agitation. 
 
 Half an hour later BazarofF and Arkady en- 
 tered the drawing-room. It was a spacious, lofty 
 room, furnished with considerable luxury, but 
 without anj'- particular taste. The heavy, costly 
 furniture stood in the customarj^ affected order 
 along the walls, which were covered with light- 
 brown paper with gilded flowers. OdintzofF had 
 ordered it from Moscow through his friend and 
 commissioner, a liquor dealer. Over the central 
 divan hung the portrait of a shrivelled, fair-haired 
 man, — and it seemed to be staring at the visitors 
 in a hostile manner. " It must be he," whispered 
 Bazarofl*, and wrinkling up his nose, he added, 
 " Shan't we decamp? " 
 
 But at that moment the hostess entered. She 
 wore a light barege gown; her hair, brushed 
 smoothly behind her ears, imparted a virginal ex- 
 j^ression to her pure, fresh face. 
 
 " Thank j^ou for having kept your word,"— she 
 began;— "stay a while with me: it really is not 
 bad here. I will introduce j^ou to my sister; she 
 
 1 Speransky rose to be a Count, and a Minister of 
 Alexander I. — Translator.
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 plays well on the piano. That makes no difFer- 
 ence to j^ou, M'sieu BazaroiF; but I think you are 
 fond of music, M'sieu KirsanofF; in addition to 
 my sister, my old aunt lives with me, and a neigh- 
 bour sometimes drops in to play cards : that is our 
 entire society. But now let us sit down." 
 
 Madame OdintzofF uttered this little speech 
 with peculiar distinctness, as though she had com- 
 mitted it to memory ; then she turned to Arkady. 
 It appeared that her mother had known Arkady's 
 mother, and had even been the confidante of her 
 love for Nikolai Petrovitch. Arkady began to 
 talk with fervour about the dead woman ; and, in 
 the meantime, BazarofF occupied himself with in- 
 specting the albums. " What a meek individual 
 I have become," he said to himself. 
 
 A handsome greyhound, with a blue collar, ran 
 into the drawing-room, clattering his claws on the 
 floor, and after him entered a young girl of eigh- 
 teen, with black hair and brown complexion, a 
 rather chubby bvit pleasing face, and small dark 
 eyes. She held in her hand a basket filled with 
 flowers. " Here is my Katya," said Madame 
 Odintzofl", indicating her by a movement of the 
 head. 
 
 Katya made a slight curtsey, placed herself be- 
 side her sister, and began to sort over her flowers. 
 The greyhound, whose name was Fifi, approached 
 each visitor in turn, wagging his tail, and thrust 
 his cold nose into the hand of each of them. 
 
 142
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 " Didst thou pluck all those thyself? "—asked 
 ^ladame OdiiitzofF. 
 
 " Yes,"— replied Katya. 
 
 " And is aunt}' coming to tea? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 When Katya spoke she smiled very prettily, 
 bashfully, and candidly, and looked upwards from 
 below in a comicallj^-grim manner. Everything 
 about her was still extremely youthful : her voice, 
 and the fine down all over her face, and her rosy 
 hands, with whitish circles on the palms, and her 
 rather cramped shoulders. . . She was inces- 
 santly blushing and hastily catching her breath. 
 
 Madame OdintzofF turned to Bazaroff.— 
 " You are looking at those pictures out of polite- 
 ness, Evgeny Vasilitch," — she began.—" They do 
 not interest you. You had better move up nearer 
 us, and we will get into an argument over some- 
 thing or other." 
 
 Bazaroff approached. — " What shall we argue 
 about? " — he said. 
 
 " About anything j^ou like. I warn j^ou that 
 I am a frightfully quarrelsome person." 
 
 "You?" 
 
 " Yes, I. That seems to surprise j^ou. Why? " 
 
 " Because, so far as I can judge, you have a 
 cahn and cold nature, and for dispute enthusiasm 
 is necessary." 
 
 " How is it that j'ou have succeeded in finding 
 me out so promptly? In the first place, I am im- 
 
 143
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 patient and persistent: ask Katya if I am not; 
 and, in the second place, I am very easily aroused 
 to enthusiasm." 
 
 Bazaroff looked at Anna Sergyeevna. — " Per- 
 haps you ought to know best. So you would like 
 to dispute, — ver}'' well. I have been looking over 
 the views of the Saxon Switzerland in your 
 album, and you have remarked to me that that 
 could not interest me. You said that because j^ou 
 do not suspect me of having artistic sense, — and, 
 as a matter of fact, I have not ; but I might take 
 an interest in those pictures from a geological 
 point of view — from the point of view of the for- 
 mation of mountains, for example." 
 
 " Excuse me; as a geologist you would be more 
 likely to have recourse to a book, to a special work, 
 and not to a drawing." 
 
 " The drawing presents to me at a glance 
 that which in the book is set forth in ten whole 
 pages." 
 
 Anna Sergyeevna was silent for a while. 
 
 " And have j^ou really not a tiny drop of artis- 
 tic sense? " — she said, setting her elbows on the 
 table, and by that very movement bringing her 
 face closer to Bazaroff.—" How do j'-ou get along 
 without it?" 
 
 " What is the use of it, permit me to inquire? " 
 
 *' Why, if for nothing else, that one may learn 
 how to understand and study people." 
 
 Bazaroff laughed. — " In the first place, the ex- 
 
 114
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 perience of life exists for that purpose; and, in 
 the second place, I must inform you that it is not 
 worth while to study separate individuals. All 
 people resemble one another, in soul as in body; 
 each one of us has brain, spleen, heart, lungs, of 
 identical structure ; and the so-called moral quali- 
 ties are exactlj^ alike in all: the slight difference 
 of aspect signifies nothing. One specimen of hu- 
 manity is sufficient to enable us to judge of all the 
 rest. Men are like the trees in a forest — not a 
 single botanist will busy himself with each sepa- 
 rate birch." 
 
 Katya, who was matching flower to flower In 
 a leisurely way, raised her eyes to Bazaroff in sur- 
 prise, — and encountering his swift and careless 
 glance, flushed crimson to her very ears. Anna 
 Sergyee^aia shook her head. 
 
 *' The trees in the forest," — she repeated. — 
 " So, according to you, there is no difference be- 
 tween a stupid and a clever man, between a good 
 one and a bad one." 
 
 '' Yes, there is: as there is between a well man 
 and a sick one. The lungs of the consumptive 
 are not in the same conditions as yours and mine 
 are, although they are constructed in the same 
 manner. We know, approximately, whence come 
 bodily ailments ; but moral ailments proceed from 
 a bad education, from all sorts of nonsense with 
 which people's lieads are stuffed from their in- 
 fancy, from the abnormal condition of society — in 
 
 !l45
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 a word, reform society, and there will be no dis- 
 ease." 
 
 Bazaroff said all this with an aspect which 
 seemed to indicate that, at the same time, he was 
 saying to himself: " Whether you believe me or 
 not, it 's all one to me ! " He slowly drew his long 
 fingers through his side-whiskers and his eyes 
 wandered about the corners of the room. 
 
 " And you assume," — said Anna Sergyeevna, 
 — "that when society shall have been reformed 
 there will be no more stupid, no more wicked, 
 men? " 
 
 " At all events, with a regular arrangement 
 of society, it will not matter whether a man is 
 stupid or clever, wicked or good." 
 
 "Yes, I understand; all will have identically 
 the same spleen." 
 
 " Precisely that, madam." 
 
 Madame Odintzoff turned to Arkad^^ — " And 
 what is your opinion, Arkady Nikolaevitch ? " 
 
 " I agree with Evgeny,"— he replied. 
 
 Katya cast a sidelong glance at him. 
 
 " You amaze me, gentlemen," — said Madame 
 Odintzoff; — " but we will discuss this later on. 
 i\nd now I hear my aunt coming to drink tea; we 
 must spare her ears." 
 
 Anna Sergyeevna's aunt. Princess X . . . , a 
 thin, small woman, with a face about the size of 
 one's fist, and staring, malicious eyes beneath her 
 grey wig, entered, and hardly saluting the visitors, 
 
 146
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 dropped down in a capacious velvet arm-chair, in 
 which no one except herself had a right to sit. 
 Katj^a placed a stool under her feet; the old 
 woman did not thank her, did not even look at 
 her, only moved her hands about under the yellow 
 shawl, which covered almost the whole of her 
 puny body. The Princess loved j'^ellow : she also 
 had bright yellow ribbons on her cap. 
 
 " How have you slept, aunty? "—asked Ma- 
 dame OdintzofF, lowering her voice. 
 
 " There 's that dog here again," — growled the 
 old woman in response; and noticing that Fifi 
 took a couple of undecided steps in her direction, 
 she cried out: " Scat! scat! " 
 
 Katya called Fifi, and opened the door for him. 
 
 Fifi rushed joyously forth, in the hope that 
 he would be taken for a walk, but on finding him- 
 self alone outside the door, began to scratch and 
 whine. The Princess frowned. Katya started to 
 go out. . . . 
 
 "Tea is read}^ I think?"— said Madame 
 OdintzofF. — "Come, gentlemen; aunty, please 
 come and drink tea." 
 
 The Princess rose in silence from her chair and 
 left the drawing-room first. All followed her to 
 the dining-room. A page-boy in livery noisily 
 moved away from the table a chair garnished with 
 pillows, also sacred to her use, in which the Prin- 
 cess seated herself; Katya, when she poured the 
 tea, served her first in a cup witli a painted coat 
 
 147
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 of arms. The old woman put honey in her cup 
 (she thought it sinful to drink tea with sugar,^ 
 and expensive, although she herself did not spend 
 a farthing on this), and suddenly inquired, in a 
 hoarse voice: "And what does Prance Ivan 
 write?" 
 
 No one answered her. BazarofF and Arkady 
 speedily divined that no one paid any attention to 
 her, although they treated her respectfully. " For 
 the sake of maintaining their dignity, because she 
 is a princely sprig," thought BazarofF. . . After 
 tea Anna Sergj^eevna suggested that they should 
 go for a stroll, but a fine rain began to fall, and 
 the whole company, with the exception of the 
 Princess, returned to the drawing-room. The 
 neighbour who was fond of cards, by name Por- 
 firy Platonitch, arrived, — a fat, grey -haired man, 
 with short legs, which looked just as though they 
 had been turned in a lathe, a very polite and 
 entertaining person. Anna Sergyeevna, who had 
 been chatting principally with Bazaroff, asked 
 him whether he would not like to have an old-fash- 
 ioned battle at preference with him. Bazaroff 
 consented, saying that he must prepare himself 
 in advance for the duties of a country doctor 
 which awaited him. 
 
 " Take care," — remarked Anna Sergyeevna, — 
 
 ^ Probably, on the same ground that the devout do not use sugar 
 during the Church fasts, viz., because it is clarified with blood — an 
 animal substance. — Translator. 
 
 148
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 " Porfiry Platonitch and I shall beat you. And 
 do thou, Katya," — she added, — " play something 
 for Arkady Nikolaevitch; he is fond of music, 
 and we will listen also." 
 
 Katya went unwillingly to the piano; and Ar- 
 kady, although he really was fond of music, un- 
 willingly followed her: it seemed to him that INIa- 
 dame OdintzoiF was sending him awaj^, — and in 
 his heart, as in the heart of every young man of 
 his age, there was seething an agitated and op- 
 pressive feeling, resembling a presentiment of 
 love. Katya raised the lid of the piano, and, 
 without looking at Arkady, said in an undertone : 
 
 " What shall I play for you? " 
 
 " Whatever you like," — replied Arkady indif- 
 ferently. 
 
 " What sort of music do you prefer? "—re- 
 peated Katya, without changing her position. 
 
 " Classical,"— replied Arkady, in the same 
 tone. 
 
 "Do you like Mozart?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Katya got Mozart's Sonata-Fantasia in C 
 minor. She played very well, although rather se- 
 verely and dryly. She sat motionless and stiff, 
 never taking her eyes from her notes, and with 
 lips tightly compressed, and only toward the end 
 of the sonata did her face grow flushed, and a lit- 
 tle strand of uncurled hair fall on her forehead. 
 
 Arkady was particular^ struck by the last 
 
 149
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 part of the sonata — by that part in which, through 
 the enchanting mirth of the care-free melody, 
 bursts of such mournful, almost tragic woe, sud- 
 denly penetrate. . . But the thoughts evoked in 
 him by the strains of JNIozart did not refer to 
 Katya. As he gazed at her he merely thought: 
 " Really, this young lady does not play badly, and 
 she herself is not bad-looking." 
 
 When she had finished the sonata Katya in- 
 quired, without removing her hands from the 
 keys, " Is that enough? " Arkady declared that he 
 did not dare to inconvenience her further, and be- 
 gan to talk to her about Mozart; he asked her 
 whether she had chosen that sonata herself, or had 
 some one recommended it to her? But Katj^a an- 
 swered him in monosyllables : she had hidden her- 
 self, retreated into herself. When that happened 
 with her she did not speedily come to the surface ; 
 at such times her verj^ face assumed an obstinate, 
 almost stupid expression. She was not precisely 
 shy, but distrustful and rather terrified by her 
 sister, who had reared her, which the latter, of 
 course, did not even suspect. Arkady ended by 
 calling up Fifi, who had returned, and, by way of 
 keeping himself in countenance, began to stroke 
 his head, smiling benevolently. Katya betook 
 herself again to her flowers. 
 
 And, in the meantime, BazarofF kept losing 
 and losing. Anna Sergyeevna played a masterly 
 hand at cards; Porfirv Platonitch also could 
 
 150
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 stand lip for himself. BazarofF was the loser, 
 and although not to any considerable extent, yet 
 it was not altogether pleasant for him. After 
 supper Anna Sergyeevna turned the conversation 
 upon botany again. 
 
 " Eet us go for a walk to-morrow morning," — 
 she said to him; — " I wish to learn from you the 
 Latin names of the field-plants and their proper- 
 ties." 
 
 " What do you want with the Latin names? " 
 — asked BazarofF. 
 
 " One must have order in everything,"— she re- 
 plied. 
 
 " What a marvellous woman Anna Sergye- 
 evna is," — exclaimed Arkady, when he was 
 alone with his friend in the chamber assigned to 
 them. 
 
 " Yes,"— rephed BazarofF,—" a woman with a 
 brain. Well, and she has seen sights." 
 
 " In what sense dost thou say that, Evgeny 
 Vasilitch?" 
 
 " In a good sense, a good sense, my dear Ar- 
 kady Nikolaevitch ! I am convinced that she 
 manages her estate excellently. But the marvel 
 is not she, but her sister." 
 
 " What? That brown-faced little thing? " 
 
 " Yes, that brown-faced little thing. She 's 
 fresh, and unsullied, and timid, and taciturn, and 
 anything you like. That 's a person one can get 
 interested in. You can make of her anything you 
 
 151
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 take it into your head to make; but the other — is 
 a shrewd creature." 
 
 Arkady made no reply to BazaroiF, and both 
 of them lay down to sleep with special thoughts 
 in their heads. 
 
 And Anna Sergyeevna on that same evening 
 was thinking of her guests. She liked Bazaroff 
 — his absence of coquetry and the very harshness 
 of his judgments. She discerned in him some- 
 thing new which she had not hitherto chanced to 
 encounter, and she was curious. 
 
 Anna Sergyeevna was rather a strange being. 
 ({Devoid of prejudices, devoid even of any strong 
 beliefs, she yielded to no one and followed no one. 
 She saw much clearly, much interested her, and 
 nothing completely satisfied her; and complete 
 satisfaction was hardly what she wanted. Her 
 mind was inquisitive and indifferent at one and 
 the same time : her doubts were never appeased to 
 forgetfulness and never increased to alarm. Had 
 she not been wealthy and independent, she might 
 possibly have flung herself into the fray and have 
 known passion. . . But life was easy for her, al- 
 though she was sometimes bored; she continued 
 to pass day after day in a leisurely man- 
 ner, only growing agitated now and then. Rain- 
 bow hues sometimes flashed up before her eyes 
 also, but she breathed more freeh^ when tliey had 
 faded away, and she did not regret them. Her 
 imagination carried lier even bej^ond the bounds 
 
 ] 52
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 of that which, according to the ordinary laws of 
 morahty, is considered permissible ; but even then 
 her blood flowed as quietly as ever in her entranc- 
 ingly-stately and tranquil body. There were 
 times when, on emerging from a perfumed bath, 
 all warm and enervated, she took to meditating 
 upon the insignificance of life, its woe, toil and 
 evil. . . Her soul would be filled with sudden au- 
 dacity, would seethe with noble aspiration; but 
 let a draught blow through the half -open 
 window and Anna Sergyeevna would shrink to- 
 gether, and complain and almost wax angry, and 
 she wanted only one thing at such moments: 
 that that hateful wind should not blow upon 
 her. 
 
 Like all women who have not managed to fall 
 in love, she wanted something— precisely what she 
 did not know. As a matter of fact, she wanted 
 nothing, although it seemed to her that she wanted 
 everything. She had barely tolerated the late 
 OdintzofF (she had married him from calculation, 
 although, in all probability, she would not have 
 consented to be his wife if she had not regarded 
 him as a kind man) , and had acquired a secret dis- 
 gust for all men, whom she pictured to herself as 
 dirty, heavy and indolent, impotently tiresome 
 beings. Once, somewhere abroad, she had met a 
 young man, a handsome Swede, with a kniglitly 
 expression of countenance, with honest blue eyes 
 beneath an open brow; he had made a strong ini- 
 
 153
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 pression upon her, but this had not prevented her 
 returning to Russia. 
 
 "A strange man, that doctor!" she thought, 
 as she lay down in her magnificent bed on her lace 
 pillows under a light silken coverlet. . . . Anna 
 Sergyeevna had inherited from her father a por- 
 tion of his inclination for luxury. She had been 
 very fond of her sinful but kind father, and he 
 had idolised her, had jested with her in friendly 
 wise as with an equal, and had trusted her utterty 
 —had taken counsel with her. She hardly remem- 
 bered her mother. 
 
 "That doctor is a strange fellow!" she re- 
 peated to herself. She stretched herself, smiled, 
 threw her arms behind her head, then ran her eyes 
 over the pages of a couple of dull French ro- 
 mances—and fell asleep, all pure and cold, in her 
 clean and perfumed linen. 
 
 On the following morning Anna Sergyeevna, 
 immediately after breakfast, went off to botanise 
 with BazaroiF, and returned home just before din- 
 ner; Arkady did not go off anywhere, and spent 
 about an hour with Katya. He did not find him- 
 self bored in her society; she offered of her own 
 accord to repeat for him the sonata she had played 
 on the day before; but when, at last, Madame 
 OdintzofF returned, when he beheld her— his 
 Iieart instantly contracted within him. . . . She 
 was walking through the garden with a some- 
 what fatigued stej); her cheeks were of a vivid 
 
 154
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 scarlet, and her eyes were shining more hrilliaiitly 
 than usual beneath her round straw hat. She was 
 twirling in her lingers the slender stem of a wild 
 flower, her light mantilla had slipped down to her 
 elbows, and the broad grey ribbons of her hat 
 clung closely to her bosom. BazarofF was walk- 
 ing behind her in a self-confident, careless way, 
 as alw^ays, but the expression of his face, although 
 it was cheerful and even bland, did not please 
 Arkady. Muttering through his teeth, " Good 
 morning! " — BazarofF went off to his room, and 
 Madame OdmtzofF shook hands with Arkady in 
 a preoccupied way, and also walked on past him. 
 " Good morning," — thought Arkady. . . . 
 " But have we not seen each other akeady to- 
 day? " 
 
 1.55
 
 XVII 
 
 It is a familiar fact that time sometimes flies like 
 a bird, sometimes crawls like a worm ; but a man 
 is particularly happy when he does not notice 
 whether it is passing swiftly or slowly. In pre- 
 cisely this manner did Arkady and Bazaroff 
 spend a fortnight at Madame OdintzofF's. This 
 result was contributed to by the order which she 
 had introduced into her household and her life. 
 She adhered strictly to it, and made others con- 
 form to it also. Throughout the whole day every- 
 thing was done at an appointed time. In the 
 morning, exactly at eight o'clock, the whole com- 
 pany assembled for tea ; from tea until breakfast 
 each one did whatever he wished, and the hostess 
 busied herself with her steward (the estate was 
 managed on the quit-rent system) , with her but- 
 lers, and with the head-housekeeper. Before din- 
 ner the company again assembled for conversa- 
 tion or reading; the evening was devoted to 
 strolls, cards, music; at half -past ten Anna Ser- 
 gyeevna retired to her own room, issued orders 
 for the following day, and went to bed. Bazaroff 
 did not like this measured, somewhat solemn reg- 
 ularity of daily life: " You roll along as though 
 
 15G
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 on rails," he asserted; the Hveried lackeys, tlie 
 stately butlers, offended his democratic feeling. 
 He thought that if it had come to that then they 
 ought to dine in English fashion, in dress-suits 
 and white ties. One day he stated his views on 
 this point to Anna Sergyee\Tia. She bore herself 
 in such a manner that anj^ man could, without cir- 
 cumlocution, express his opinions in her presence. 
 She heard him out, and said: " From your point 
 of view, you are right — and, perhaps, in that case, 
 — I am a gentlewoman; but one cannot live with- 
 out order in the country, — one would be bored to 
 death," — and went on in her own way. BazarofF 
 grumbled, but he and Arkady found life easy 
 at Madame Odintzoff 's, because everything in her 
 house did " run as though on rails." Neverthe- 
 less, both 5^oung men underwent a change from 
 the very first days of their stay at Nikolskoe. A 
 trepidation hitherto non-existent made its appear- 
 ance in BazarofF, whom Anna Sergyeevna ob- 
 viously favoured: he was easily irritated, talked 
 unwillingly, wore an angrj'- aspect, and could not 
 sit still in one place, just as though sometliing 
 made him uneasy; and Arkady, who had finally 
 decided in his own mind that he was in love witli 
 Madame Odintzoff, began to surrender liimself 
 to gentle melancholy. However, this melancholy 
 did not prevent his becoming intimate with 
 Kdtya; it even aided him to enter into friendly, 
 affectionate relations with her. " She does not 
 
 157
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 appreciate me ! So be it! . . . But here is a kind 
 being who will not spurn me," he thought, and 
 his heart again tasted the sweetness of magnani- 
 mous sentiments. Katya dimly comprehended 
 that he was seeking some sort of consolation in her 
 societ}^ and did not refuse to him or to herself 
 the innocent gratification of a half -bashful, half- 
 confiding friendship. They did not talk to each 
 other in the presence of Anna Sergyeevna : Katya 
 always contracted beneath her sister's keen 
 glance, and Arkady, as was befitting a man in 
 love, in the presence of his adored object could 
 not devote any attention to anything else ; but he 
 was happy alone with Katya. He felt that he was 
 not capable of interesting Madame OdintzofF ; he 
 became timid and lost his presence of mind when 
 he was left alone with her; and she did not know 
 what to say to him : he was too young for her. On 
 the other hand, with Katya Arkady was at home, 
 as it were; he treated her condescendingly, did not 
 interfere with her expressing the impressions 
 awakened in her bj'^ music, the perusal of novels, 
 of poetry, and by other trifles, without himself 
 jjcrceiving or acknowledging that these trifles in- 
 terested him. Arkady was at ease with Katya, 
 Madame Odintzoff with Bazaroff, and conse- 
 quently this was the usual order of things: the 
 two couples after remaining a short time together 
 went their separate ways, especially during ram- 
 bles. Katya adored nature, and Arkadj^ loved it, 
 
 158
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 although he did not dare to confess it; Madame 
 Odintzoff was quite indifferent to it, as was also 
 Bazaroff . The almost constant separation of our 
 friends did not remain without results: the rela- 
 tions between them began to undergo a change. 
 Bazaroff ceased to talk to Arkady about IMadame 
 Odintzoff, ceased even to revile her " aristocratic 
 habits"; it is true that he lauded Katya as before, 
 and only advised that her sentimental tenden- 
 cies should be checked, but his praises were hasty, 
 his advice curt, and, in general, he talked much 
 less to Arkady than of yore: ... he seemed to 
 shun him, as though he were ashamed in his pres- 
 ence. . . . 
 
 Arkady observed all this, but kept his observa- 
 tions to himself. 
 
 The real cause of all this " novelty " was the 
 sentiment with which JNIadame Odintzoff had in- 
 spired Bazaroff — a sentiment which tortured and 
 enraged him, and which he would have spurned 
 on the instant, with scornful laughter and cynical 
 sneers, had anv one hinted, even distantly, at the 
 possibility of that which had taken place in him, 
 Bazaroff. Bazaroff was very fond of women 
 and of feminine beauty, but love in the ideal, or, 
 as he expressed it, the romantic sense, he called 
 balderdash, unpardonable folly; regarded chival- 
 rous sentiments as a sort of deformity or malady, 
 and had more than once given utterance to his 
 amazement at their not having put Toggenburg, 
 
 159
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 along with all his minnesingers and troubadours, 
 in a mad-house! " If a woman pleases you," he 
 had been wont to say, " try to get to the bottom 
 of the business; but if that is impossible, 
 well, you don't want her; turn away, she's not 
 the only one in the world." Madame Odintzoff 
 pleased him : the rumours in circulation about her, 
 the freedom and independence of her thoughts, 
 her indubitable liking for him,— everything, ap- 
 parently, spoke in his favour; but he speedily 
 comprehended that with her one could not " get 
 to the bottom of the business," and that, to 
 his own amazement, he had not the strength 
 to turn away from her. His blood began to 
 boil as soon as he called her to mind; he 
 could easily have controlled his blood, but some- 
 thing else had taken up its abode in him, which 
 he in nowise admitted, over which he was forever 
 sneering, which revolted his pride. In his conver- 
 sations with Anna Sergj^eevna he more than ever 
 expressed his indifferent scorn for everything ro- 
 mantic ; and when lie was left alone he recognised 
 with wrath the romantic in himself. Then he 
 went off to the forest and roamed about it in huge 
 strides, breaking the boughs which came in his 
 way, and cursing in an undertone both her and 
 himself; or he ensconced himself in the hay -loft, 
 in a shed, and, obstinately shutting his eyes, he 
 forced himself to sleep, which, as a matter of 
 course, he did not alwa5"S succeed in doing. All 
 
 a GO
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 at once it would seem to him as though those 
 chaste arms were encircHng his neck, those proud 
 hps were responding to his kisses, those intelhgent 
 eyes were riveted tenderly, — yes, tenderly, — on 
 his eyes, and his liead would begin to reel, and he 
 would forget himself for a moment until indigna- 
 tion again flared up within him. He caught him- 
 self in all sorts of "shameful" thoughts, as though 
 a demon were tormenting him. It sometimes 
 seemed to him that a change was taking place in 
 !Madame Odintzofl", that in the expression of her 
 face something pecuhar had made its appearance, 
 but that possibly. . . . But at this point he gen- 
 erally stamped his foot, or gnashed his teeth, and 
 menaced himself with his clenched fist. 
 
 Nevertheless, BazarofF was not mistaken. He 
 had struck ^ladame OdintzoiF's imagination; he 
 interested her, and she thought a great deal about 
 him. She was not bored in his absence, she did not 
 wait for him, but his api^earance immediately 
 imparted animation to her ; she willingly remained 
 alone with him, and liked to talk with liim, even 
 when he angered her, or offended her taste, her 
 elegant habits. She seemed to be desirous of both 
 testing him and sounding herself. 
 
 One day as he was strolling in the garden with 
 her he suddenly said, in a surly voice, that he 
 intended soon to go away to tlie village to his 
 father. . . She turned pale, as though sometliing 
 had stung her heart, and stung it in such wisethat 
 
 161
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 she was surj^rised, and meditated for a long time 
 what this might mean. BazaroiF had informed 
 her of his departure, not with the idea of putting 
 her to the test to see what would come of it: he 
 never " invented." On the morning of that daj^ 
 he had had an interview with his father's man- 
 ager, his former valet, Timofeitch. This Timo- 
 feitch, an experienced and alert old man, with 
 faded yellow hair, weather-beaten red face, and 
 tiny tear-drops in his blinking eyes, had unex- 
 pectedly presented himself to BazarofF in his 
 short overcoat of thick, greyish-blue cloth, girt 
 with a fragment of leather, and in tarred boots. 
 
 "Ah, old man, how art thou!" — exclaimed 
 BazarofF. 
 
 " Good morning, dear httle father Evgeny Va- 
 sihtch,"— began the little old man, and smiled 
 joj^ously, which caused his whole face suddenly to 
 be covered with wrinkles. 
 
 "Why art thou come? Have they sent thee 
 for me? " 
 
 " Good gracious, dear little father, how can you 
 think that! "—lisped Timofeitch (he called to 
 mind the strict orders he had received from his 
 master when he set out).— "I was going to 
 town on business and heard about your grace, so 
 I turned aside on the way, that is— to have a look 
 at your grace ; . . . . but how could any one feel 
 uneasy? " 
 
 " Come, don't lie,"— BazarofF interrupted him. 
 
 162
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 — " Dost thou mean to say that thy road to town 
 lies here ? " Timof eitch hesitated and made no re- 
 ply.—" Is my father well? " 
 
 " Yes. Glory to God, sir." 
 
 " And my mother? " 
 
 " And Arina Vlasievna also, glory to Thee, O 
 Lord." 
 
 " I suppose thej^ are expecting me! " 
 
 The little old man hung his tinj^ head on one 
 side, — " Akh, Evgeny Vasilievitch, how can they 
 help expecting j^ou, sir! As you believe in God, 
 my heart has ached as I looked at your parents." 
 
 " Well, very good, very good! Don't describe 
 it. Tell them that I will come soon." 
 
 " I obey, sir," — replied Timof eitch, with a sigh. 
 
 As he emerged from the house he banged his 
 cap down on his head with both hands, climbed 
 into the mean racing drozhky which he had left 
 at the gate, and drove off at a trot, only not in the 
 direction of the town. 
 
 On the evening of the same day Madame 
 OdintzofF was sitting in her room with Bazaroff , 
 while Arkad)'^ was pacing the music-room and lis- 
 tening to Katya's playing. The Princess had re- 
 tired to her own room up-stairs; in general, she 
 could not bear visitors, and in particular these 
 " sans culottes," as she called them. In the state 
 apartments she did nothing but pout ; on tlie otiier 
 hand, in her own room, in tlie presence of lier 
 maid, she sometimes broke out into such abuse 
 
 163
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 that her cap flew off her head in company with 
 her wig. Madame Odintzoff was aware of this. 
 
 " Why are you preparing to leave," — she be- 
 gan; — " and how about your promise? " 
 
 Bazaroff started. — " What promise, madam? " 
 
 " Have you forgotten? You were to give me 
 a few lessons in chemistry." 
 
 " What is to be done, ma'am? My father ex- 
 pects me; I can delay no longer. However, you 
 can read : Pelouze et Fremy, ' Notions Generales 
 de Chimie ' ; it is a good book and clearly written. 
 In it you will find everything that is necessary." 
 
 "But remember you assured me that a book 
 cannot take the place .... I have forgotten how 
 you expressed yourself, but you know what I 
 want to say, .... do you remember? " 
 
 " What is to be done, ma'am? " — repeated Ba- 
 zaroff. 
 
 " Why go? "—said Madame Odintzoff, lower- 
 ing her voice. 
 
 He glanced at her. She had thrown her head 
 against the back of the arm-chair and had crossed 
 her hands — her arms were bare to the elbow — on 
 her lap. She seemed paler by the light of the soli- 
 tary lamp, shaded by a network of cut paper. 
 Her ample white gown almost completely covered 
 her with its soft folds ; the tips of her feet, which 
 were also crossed, were barely visible. 
 
 " And why stay? "—replied Bazaroff. 
 
 Madame Odintzoff turned her head slightly.— 
 
 164
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 " \Vhat do you mean by asking why? Don't you 
 find things cheerful in my house? Or do you 
 think that no one will regret you here? " 
 
 " I am convinced of that." 
 
 Madame OdintzofF was silent for a space. — 
 " You are mistaken in thinking so. However, I 
 do not believe you. You cannot have said that 
 seriously." 
 
 Bazaroff continued to sit there motionless. — 
 " Evgeny Vasilievitch, why do not you speak? " 
 
 " But what can I say to you? It is not worth 
 while to regret people in general, and me in par- 
 ticular." 
 
 "Why so?" 
 
 " I am a sedate, uninteresting man. I do not 
 know how to talk." 
 
 " You are begging for a compliment, Evgeny 
 Vasilievitch." 
 
 " That is not my habit. Do not you know your- 
 self that the elegant side of life is inaccessible to 
 me, the side which you value so highly? " 
 
 Madame OdintzoiF nibbled the corner of her 
 handkerchief.—" Think what you like, but I 
 shall find it dull when you are gone." 
 
 " Arkady will remain,"— remarked Bazaroff. 
 
 Madame Odintzoff shrugged her shoulders 
 slightly.—" I shall find it dull,"-she repeated. 
 
 " Really? In any case, you will not be bored 
 long." 
 
 " Why do you assume that? " 
 
 1G5
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 " Because you yourself have told me that you 
 are bored only when your order is disturbed. You 
 have arranged your life in such an impeccably- 
 regular manner that there can be no room in it 
 for irksomeness or dulness ... or for any pain- 
 ful feelings." 
 
 "And you think that I am impeccable? . . . 
 that is to say, that I have arranged my hf e in such 
 a regular manner? " 
 
 " Certainly ! Here, for example : in a few min- 
 utes the clock will strike ten, and I know before- 
 hand that you will drive me away." 
 
 " No, I shall not drive you away, Evgeny Va- 
 silievitch. You may stay. Open that window. . . 
 I feel stifled for some reason." 
 
 BazarofF rose and pushed the window. It im- 
 mediately flew open with a bang. . . He had not 
 expected that it would open so readily ; moreover, 
 his hands were trembling. The dark, soft night 
 peered into the room with its almost black sky, 
 faintly rustling trees, and fresh odour of the open, 
 pure air. 
 
 " Pull down the shade and sit down,"— said 
 Madame Odintzofl':— " I want to have a chat with 
 you before your departure. Tell me something 
 about yourself; you never talk about yourself." 
 
 " I try to talk to you about useful subjects, 
 Anna Sergyeevna." 
 
 " You are very modest. . . But I should like to 
 know something about j^ou, about your family, 
 
 IGG
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 about your father, for whom you are abandon- 
 ing us." 
 
 " Why does she say such words? " thought Ba- 
 zaroff. 
 
 " All that is not in the least interesting," — he 
 articulated aloud: — "especially for you; we are 
 ordinary people " 
 
 " And I, in your opinion, am an aristocrat? " 
 
 BazaroiF raised his eyes to Madame OdintzofF. 
 — " Yes," he said, with exaggerated sharpness. 
 
 She laughed.—" I see that you know me very 
 little, although you assert that all people are 
 alike, and that it is not worth while to study 
 them. I will narrate the story of my life to you 
 
 some day; but first you must tell me 
 
 yours." 
 
 " I know you very little,"— repeated Bazaroff . 
 — "Perhaps you are right; perhaps, in reality, 
 every human being is— a riddle. Just take your- 
 self, for example : you shun society, it is a burden 
 to you,— and you have invited two students to re- 
 side with you. Why do you, with your mind, with 
 your beauty, live in the country? " 
 
 " What? What is that you said? "—Madame 
 Odintzoff caught him up with animation—" With 
 my beauty? " 
 
 Bazaroff frowned.—" That is nothing," — ^he 
 muttered;—" I wanted to say that I do not thor- 
 oughly understand why you have settled down in 
 the country."
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 " You do not understand that. . . . But you 
 explain it to yourself in some way or other? " 
 
 "Yes; I suppose you remain con- 
 stantly in one place because you have indulged 
 yourself, because you love comfort, ease, and are 
 very indifferent to everything else." 
 
 Madame OdintzofF laughed again. — " You are 
 positively determined not to believe that I am 
 capable of being carried away? " 
 
 BazarofF cast a sidelong glance at her. — " By 
 curiosity, — perhaps, but not otherwise." 
 
 " Really? Well, now I understand why you 
 and I have become friends; for you are just such 
 a person as myself." 
 
 " We have become friends . . . ." said Baza- 
 rofF, dully. 
 
 "Yes! .... but I had forgotten that you 
 want to go away." 
 
 BazarofF rose. The lamp burned dimly in the 
 centre of the shadowy, perfumed, isolated room; 
 through the curtain, which fluttered now and 
 then, the exhilarating freshness of the night was 
 wafted in, its mysterious whispering was audible. 
 Madame OdintzofF did not move a single mem- 
 ber, but a secret agitation was gradually seizing 
 hold upon her. ... It communicated itself to 
 BazarofF. She suddenly became conscious that 
 he was alone with a young and beautiful 
 woman. . . . 
 
 " Where are you going?" — she said slowly. 
 
 168
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 He made no replj^ and dropped into a chair. 
 
 " So you regard me as a calm, effeminate, 
 spoiled being,"— she went on in the same tone, 
 never taking her eyes from the window. — " But 
 as for me, I know as to myself that I am un- 
 happy." 
 
 " You are unhappy! Why? Is it possible that 
 you can attach any significance to vile gossif)? " 
 
 Madame OdintzofF knit her brows. She was 
 vexed that he had understood her in that way. 
 
 " That gossip does not even disturb me, Ev- 
 geny Vasilievitch, and I am too proud to permit 
 it to worry me. I am unhappy because ... I 
 have no wish, no desire to live. You look at me 
 incredulously ; you are thinking : An ' aristocrat,' 
 all covered with lace and seated in a velvet arm- 
 chair, is saying tliat. And I do not dissimulate: 
 I do love what you call comfort, and, at the same 
 time, I have very little desire to live. Accept 
 this contradiction as you like. However, all this 
 is romanticism in your eyes." 
 
 Bazaroff shook his head. — " You are healthy, 
 independent, rich; what more do you require? 
 What do j^ou want? " 
 
 " What do I want? "—repeated Madame 
 Odintzoff, and sighed. — " I am very weary; I 
 am old ; it seems to me that I have been living for 
 a very great while. Yes, I am old,"— she added, 
 gently drawing the ends of her mantilla over her 
 bare arms.— Her eyes encountered BazarofF's 
 
 169
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 eyes, and she blushed faintly. — " There are so 
 many memories behind me: life in Petersburg, 
 wealth, then poverty, then my father's death, mar- 
 riage, then a trip abroad, as was proper. . . . 
 Many memories, but it is not worth while to recall 
 them; and before me — is a long, long road, but 
 I have no goal. . . And I do not want to go 
 on." 
 
 " Ai'e you so disenchanted? " — asked BazarofF. 
 
 " No,"— rejoined Madame OdintzofF bro- 
 kenly, — " but I am dissatisfied. I think that if I 
 could become strongly attached to anything . .'* 
 
 " You want to fall in love," — BazaroiF inter- 
 rupted her, — " and you cannot fall in love; 
 therein lies your misfortune." 
 
 Madame OdintzofF inspected the sleeve of her 
 wrap. 
 
 " Cannot I fall in love? "—she said. 
 
 " Hardly! Only I erred in calling that a mis- 
 fortune. On the contrary, he is rather deserving 
 of compassion to whom that fate befalls." 
 
 "Befalls, -what?" 
 
 " To fall in love." 
 
 " And how do you know that? " 
 
 " By hearsay,"— replied BazarofF angrily. 
 
 "Thou art flirting," he thought; "thou art 
 bored and art teasing me for the lack of some- 
 thing to do, and I . . . ." In fact, his heart was 
 fairly breaking. 
 
 " Besides, you may be too exacting,"— he said, 
 
 170
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 bending his whole body forward and playing- with 
 the fringe on the arm-chair. 
 
 " Possibly. According to my view, it is all or 
 nothing. A life for a life. Thou hast taken mine, 
 hand over thine, and then we can proceed without 
 regret and without return. Otherwise, better let 
 it alone." 
 
 " What then? "—remarked BazarofF.— " That 
 condition is perfectly just, and I am surprised 
 that up to this time you .... have not found 
 what you want." 
 
 " But do you think it is easy to surrender one's 
 self entirety to anything whatever? " 
 
 "It is not easy if one takes to reflecting and 
 waiting and sets a value on one's self — esteems 
 one's self, that is ; but to surrender one's self with- 
 out reflection is verj'' easy." 
 
 " But how can one help valuing one's self? If 
 I have no value, who wants my devotion? " 
 
 " That is no affair of mine; it is the afl"air of 
 some one else to examine into the question of my 
 value. The principal thing is to know how to sur- 
 render one's self." 
 
 IVIadame Odintzoff separated herself from the 
 back of her chair. — " You speak," — said she — 
 " as though you had gone through all that." 
 
 " It was a slip of the tongue, Anna Sergye- 
 evna: all that, as you know, is not in my line." 
 
 " But would 3^ou know how to surrender yoiu'- 
 self?" 
 
 171
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 " I do not know how; I will not boast." 
 
 Madame Odintzoff said nothing, and BazarofF 
 relapsed into silence. The sounds of the piano 
 were wafted to them from the drawing- 
 room. 
 
 " What makes Katya play so late? "—re- 
 marked ^ladame OdmtzofF. 
 
 BazarofF rose. "Yes, it really is late; it is 
 time for you to go to bed." 
 
 "Wait. Whither are you hastening. . . I 
 must say one word more to you." 
 
 "What word?" 
 
 " Wait,"— whispered Madame OdmtzofF.— 
 Her eyes rested on BazarofF; she seemed to be at- 
 tentively inspecting him. 
 
 He paced the room, then suddenly approached 
 her, said hastily " Farewell," gripped her hand so 
 that she almost screamed aloud, and went out. 
 She raised her fingers, which stuck together, to 
 her lips, blew upon them, and rising suddenly, im- 
 pulsively from her chair, walked to the door with 
 rapid steps, as though desirous of recalling Baza- 
 rofF. . . . Her maid entered the room with a carafe 
 on a silver salver. Madame OdintzofF stopped 
 short, ordered her to leave the room, seated 
 herself again, and again fell into thought. 
 Her hair uncoiled and fell on her shoulder like a 
 dark-hued serpent. The lamp burned for a long 
 time still in Anna Sergyeevna's chamber, and for 
 a long time she remained motionless, only now 
 
 172
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 and then passing her fingers over her arms, which 
 the night air stung rather sharply. 
 
 But Bazaroff two hours later returned to his 
 room with boots damp from the dew, dishevelled 
 and surly. He found ^Vrkady at the writing- 
 table with a book in his hands and his coat but- 
 toned to the throat. 
 
 " Thou art not yet in bed? "—he said, as though 
 in vexation. 
 
 " Thou hast sat a long time this evening witli 
 Anna Sergyeevna,"— remarked Arkady, without 
 reptying to his question. 
 
 " Yes, I was sitting with her all the while that 
 you and Katerina Sergyeevna were playing on 
 the piano." 
 
 " I was not playing . . . ." began Arkad} , 
 and stopped short. He felt the tears welling up 
 in his eyes and he did not wish to weep in the pres- 
 ence of his jeering friend. 
 
 173
 
 XVIII 
 
 On the following day, when Madame Odintzoff 
 made her api3earance at tea, Bazaroff sat for a 
 long time bent over his cup, then suddenly cast a 
 glance at her. . . She turned toward him, as 
 though he had nudged her, and it seemed to him 
 that her face had grown somewhat paler over- 
 night. She soon went awaj^ to her own room and 
 did not appear again until breakfast. From early 
 morning the w eather had been rainy, and walking 
 was impossible. The whole company assembled 
 in the drawing-room. Arkady got the last num- 
 ber of the newspaper and began to read aloud. 
 The Princess, according to her wont, first ex- 
 pressed amazement on her face, exactly as though 
 he were plotting something improper, then riveted 
 her eyes maliciousty upon him ; but he paid no at- 
 tention to her. 
 
 " Evgenj^ VasiHevitch,"— said Anna Sergye- 
 
 evna,— " come to my room I want to ask 
 
 you .... you mentioned yesterday a guide ..." 
 
 Slie rose and went toward the door. The Prin- 
 cess glanced around with an expression which 
 seemed to say, " Look, look, how astonished I 
 am! " and again bored her eyes into Arkady, but 
 
 174
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 he raised his voice, and exchanging a glance with 
 Katya, beside whom he was sitting, went on 
 reading. 
 
 Madame Odmtzoff, with hasty steps, betook 
 herself to her boudoir. BazarofF briskly followed 
 her, without raising his eyes, and merely catching 
 with his ear the faint whirr and rustle of her 
 silken gown, which was gliding on in front of him. 
 INIadame OdintzofF dropped into the same arai- 
 chair in which she had sat on the preceding even- 
 ing, and Bazaroff resumed his former place. 
 
 " So what is the title of that book? "—she be- 
 gan, after a brief silence. 
 
 " Pelouze et Fremy, ' Notions Generales,' "... 
 replied BazarofF. — " But I can also recommend 
 to you Ganot, ' Traite elementaire de Physique 
 Experimentale.' In this work the illustrations are 
 exact, and, on the whole, that manual " 
 
 Madame OdintzofF stretched out her hand. — 
 " Evgeny Vasilievitch, pardon me, but I have not 
 summoned you hither for the purpose of discus- 
 sing manuals. I wished to renew our conversa- 
 tion of last night. You went away so suddenly. 
 . . You will not find it irksome? " 
 
 " I am at your service, Anna Sergyeevna. 
 But, dear me, what was it we were talking about 
 last night?" 
 
 Madame OdintzofF cast a sidelong glance at 
 BazarofF. — " We were talking about happiness, 
 I believe. I was telling you about myself. By 
 
 175
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 the way, I have mentioned the word ' happiness. ' 
 Tell me wh}% even M^hen we are enjoying music, 
 for example, a fine evening, a conversation with 
 sympathetic persons,— why does it all seem rather 
 a hint of some illimitable happiness, which exists 
 somewhere or other, than real happiness— that is, 
 the sort such as we ourselves possess? Why is 
 this? Or, perhaps, you do not feel anything of 
 that sort? " 
 
 " You know the adage : ' That place is fair 
 where we are not,' "—returned BazaroiF;— " be- 
 sides, you yourself said last night that you are 
 dissatisfied. And, as a matter of fact, such 
 thoughts do not enter my head." 
 
 " Perhaps they seem ridiculous to you? " 
 " No, but they do not enter my head." 
 " Really? Do you know, I should very much 
 like to know what you think about? " 
 " What? I do not understand you." 
 " Listen, I have long wanted to have an expla- 
 nation with you. There is no necessity for telling 
 you— you know that j^ourself- that you do not 
 belong to the class of ordinary men : — you are still 
 young— all life is before 3^ou. For what are you 
 preparing yourself? What future awaits you? 
 I mean to say— what goal do you wish to attain? 
 whither are you going? what have you in 
 vour soul?— in a word, who are you? what are 
 you?" 
 
 " You amaze me, Anna Sergyeevna. You 
 
 176 
 
 .M
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 know that I am occupied with the natural sciences. 
 And as to who I am . . . ." 
 
 " Yes, who are you? " 
 
 " I have ah-ead}^ informed you that I am to be 
 a country doctor." 
 
 Anna Sergj'-eevna made a movement of im- 
 patience.—" Wh}^ do }^ou say that? You do not 
 heheve that j^ourself. Arkady might answer me 
 in that manner, but not vou." 
 
 " But why should Arkady " 
 
 " Will 3^ou stop ? Is it possible that you are sat- 
 isfied with so humble an activity, and are not you 
 yourself forever asserting that medicine does not 
 exist for you? You— with your pride— a district 
 doctor ! You answer me in that way with the ob- 
 ject of getting rid of me because you have no 
 confidence in me. But do you know, Evgeny 
 Vasilitch, I have learned to understand you: 
 I myself have been poor and proud, like you; 
 I have passed, perhaps, through the same trials 
 as you." 
 
 " All that is very fine, Anna Sergyeevna, but 
 you must excuse me ; ... in general, I have not 
 been used to expressing myself; and between you 
 and me there is such a gulf " 
 
 " What gulf ?— Are you going to tell me again 
 that I am an aristocrat ? Enough. Evgeny Va- 
 silitch; it seems to me that I have demonstrated 
 to you " 
 
 " Yes, and in addition to that,"— interrupted 
 
 177
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 Bazaroif,— " what is the use of discussing a 
 future, which, in the main, does not depend on 
 us? If an oj)portunity to do something fine 
 should turn up — very good; and if it does not turn 
 up — at all events, one can be satisfied that one has 
 not prated uselessly in advance. . ." 
 
 " You call a friendly chat prating .... or, 
 perhaps, you do not regard me as a woman worthy 
 of your confidence ? You scorn us all, you know." 
 
 " I do not scorn you, Anna Sergyeevna, you 
 know that." 
 
 " No, I know nothing. . . . But let us assume 
 that I understand your reluctance to talk about 
 j^our future vocation ; but what is taking place in 
 j^ou at the present moment " 
 
 "Taking place!" — repeated Bazaroff, — "as 
 though I were some kingdom or other, or a soci- 
 ety ! In any case, it is not in the least interesting ; 
 and, moreover, can a man always say aloud every- 
 thing that is ' taking place in him'? " 
 
 " But I do not see why it is impossible to speak 
 out everything which one has on one's soul." 
 
 " Can you? " — inquired Bazaroff. 
 
 " I can,"— replied Anna Sergyeevna, after a 
 slight hesitation. 
 
 Bazaroff bowed his head.—" You are more for- 
 tunate than I." 
 
 Anna Sergyeevna looked inquiringly at him. — 
 " As 5'ou like,"— she went on;—" but, neverthe- 
 less, something tells me that it is not for nothing 
 
 178
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 that we have become intimate, that we shall be 
 good friends. I am convinced that — how shall I 
 say it— this intensity, this reserve of yours, will 
 vanish in the end." 
 
 " And have you noticed in me reserve . . . how 
 was it you expressed it . . . intensity? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Bazaroff rose and went to the window. — *' And 
 you would like to know the cause of that reserve ? 
 —you would like to know what is taking place in 
 me?" 
 
 " Yes,"— repeated Madame Odmtzoff, with a 
 certain alarm, which had hitherto been unknown 
 to her. 
 
 " And you will not be angry? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " No? "— BazarofF was standing with his back 
 to her. — " Then you must know that I love you 
 stupidly, madly. . . That is what you have been 
 trying to get." 
 
 Madame OdintzofF stretched both arms out in 
 front of her, but Bazaroff leaned his brow against 
 the window-pane. He was suffocating ; his whole 
 body was visibly quivering. But this was not the 
 quiver of youthful timidity, not the sweet terror 
 of the first confession, which had taken i)ossession 
 of him; it was passion throbbing in him, strong 
 and heavy— passion resembling wratli, and, per- 
 haps, allied to it Madame Odintzoff 
 
 was terrified at him, and sorry for him. 
 
 179
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 *' Evgeny Vasilitch," — she said, and invol- 
 untary tenderness resounded in her voice. 
 
 He wheeled hastily round, flung a devouring 
 glance at her,— and seizing both her hands, sud- 
 denly drew her to his breast. 
 
 She did not immediately free herself from his 
 embrace ; but a moment later she was standing far 
 away in a corner and gazing thence at BazarofF. 
 He rushed toward her. . . . 
 
 " You have not understood me aright,"— she 
 whispered in swift alarm. It seemed to her that 
 if he took another step she should shriek. — Baza- 
 roff bit his lip and left the room. 
 
 Half an hour later a maid handed Anna Ser- 
 gyeevna a note from BazaroiF; it consisted of 
 only a single line: " Am I to go away to-day — 
 or may I stay until to-morrow? " — " Why go 
 away? I did not understand you — you did not 
 understand me," — Anna Sergyeevna replied to 
 him, and thought to herself, " And I did not un- 
 derstand myself either." 
 
 She did not show herself until dinner, and kept 
 pacing back and forth in her room with her hands 
 crossed behind her, halting from time to time, 
 now in front of the window, then in front of the 
 mirror, and slowly passing her handkerchief over 
 her neck, on which she still seemed to feel a burn- 
 ing spot. She asked herself what had made her 
 " try to get," to use BazarofF's expression, his 
 frankness, and whether slie had not suspected any- 
 
 180
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 thing. ..." I am to blame," — she said aloud, 
 " but I could not foresee this." She fell into 
 thought, and blushed, as she recalled BazarofF's 
 almost fierce face when he had rushed at her. . . . 
 
 " Or? "—she suddenly articulated, and halted 
 and shook her curls. . . . She beheld herself in 
 the mirror; her head thrown back, with a smile 
 on the half-parted, half-closed e3^es and lips, 
 seemed, at that moment, to be saying something 
 to her which reduced her to confusion. . . . 
 
 " No," she decided at last, — " God knows 
 whither that would have led; I must not jest with 
 that ; after all, tranquillity is better than anything 
 else in the world." 
 
 Her composure was not shaken; but she grew 
 sad and even wept once, not knowing herself why, 
 only not from the insult which had been dealt her. 
 She did not feel herself insulted : she felt herself, 
 rather, culpable. Under the influence of divers 
 confused sensations, the consciousness of vanish- 
 ing life, the desire for novelty, she forced herself 
 to toe the appointed mark, made herself look fur- 
 ther—and beheld beyond it not even a chasm, 
 but a void .... or a horror. 
 
 1811
 
 XIX 
 
 Mistress of herself as she was, high as she stood 
 above all prejudices, yet Madame OdintzofF felt 
 awkward when she presented herself in the din- 
 ing-room for dinner. However, it passed off 
 quite successfully. Porfiry Platonitch came and 
 told various anecdotes; he had only just returned 
 from the town. Among other things, he informed 
 them that the governor, Bourdaloue, had ordered 
 his officials for special commissions to wear spurs, 
 by way of expediting matters, in case he should 
 despatch them anywhere on horseback. Arkady 
 chatted with Katya in a subdued voice and lis- 
 tened diplomatically to the Princess. BazarofF 
 preserved a sullen and persistent silence. Ma- 
 dame OdintzofF looked twice— not stealthily, but 
 directly— at his face, stern and bitter, with low- 
 ered eyes, with the stamp of scornful decision on 
 every feature, and thought, " No . . . . no . . . 
 no. . . ." After dinner she and the entire com- 
 pany went into the garden, and, perceiving that 
 BazarofF wanted to speak with her, she went a 
 few paces aside and stopped. He approached 
 her, but even then he did not raise his eyes, and 
 said dully: 
 
 182
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 " I have a confession to make to you, Anna 
 Sergyeevna. You cannot but be angry with me." 
 
 " No, I am not angry with you, Evgeny Va- 
 silitch,"— repHed Madame Odintzoff ; " but I am 
 grieved." 
 
 " So much the worse. In any case, I am suffi- 
 ciently punished. ]My position, as you will prob- 
 ably agree with me, is extremely stupid. You 
 have written to me: ' Why go? ' But I cannot 
 and will not stay. To-morrow I shall be gone." 
 
 " Evgeny Vasilitch, why are you . . . ." 
 
 " Why am I going? " 
 
 " No, that was not what I meant to say." 
 
 " The past cannot be brought back, Anna Ser- 
 gyeevna ; . . . and sooner or later this must have 
 happened. Consequently, I must go. I under- 
 stand only one condition under which I could re- 
 main ; but that condition will never come to pass. 
 For you— pardon my audacity — do not love me, 
 and will never love me." 
 
 BazarofF's eyes flashed for a moment beneath 
 his gloomy brows. 
 
 Anna Sergyeevna did not answer him. " I am 
 afraid of this man," flashed through her head. 
 
 " Farewell, madam," said Bazarofl", as though 
 divining her thought, and wended his way to the 
 house. 
 
 Anna Sergyeevna quietly followed him, and 
 calling Katya, took her arm. . . She did not de- 
 tach herself from her until evening. She did not 
 
 183
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 play cards, and laughed a great deal, which did 
 not match at all with her pallid, agitated face. 
 Arkady was nonplussed and watched her, as 
 young men watch; that is to say, he incessantly 
 asked himself: " What is the meaning of this? " 
 BazarofF locked himself up in his room; but he 
 came out for tea. Anna Sergyeevna tried to utter 
 some kind word to him, but she did not know how 
 to begin the conversation with him. . . . 
 
 An unforeseen incident extricated her from her 
 dilemma : the butler announced the arrival of Sit- 
 nikofF. 
 
 It is difficult to convey in words the quail-like 
 manner in which the youthful progressist flew 
 into the room. Having made up his mind, with 
 the audacity pecuhar to him, to drive to the coun- 
 try-house of a woman whom he hardly knew, who 
 had never invited him, but who was entertaining 
 — according to the information he had gathered — 
 persons who were so clever and so near to him, 
 he was, nevertheless, intimidated to the very mar- 
 row of his bones, and, instead of uttering, to begin 
 with, the conventional excuses and greetings, he 
 stammered out some nonsense or other, to the 
 effect that Evdoksiya Kukshin had sent him to 
 inquire after the health of Anna Sergyeevna, and 
 that Arkady Nikolaevitch also had always ex- 
 pressed himself to him in the most laudator}'' 
 terms. . . . At this point he broke down and be- 
 came confused to such a degree that he sat down 
 
 184
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 on his own hat. But, as no one drove hmi out, 
 and Anna Sergyeevna even iijtroduced him to 
 her aunt and her sister, he speedily recovered him- 
 self and chattered away famously. The ai)pear- 
 ance of the commonplace is often useful in life: 
 it relieves the tension of chords too highl}^ strung, 
 its sobers self -conceited or self -forgetful feelings 
 by reminding them of their close connection with 
 it. With SitnikofF's arrival everything became 
 more stupid and more simple ; every one even ate 
 a more hearty supper, and they went off to bed 
 half an hour earlier than usual. 
 
 " I can repeat to thee now,"— said Arkady, as 
 he got into bed, to Bazaroff, who was also un- 
 dressed,—" that which thou saidst to me one day: 
 ' Why art thou so sad? assuredly, thou hast ful- 
 filled some sacred dutj^? ' "—for some time past 
 a sort of hypocritically free and easy jesting had 
 been established between the two young men, 
 which always serves as a sign of secret displeasure 
 or of unuttered suspicions. 
 
 " I 'm going off to my father to-morrow," — 
 said Bazaroff. 
 
 Arkady half sat up and propped himself on 
 his elbow. For some reason or other, he was 
 both astonished and delighted.— " Ah! "—he 
 ejaculated.—" And is that w^iat makes thee 
 sad?" 
 
 Bazaroff yawned.— "If thou knowest too 
 much, thou wilt grow old," 
 
 185
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 " And how about Anna Sergyeevna? " — went 
 on Arkady. 
 
 " What dost thou mean about Anna Sergye- 
 evna? " 
 
 " I mean to say, is it possible that she will allow 
 thee to go? " 
 
 " I have not tied myself to her." 
 
 Arkady reflected, but BazarofF got into bed 
 and turned his face to the wall. 
 
 Several minutes elapsed in silence. " Evgeny ! " 
 — exclaimed Arkady suddenly. 
 
 " Well? " 
 
 " I 'm going away with thee to-morrow." 
 
 BazarofF made no answer. 
 
 " Only I am going home," — pursued Arkady. 
 — " We will go together as far as the Khokhloff 
 settlement, and there thou canst get horses from 
 Feodot. I should be glad to make the acquain- 
 tance of thy people, but I am afraid of incom- 
 moding them and thee. Thou wilt come back to 
 us later on, wilt thou not? " 
 
 " I left my things at thy house," — replied Ba- 
 zaroif , without turning round. 
 
 " Why does n 't he ask me why I am going? 
 and as suddenly as himself? " thought Arkady. 
 " As a matter of fact, why am I going? and 
 why is he going? " he pursued his medita- 
 tions. He could not give a satisfactory re- 
 ply to his own question, but his heart was 
 filled to overflowing with a caustic sensation. 
 
 186
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 He felt that it was painful to him to part 
 with that life to which he had grown so accus- 
 tomed ; but to remain alone would seem somewhat 
 strange. " What has taken place between 
 them?"— he argued the matter with himself; 
 " and wh}'- should I show myself before her after 
 his dej)arture? I shall make her tired of me for 
 good and all; and I shall lose my last hold." He 
 began to picture to himself Anna Sergyeevna, 
 and then other features gradually pierced their 
 way through the lovely image of the young 
 widow. 
 
 " I 'm sorry for Katya, too! " — whispered Ai'- 
 kady to his pillow, on which a tear had already 
 fallen. . . . He suddenly flung back his hair and 
 said aloud: 
 
 " What the devil did that blockhead Sitnikofl" 
 come for? " 
 
 BazarofF first moved in his bed and then emit- 
 ted the following:— " Thou, brother, art still 
 stupid, I perceive. SitnikofFs are indispensable 
 tons. I — mark this— I need such dolts. Reallv, 
 it is not the business of the gods to bake pots ! . ." 
 
 "Aha, ha! . . . ." thought Arkady to himself, 
 and only then was the whole bottomless abyss of 
 BazarofF's pride disclosed to him for an instant. 
 " So thou and I are gods? that is— thou art a god, 
 and am I the dolt, I wonder? " 
 
 " Yes," — repeated BazaroiF grimly, — " thou 
 art still stupid." 
 
 18^
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 Madame Odintzoff did not manifest any par- 
 ticular surj^rise when, on the following day, Ar- 
 kady told her that he was going away with Baza- 
 roff ; she seemed preoccupied and wear3\ Katya 
 gazed silently and seriously at him, the Princess 
 even crossed herself under her shawl, so that he 
 might not perceive it, but Sitnikoff, on the other 
 hand, was thoroughly alarmed. He had just 
 come to breakfast in a new, dandified outfit, 
 which, on this occasion, was not Sla^yanophil ; on 
 the previous evening he had astonished the man 
 appointed to wait on him by the amount of bod}^- 
 linen he had brought, and, all of a sudden, his 
 comrades were abandoning him! He danced up 
 and down a little and rushed about like a hunted 
 hare at the edge of the forest,— and suddenly, 
 almost with terror, almost with a shriek, an- 
 nounced that he intended to leave. Madame 
 OdmtzofF did not attempt to dissuade him. 
 
 " I have a very eas}'- calash," — added the un- 
 happy young man, turning to Arkady. — " I can 
 drive you, and Evgeny Vasilitch can take your 
 tarantas, as it will be more convenient that wav." 
 
 " But good gracious, it is not on your road at 
 all, and I live far away." 
 
 "That makes no difference, no difference; I 
 have plenty of time, and, moreover, I have busi- 
 ness in that direction." 
 
 " Connected with the liquor monopoty? " — in- 
 quired Arkady, quite too disdainfully. 
 
 188
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 But Sitnikoff was in such a state of despair 
 that, contrary to his wont, he did not even smile. 
 — "I assure you my calash is extremely easy," 
 — he stammered, — " and there will be room 
 for all." 
 
 " Do not grieve Monsieur Sitnikoff by refus- 
 ing," — said Anna Sergyeevna. . . . 
 
 Arkady glanced at her and significantly bowed 
 his head. 
 
 The visitors took their departure after break- 
 fast. 
 
 As she bade BazarofF good-bye, Madame 
 Odintzoff offered him her hand and said,—" We 
 shall see each other again, shall we not? " 
 
 " At your command,"— replied Bazaroff. 
 
 " In that case, we shall meet again." 
 
 Arkady was the first to emerge upon the porch : 
 he climbed into Sitnikoff's calash. The butler 
 respectfully assisted him, but it would have given 
 him great satisfaction to beat the man, or to weep. 
 BazarofF took his place in the tarantas. When 
 they reached the KhokhlofF settlement, Arkady 
 waited until Feodot, the keeper of the posting- 
 station, had harnessed the horses, and, approach- 
 ing the tarantas, said to Bazaroff with his smile 
 as of old, " Evgeny, take me with thee; I want 
 to go to thy house." 
 
 " Get in,"— articulated BazarofF between his 
 teeth. 
 
 Sitnikoff, who was walking up and down, whis- 
 
 189
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 tling energetically around the wheels of his calash, 
 merely gaped when he heard these words, but Ar- 
 kady coolly took his things out of the calash, 
 seated himself beside BazarofF,— and, politely sa- 
 luting his previous travelling companion, shouted, 
 " Drive on! " The tarantas rolled off and soon 
 disappeared from view. . . . Sitnikoff, thor- 
 oughly discomfited, looked at his coachman, but 
 the latter was making the tail of his whip-lash 
 play over the side horse. Then SitnikoiF sprang 
 into his calash, and thundering out at two passing 
 peasants: "Put on your caps, you fools!"— 
 dragged himself off to the town, where he arrived 
 very late, and where, on the following day at 
 Madame Kukshin's, the two " disgusting, proud 
 boors " caught it heavily. 
 
 As he took his seat in the tarantas beside Baza- 
 roiF, Arkady pressed his hand warmly, and for a 
 long time said nothing. Bazaroff appeared to 
 understand and value both the pressure and the 
 silence. He had not slept all the preceding night, 
 and for several days past he had not smoked, 
 and had eaten almost nothing. His haggard 
 profile stood out gloomily and sharply from be- 
 neath his cap, which was pulled down over his 
 eyes. 
 
 " Well, brother,"— he said at last,—" give me 
 a cigar. . . . And look, see if my tongue is 
 yellow." 
 
 " It is,"— replied Arkady. 
 
 190
 
 FATHERS AND CIIILDKEN 
 
 " Well, yes, and the cigar has no 
 
 flavour. The machine is out of order." 
 
 " Thou really hast changed of late," — re- 
 marked Arkady. 
 
 " Never mind! we shall right ourselves. One 
 thing is a bore,— my mother is such a tender- 
 hearted woman : if your paunch has n't grown big 
 and you don't eat ten times a day, she simply 
 pines. Well, my father is all right; he has been 
 through all sorts of things himself. No, it 
 is impossible to smoke,"— he added, and flung his 
 cigar into the dust of the highway. 
 
 " It is twenty-five versts to thy estate? " — asked 
 Arkady. 
 
 " Yes. But ask that wiseacre there." — He 
 pointed at the peasant on the box, Feodot's hired 
 man. 
 
 But the wiseacre replied: " Who knows? — the 
 versts are not measured," — with his queer accent, 
 and went on reviling the shaft-horse because it 
 jerked its head. 
 
 " Yes, yes," — began BazaroiF, — " a lesson for 
 j'^ou, my young friend, a sort of edifying example. 
 The devil knows what nonsense it is ! Every man 
 hangs on a hair, the abyss may yawn beneath him 
 at anv moment, and he invents all sorts of un- 
 pleasant things for himself to boot; he ruins his 
 own life." 
 
 " At what art thou hinting? "—inquired Ar- 
 kady. 
 
 191
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 " I 'm not hinting at anything ; I 'm saying 
 straight out that both you and I have been be- 
 having very stupidly. What 's the use of explain- 
 ing! But I have already observed in the clinic 
 that if any one gets angry at his pain, that man in- 
 fallibly conquers it." 
 
 " I do not understand thee in the least,"— said 
 Arkady.—" I should not think thou hadst any 
 cause to complain." 
 
 " And if thou dost not understand me in the 
 least, then I will tell thee this : In my opinion, it 
 is better to break stones on the highway than to 
 permit a woman to take possession of even so 
 much as the tip of thy finger. That 's all. . ." 
 
 BazarofF came near uttering his favourite 
 word, " romanticism"— but restrained himself, 
 and said, " nonsense. — Thou wilt not believe me 
 now, but I will tell thee : thou and I have fallen 
 into feminine society, and we have found it agree- 
 able; but to abandon such society is like drench- 
 ing one's self with cold water on a hot day.— A 
 man has no time to occupy himself with such 
 trifles ; a man ought to be ferocious, says a capital 
 Spanish proverb. I suppose, wiseacre,"— he 
 added, addressing the peasant on the box,—" that 
 thou hast a wife? " 
 
 The peasant exhibited his flat, mole-eyed face 
 to the two friends. 
 
 " A wife? Yes. How could I be without a 
 wife?" 
 
 192
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 " Dost thou beat her? " 
 
 " My wife? All sorts of things happen. We 
 don't beat her without cause." 
 
 " And that is well. Well, and does she beat 
 thee? " 
 
 The peasant twitched the reins. — " What a 
 word thou hast said, master. Thou wilt keep jest- 
 ins;. . . ." Obviously, he was offended. 
 
 Arkady laughed in a constrained way, and Ba- 
 zaroff turned aside and never opened his mouth 
 again the whole w^ay. 
 
 The five and twenty versts seemed to Arkady 
 fully fifty. But at last, on the dechvity of a slop- 
 ing hill, a tiny hamlet was revealed to view, where 
 dwelt the parents of BazarofF. Alongside of it, 
 in a young birch grove, a small manor-house with 
 a thatched roof was visible. By the first cottage 
 stood two peasants with their caps on quarrelling. 
 " Thou art a big hog,"— said one to the other.— 
 " But thou art worse than a small sucking-pig." 
 — " And thy wife is a witch," retorted the other. 
 
 " From the unceremoniousness of their inter- 
 course,"— remarked Bazaroff to Arkady,—" and 
 from the playful turns of their speech, thou canst 
 judge that my father's serfs are not too much op- 
 pressed. But yonder is he himself coming out 
 on the porch of his dwelling. He must have 
 heard the carriage-bell. 'T is he, 't is he,— I rec- 
 ognise his figure. Ehe, he! but how grey he has 
 grown, poor man! " 
 
 193
 
 XX 
 
 Bazaroff leaned out of the tarantas, and Arkady 
 thrust his head out behind his friend's back and 
 perceived on the httle porch of the manor-house 
 a tall, thin man, with dishevelled hair, and a thin, 
 aquiUne nose, clad in an old military coat open on 
 the breast. He was standing with his legs far 
 apart smoking a long pipe and blinking at the 
 sun. 
 
 The horses came to a halt. 
 
 " Thou art come, at last,"— said Bazaroff' s 
 father, still continuing to smoke, although his 
 chibouque fairly leaped in his fingers.—" Come, 
 get out, get out, we will embrace and kiss." 
 
 He began to embrace his son. ..." Eniiisha, 
 Eniusha," rang out a quavering female voice. 
 The door flew open and on the threshold appeared 
 a plump, short old woman, in a white cap, and a 
 short, motley -hued jacket. She cried out and 
 staggered, and certainly would have fallen had 
 not Bazaroff supported her. Her plump arms 
 instantly twined themselves around his neck, her 
 head pressed close to his breast, and all became 
 still. Nothing was audible, save her broken sobs. 
 
 Old Bazaroff drew deep breaths and bhnked 
 worse than before. 
 
 194.
 
 FATHEKS AXD CIII1>DREN 
 
 " Come, enough, enough, Ari'sha! stop,"— he 
 said, exchanging a glance with Arkady, who stood 
 motionless by the tarantas, while the peasant on 
 the box even turned away:—" This is not in the 
 least necessary! please stop." 
 
 " Akh, Vasil}^ Ivanitch," — stammered the old 
 woman, — " it 's an age since I have seen my dar- 
 ling, my Eniushenka . . ." and, without releas- 
 ing her arms, she turned her face, all wet with 
 tears, agitated and moved, from Bazaroff, gazed 
 at him with blissful and comical eyes, and again 
 fell upon his breast. 
 
 " Well, yes, of course, this is all in the nature of 
 things,"— said Vasily Ivanitch,—" only we had 
 better go into the house. A visitor has come with 
 Evgeny. Excuse me,"— he added, turning to 
 Arkady, and with a slight scrape of the foot,— 
 "you understand woman's weakness; well, and 
 the mother's heart " 
 
 But his own lips and eyebrows were twitching 
 and his chin was quivering ; . . . . but he was evi- 
 dently trying to control himself and to appear 
 almost indifferent. Arkady saluted him. 
 
 " Come, mother, realty now,"— said Bazaroff, 
 and led the feeble old woman into the house. 
 After seating her in a comfortable arm-chair, he 
 once more hastily embraced his father, and intro- 
 duced Arkady to him. 
 
 " I am heartily glad to make your acquain- 
 tance,"— said Vasily Ivanovitch,— " only be not 
 
 195
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 exacting: everything here in my house is simple, 
 on a military footing. Arina Vlasievna, do me 
 the favour to calm thyself: what pusillanimity is 
 this? Our guest must think hardly of thee." 
 
 " Dear little father," — said the old woman, 
 through her tears: — "I have not the honour to 
 know your name and patronymic " 
 
 " Arkady Nikolaitch," Vasfly Ivanitch pom- 
 pously prompted her, in an undertone. 
 
 " Excuse me, I 'm stupid." The old woman 
 blew her nose and, bending her head now to the 
 right, now to the left, carefully wiped first one 
 eye, then the other. " You must excuse me. You 
 see I thought I should die before I saw my 
 da ... a ... a . . arling." 
 
 " But now you have lived to see him, madam," 
 — put in Vasily Ivanitch.—" Taniushka," he said, 
 addressing a barefooted girl of thirteen, in a 
 bright scarlet print gown, who was peeping tim- 
 idly from behind the door,—" fetch the mistress 
 a glass of water— on a salver, dost thou hear?— 
 and you, gentlemen," — he added, with a certain 
 old-fashioned plaj^fulness,— " allow me to invite 
 you into the study of a veteran in retreat." 
 
 " Let me hug thee just a little more, Eni- 
 ushetchka," — moaned Arina Vlasievna. Baz- 
 arofF bent over her. " But what a beauty thou 
 hast grown to be! " 
 
 " Well, he 's not exactly a beauty,"— remarked 
 Vasily Ivanitch;—" but he 's a man; as the say- 
 
 196 
 
 iH
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 ing is, hommc fait. But now, I hope, Arina 
 Vlasievna, that, after having satiated thy ma- 
 ternal heart, thou wilt attend to the feeding 
 of thy dear guests, because, as thou knowest, it is 
 not fitting to feed a nightingale on fables." ^ 
 
 The old woman rose from her chair.—" This 
 very moment, Vasily Ivanitch, the table will be 
 set; I will run to the kitchen myself and order 
 the samovar to be prepared ; they shall have every- 
 thing, everything. Why, it 's three years since I 
 saw him, fed him, gave him to drink, and is that 
 easy to bear? " 
 
 "Well, see to it, housewife; bustle about and 
 do not put thyself to shame ; and do you, gentle- 
 men, be so good as to follow me. Here 's Timo- 
 feitch has presented himself to greet thee, Ev- 
 geny. And he 's dehghted, I think, the old 
 watch-dog. What? thou art delighted, art thou 
 not, old watch-dog? I pray you to follow me." 
 
 And Vasity Ivanitch bustled on ahead, shuffling 
 and dragging his patched slippers. 
 
 His entire little house consisted of six tiny 
 rooms. One of them, the one into which he led 
 our friends, was called the study. A fat-legged 
 table, with an accumulation of dust which had 
 turned black with age, with documents which 
 looked as though they had been smoked, occupied 
 the entire space between the two windows ; on the 
 waUs hung Turkish guns, kazak whips, sabres, 
 
 1 "Fair words butter no parsnips."— Translator. 
 
 19^
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 two maps, several anatomical drawings, a })ortrait 
 of Hufeland, a monogram of hair in a black 
 frame, and a diploma under glass; a leather- 
 covered couch, crushed down and tattered in 
 spots, stood between two huge cupboards of Kare- 
 lian birch wood; on the shelves, in disorder, were 
 crowded books, small boxes, stuffed birds, bottles 
 and phials ; in one corner stood a broken electrical 
 machine. 
 
 " I warned you, my dear visitor," — began 
 Vasily Ivanitch, — " that we live here, so to speak, 
 in bivouac. . ." 
 
 " Come, stop that, why dost thou make apolo- 
 gies? "—interrupted BazarofF.— " KirsanoiF is 
 very well aware that thou and I are not Crcesuses, 
 and that thou hast not a palace. Where are we to 
 put him, that 's the question? " 
 
 " Good gracious, Evgeny; there is a capital 
 chamber yonder in my wing ; he will be very com- 
 fortable there." 
 
 " So thou hast set up a wing? " 
 
 " Of course, sir; where the bath is, sir,"— put in 
 Timofeitch. 
 
 " That is to say, alongside the bath,"— hastily 
 subjoined Vasily Ivanitch.—" But it is summer 
 now. ... I '11 run over there at once and arrange 
 things; and, in the meantime, Timofeitch, thou 
 hadst better bring in their things. Of course I 
 place my study at thy disposal, Evgeny. Suum 
 aiique." 
 
 198
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 " There you have it ! A very amusing old inaii, 
 and as kind as possible," — added Bazaroff, as 
 soon as Vasily Ivanitch left the room. — " Just 
 such another eccentric as thy father, only after 
 another fashion. He chatters a great deal." 
 
 " And thy mother, apparently, is a very fine 
 woman," — remarked Arkady. 
 
 " Yes, she 's a guileless creature. Just watch 
 what a dinner she '11 give us! " 
 
 " You were not expected to-day, dear little 
 father; they have brought no beef,"— said Timo- 
 feitch, who had just dragged in BazarofF's trunk. 
 
 " We '11 get along without the beef; if there is 
 none, it cannot be helped. Poverty, as the adage 
 goes, is no crime." 
 
 " How many souls * has thy father? " — sud- 
 denly inquired Arkady. 
 
 " The estate does not belong to him, but to my 
 mother; there are fifteen souls, if I remember 
 rightly." 
 
 " There are twenty -two in all,"— remarked 
 Timofeitch with displeasure. 
 
 The scuffling of slipj)ers became audible, and 
 Vasily Ivanitch made his appearance again. " In 
 a few minutes your chamber will be ready to re- 
 ceive you," — he exclaimed triumphantly, — " Ar- 
 kady .... Nikolaitch? I believe that is what 
 you deign to be called? And here 's a servant for 
 you,"— he added, pointing at a boy with closely- 
 
 1 Male serfs.— Translator. 
 
 199,
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 clipped hair in a blue kaftan which was torn on 
 the elbows, and some one else's shoes, who had 
 entered with him. — " His name is Fedka. Again 
 I repeat it, — although my son forbids me, — be not 
 exacting. However, he knows how to fill a pipe. 
 You smoke, of course? " 
 
 " I smoke chiefly cigars," — replied Arkady. 
 
 " And you behave very sensibly. I myself give 
 the preference to cigars, but in our remote region 
 it is extremely difficult to obtain them." 
 
 " Come, have done with singing Lazarus," — in- 
 terrupted Bazaroff once more. " Thou hadst 
 better sit down there on the couch and let me have 
 a look at thee. 
 
 Vasily Ivanitch laughed and sat down. He 
 greatly resembled his son in face, only his fore- 
 head was lower and narrower and his mouth some- 
 what wider, and he kept in incessant motion, 
 twitched his shoulders as though his coat cut him 
 under the arms, winked, coughed and twiddled his 
 fingers, while his son was distinguished from him 
 by a certain careless impassivity. 
 
 " Singing Lazarus!" — repeated Vasily Ivan- 
 itch. " Thou must not think, Evgeny, that I am 
 trying to move our guest to pity, so to speak; as 
 much as to say, — just see in what a desolate hole 
 we live. On the contrary, I hold the opinion that 
 for a rational man there is no such thing as a deso- 
 late hole. At all events, I try, to the extent of my 
 
 200
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 ability, not to get moss-grown, as the saying is, 
 not to lag behind the age." 
 
 Vasily Ivanitch j^ulled from his pocket a new 
 j^ellow bandana handkerchief, which he had con- 
 trived to catch up as he ran to Arkady's room, 
 and proceeded as he flourished it in the air: — " I 
 am not speaking of the fact that I, for example, 
 not without sensible sacrifices on my own part, 
 have put my peasants on quit -rent and have given 
 them my lands by halves. I regarded that as my 
 duty, common sense itself commands it in this 
 case, although other proprietors are not even 
 thinking of it: I am speaking of the sciences of 
 culture." 
 
 " Yes ; I see thou hast yonder ' The Friend of 
 Health ' for 1855," remarked BazarofF. 
 
 " A comrade sent it to me, for old acquain- 
 tance's sake," — said Vasfly Ivanitch; — "but we 
 have some conception of phrenology," — he added, 
 addressing himself, however, more particularly to 
 Arkady, and pointing at a small plaster head 
 which stood on the cupboard broken up into num- 
 bered squares.—" Schonlein also has not re- 
 mained unknown to us— and Rademacher." 
 
 " And do people still believe in Rademacher in 
 the * * * Government? " asked BazarofF. 
 
 Vasily Ivanitch began to cough. —"In the 
 Government .... Of course, gentlemen, you 
 know best; how can we vie with you? You have 
 
 201
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 come to supersede us, you see. And in my time, 
 also, a certain humouralist Hoffman, and a cer- 
 tain Brown, with his vitalism, seemed very ridicu- 
 lous, but they had made a great noise once upon a 
 time. Some new person has taken Rademacher's 
 place with you; you bow down before him, and 
 twenty years hence, probably, people will laugh at 
 him also." 
 
 " I will tell thee, for thy consolation," — said 
 Bazaroff, — " that nowadays we laugh at medi- 
 cine in general, and we bow down before no one." 
 
 " How is that? Surely thou art going to be a 
 doctor?" 
 
 " I am, but the one does not prevent the other." 
 
 Vasily Ivanitch poked his third finger into his 
 pipe, where a little burning ashes still lingered. — 
 " Well, perhaps, perhaps — I will not contradict. 
 For what am I?— A retired staff-doctor, voild 
 tout, and now turned agriculturist. — I served in 
 your grandfather's brigade," — he addressed him- 
 self once more to Arkady. — " Yes, sir; yes, sir; 
 I have seen many sights in my day. And in what 
 company have not I been, with whom have not I 
 consorted! — I, this very I, whom j'-ou are pleased 
 to see before you, I have felt the pulse of Prince 
 Wittgenstein and of Zhukovsky ! I used to know 
 every one of those men, in the army of the South, 
 in the year 'fourteen, you understand " (here 
 Vasily Ivanitch pursed up his lips significantly). 
 " Well, and of course my business lay apart ; 
 
 202
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 know how to use your lancet and that 's enough ! 
 But your grandfather was a very greatly re- 
 spected man, a genuine warrior." 
 
 " Confess, he was a good deal of a blockhead," 
 — said BazarofF lazily. 
 
 " Akh, Evgeny, how thou dost express thyself! 
 do show mercj\ . . Of course General Kirsanoff 
 did not belong to the number . . . ." 
 
 "Well, drop him," — interrupted BazarofF. — 
 " As I drove hither I rejoiced at tlw birch grove; 
 it has spread splendidly." 
 
 Vasily Ivanitch grew animated.— "And see 
 what a nice little garden I have now! I planted 
 every tree myself. There are fruits in it and ber- 
 ries, and all sorts of medicinal herbs. Be as art- 
 ful as you may, young gentlemen, nevertheless 
 old Paracelsus uttered the sacred truth: in herhis, 
 verbis et lapidibus. . . For I, as thou knowest, 
 have given up practice and am obliged to recall 
 my 3^outh a couple of times a week. People come 
 for advice, — one cannot turn them out neck and 
 crop. It sometimes happens that poor people 
 come for aid. And there are no doctors at all 
 here. One of the neighbours, just fancy, a retired 
 major, also makes cures. I ask about him: has 
 he studied medicine? I am told: no, he has not 
 studied; he does it mainly from philanthropic 
 motives. . . . Ha, ha, from philanthropic mo- 
 tives! Hey? What do you think of that? Ha, 
 ha! Ha, ha!" 
 
 203
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 " Fedka! fill my pipe! " said BazaroiF sharply. 
 
 " And sometimes another doctor here comes to 
 the patient," — went on Vasily Ivanitch, with a 
 sort of desperation,—" but the patient has already 
 departed ad patres; and his servant does not ad- 
 mit the doctor; he says: ' You 're not needed now.' 
 The doctor has not expected that; he gets con- 
 fused, and asks : ' Did j^our master hiccough be- 
 fore his death? '— ' He did, sir.'—' And did he hic- 
 cough a great deal? '— ' Yes.'—' Ah, well, that 's 
 good,' — and right about face back. Ha, ha, ha! " 
 
 The old man was the only one who laughed; 
 Arkady indicated a smile on his face. BazaroiF 
 merely stretched himself. The conversation was 
 prolonged after this fashion for about an hour; 
 Arkady managed to get away to his room, which 
 proved to be the anteroom of the bath, but very 
 comfortable and clean. At last Taniusha entered 
 and announced that dinner was ready. 
 
 Vasily Ivanitch was the first to rise.—" Come, 
 gentlemen! Be so generous as to forgive me, 
 if you have been bored. Perhaps my housewife 
 will satisfy you better than I have done." 
 
 The dinner, although hastily prepared, turned 
 out to be very good, even abundant ; only the wine 
 was rather bad: the almost black sherry, pur- 
 chased by Timofeitch in the town from a mer- 
 chant of his acquaintance, had a flavour which was 
 not precisely that of brass, nor yet of resin ; and 
 the flies too were a nuisance. At ordinary times 
 
 204.
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 the boy house-serf drove them off with a big green 
 bough; but on this occasion Vasily Ivanitch had 
 sent him awaj'' for fear of criticism on the part of 
 the younger generation. Arina Vlasievna had 
 succeeded in arrajang herself; she had donned a 
 tall cap with silken ribbons, and a blue shawl with 
 a flowered pattern. She fell to weeping again as 
 soon as she caught sight of her Eniusha, but her 
 husband was not obliged to exhort her : she wiped 
 her tears away as promptly as possible, lest she 
 should spoil her shawl. The j^oung men alone 
 ate: the master and mistress of the house had 
 dined long before. Fedka waited on them, evi- 
 dently oppressed by his unwonted boots, and he 
 was assisted by a woman with a masculine face, 
 who was also blind of one eye, Anfisushka by 
 name, who discharged the duties of housekeeper, 
 poultry-woman and laundress. Vasil}^ Ivanitch 
 paced up and down the room during the whole 
 duration of the dinner, and with a thoroughly 
 happy and even blissful aspect talked about the 
 grave apprehensions with which the policy of Na- 
 poleon inspired him and tlie complications of the 
 Italian question. Arma Vlasievna did not per- 
 ceive Arkady, did not urge him to eat; with her fist 
 propping up her round face, to wliich her puify, 
 cherry-coloured lips and the moles on her cheeks 
 and above her eyebrows imparted a very good- 
 natured expression, she never took her eyes off 
 her son, and sighed constantly; she was dying 
 
 205
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 to find out for how long a time he had come, but 
 she was afraid to ask him. " Well, he will say — 
 ' For a couple of days,' " she thought, and her 
 heart died within her. After the roast, Vasilv 
 Ivanitch disappeared for a moment and returned 
 with an uncorked half bottle of champagne. 
 " Here," — he exclaimed, — " although we do live 
 in the wilds, still, on festive occasions, we have 
 something wherewith to cheer ourselves ! " He 
 poured out three glasses and a wine-glass full, 
 proposed the health " of our inestimable visitors," 
 and having tossed oif his glass at once in military 
 fashion, he made Arina Vlasievna drain her wine- 
 glass to the last drop. When the preserves were 
 brought on, Arkady, who could not endure anj^- 
 thing sweet, nevertheless considered it his duty to 
 taste four different sorts, the more so as Bazaroff 
 flatly declined them, and immediate^ lighted a 
 cigar. Then tea made its appearance on the 
 scene, accompanied by cream, butter and crack- 
 nels; then Vasily Ivanitch led them all into the 
 garden, to enjoy the beauty of the evening. As 
 they passed a bench he whispered to Arkady, — 
 " On this spot I love to philosophise, as I gaze 
 at the sunset: that is befitting a hermit. And 
 further on, yonder, I have planted several of the 
 trees beloved by Horace." 
 
 " What sort of trees? " — asked Bazaroff, who 
 was listening. 
 
 " Why .... acacias, of course." 
 
 206
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 Bazarotf began to yawn. 
 
 " I suppose it is time for the travellers to be- 
 take themselves to the arms of Morpheus," — re- 
 marked Vasily Ivan itch. 
 
 " That is to say, it is time to go to bed,"— put 
 in BazarofF. — " That reasoning is correct. It is 
 time, in fact." 
 
 When he bade his mother good-night, he kissed 
 her on the brow, — and she embraced him and 
 blessed him thrice with the sign of the cross 
 stealthily behind his back. Vasily Ivanitch 
 escorted Arkady to his chamber and wished 
 him " the same sort of beneficent repose which 
 I used to enjoy at your age." And, in fact, 
 Arkady slept capitally in his bath vestibule. 
 It was redolent of mint, and two crickets vied 
 with each other in chirping away soporifically 
 behind the stove. Vasily Ivanitch, on leav- 
 ing Arkady, went to his study, and curling 
 himself up on the couch at his son's feet, prepared 
 to have a chat with him; but BazarofF immedi- 
 ately sent him away, saying that he felt sleepy; 
 but he did not get to sleep until morning. With 
 widely-opened eyes he stared angrily into the 
 darkness: memories of his childhood had no do- 
 minion over him, and, moreover, he had not j^et 
 succeeded in detaching himself from his last bit- 
 ter impressions. Arina Vlasievna first prayed to 
 her heart's content ; then she had a long, long con- 
 ference with Anfisushka, who, standing in front 
 
 207
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 of her mistress as though rooted to the spot and 
 with her solitary eye riveted upon her, commu- 
 nicated to her in a mysterious whisper all her ob- 
 servations and conclusions regarding Evgeny 
 Vasilievitch. The old ladj^'s head was all in a 
 whirl from jo}^ wine, and cigar-smoke; her hus- 
 band tried to talk to her, but gave it up in despair. 
 Arina Vlasievna was a genuine Russian gentle- 
 woman of the petty nobility of days gone by ; she 
 ought to have lived a couple of hundred years ear- 
 lier, in the times of ancient JMoscow. She was very 
 devout and sentimental, she believed in all sorts 
 of omens, divinations, spells, dreams ; she believed 
 in holy simpletons,^ in house-demons, in forest- 
 demons, in evil encounters, in the evil eye, in pop- 
 ular remedies, in salt prepared in a special man- 
 ner on Great Thursday ^ in the speedy end of 
 the world ; she believed that if the tapers did not 
 go out at the Vigil Service at Easter the buck- 
 wheat would bear a hea\y crop, and that a mush- 
 room will not grow any more if a human eye 
 descries it; she believed that the devil is fond of 
 being where there is water, and that every Jew 
 has a bloody spot on his breast ; she was afraid of 
 mice, snakes, frogs, sparrows, leeches, thunder, 
 cold water, draughts, horses, goats, red-haired 
 people, and black cats, and regarded crickets and 
 
 ^ Half-witted men were formerly regarded in Russia as divinely 
 inspired, almost in the light of prophets. — Translator. 
 
 - The Thursday before Good Friday: called Maundy Thursday in 
 the Western Church. — Tkakslator. 
 
 208
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 dogs as unclean animals ; she ate neither veal, nor 
 pigeons/ nor crabs, nor cheese, nor asparagus, nor 
 artichokes, nor watermelons, because a water- 
 melon when it is cut reminds one of the head of 
 John the Baptist; and she never mentioned oys- 
 ters otherwise than with a shudder; she was fond 
 of eating— and fasted strictly; she slept ten hours 
 a day— and never went to bed at all if Vasily 
 Ivanitch had a headache; she had never read a 
 single book, except " Alexis, or the Cottage in the 
 Forest " ; she wrote one letter, at the most two let- 
 ters, a year; but she was an ex^^ert in dried and 
 preserved fruits, although she never put her own 
 hand to anything, and, in general, was reluctant 
 to move from one spot. Arina Vlasievna was 
 very good-natured, and, in her own way, not at 
 all stupid. She knew that there are in the world 
 gentlemen whose dut}^ it is to command, and com- 
 mon people whose duty it is to obey, — and there- 
 fore she did not disdain either obsequiousness or 
 lowlj^ reverences to the earth; but slie treated her 
 inferiors graciously and gently; she never let a 
 beggar pass without a gift, and she never con- 
 demned any one, although she did occasionally 
 indulge in gossip. In her youth she had been 
 very pretty, had played on the clavichord, and had 
 spoken a little French; but in the course of wan- 
 derings, which extended over many years, with her 
 
 ^ The dove being the symbol of the Holy Spirit, the majority of 
 Russians will neither kill nor eat pigeons. — Translator. 
 
 209
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 husband, whom she had married against her will, 
 she had deteriorated and had forgotten her music 
 and her French. She loved and feared her son 
 unspeakabty ; she allowed Vasily Ivanitch to man- 
 age her estate, — and never required an accounting 
 for anything: she groaned, waved the subject 
 aw^ay with her handkerchief and kept raising her 
 eyebrows higher and higher, as soon as Vasily 
 Ivanitch began to explain impending reforms 
 and his plans. She was given to forebodings, was 
 constantly expecting some great catastrophe, and 
 fell to weeping the moment she called to mind 
 anything mournful. . . Such women are now be- 
 coming extinct. God knows whether we ought 
 to rejoice at it! 
 
 210
 
 XXI 
 
 When he got out of bed Arkady opened the win- 
 dow, — and the first object which met his eyes was 
 Vasily Ivanitch. Clad in a dressing-gown from 
 Bukliara, girt with a handkerchief, the old man 
 was engaged in digging assiduously in his vege- 
 table garden. He caught sight of his young vis- 
 itor, and leaning on his spade, he exclaimed: — " I 
 wish you health ! How have you been pleased to 
 sleep? " 
 
 " Splendidly," answered Arkady. 
 
 " And here am I, as you see, like some sort of 
 a Cincinnatus, preparing a bed for late radishes. 
 The times are such — and glory to God for it! — 
 that every one is bound to earn his living with his 
 own hands; no hopes are to be placed on others: 
 one must toil for himself. And it turns out that 
 Jean-Jacques Rousseau was right. Half an hour 
 ago, my dear sir, you would have beheld me in a 
 totally different attitude. There was a peasant- 
 woman who complained of gnetka, — that 's what 
 the}^ call it, but we call it dysentery, — and I 
 
 how shall I best express it . . I poured 
 
 opium into her; and I have pulled a tooth for an- 
 other woman. I proposed to the latter that she 
 should take ether, . . . but she would not consent. 
 
 211
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 I do all this gratis — eii amateur, but that is no 
 marvel; for I am a plebeian, homo novus — I 'm 
 not a member of the ancient nobility, like my 
 spouse. . . . But will not you come hither into 
 the shade to get a breath of the morning fresh- 
 ness before tea? " 
 
 Arkady went out and joined him. 
 
 "Welcome, once more!" — said Vasily Iva- 
 nitch, putting his hand, in military fashion, to the 
 greasy skull-cap which covered his head. — " You 
 are accustomed to luxury, I know, to pleasures, 
 but even the great ones of this world do not dis- 
 dain to spend a short time under the roof of the 
 cottage." 
 
 " Good gracious! " — shouted Arkady, — " what 
 do you mean by calling me one of the great ones 
 of this world? And I am not accustomed to 
 luxury." 
 
 " Pardon me, pardon me,"— retorted Vasily 
 Ivanitch with a polite grin.—" Although I am 
 now relegated to the archives, I also have rubbed 
 elbows with society — I know the bird by its flight. 
 I am also a psychologist, in my own way, and a 
 physiognomist. Had I not that gift, I venture 
 to say that I would have perished long ago; such 
 a small man as myself would have stood no chance 
 at all. I will tell you, without compliments: the 
 friendship which I observe between you and my 
 son affords me great joy. I have already seen 
 liim ; he, according to his habit, of which you are 
 
 212
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 ])robably aware, got up very early, and scoured 
 the neighbourhood. Permit me to inquire, — Have 
 you known my Evgeny long? " 
 
 " Since this last winter." 
 
 " Exactly so, sir. And permit me to ask you 
 another question, — but will not you sit down?— 
 Permit me to ask you, as a father, in all frank- 
 ness: What opinion do you hold of my Evgeny? " 
 
 " Your son is one of the most remarkable men 
 whom I have ever met,"— remarked Arkad}^ with 
 animation. 
 
 Vasily Ivanitch's eyes suddenly dilated, and a 
 faint flush overspread his cheeks. The spade fell 
 from his hands. 
 
 " So you assume . ." he began 
 
 " I am convinced,"— interposed Arkady,— 
 " that a great future awaits your son, that he will 
 glorify your name. I have been convinced of that 
 since the very first time I met him." 
 
 "How . . . how was that? "—Vasily I vanitch 
 barely articulated. A rapturous smile parted his 
 broad lips and did not again dej^art from them. 
 
 " You want to know how we met? " 
 
 " Yes . . and in general . . . ." 
 
 Arkady began to narrate and talk about Baza- 
 rofF with even more fervour, with even more en- 
 thusiasm, than on the evening when he had danced 
 the mazurka with INIadame OdintzofF. 
 
 Vasily Ivanitch listened to him— listened, blew 
 his nose, dandled his handkerchief in both hands, 
 
 213
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 coughed, ruffled up his hair— and, at last, could 
 contain himself no longer: he bent toward Ar- 
 kady and kissed him on the shoulder/— " You 
 have made me perfectly happy," — he said, with- 
 out ceasing to smile. — " I am bound to tell you 
 that I . . . adore my son ; I need say nothing as 
 to my old woman: she 's his mother— everybody 
 knows what that means!— but I dare not express 
 my feelings in his presence, because he does not 
 like that. He is averse to all effusions ; many per- 
 sons even condemn him for that firmness of char- 
 acter, and discern in it a sign of pride, or absence 
 of feeling; but people like him must not be mea- 
 sured with the ordinary yard-stick, is n't that so? 
 Take this, for example: any other man in his 
 place would have drawn and drawn on his par- 
 ents; but he, will you believe it? has never taken 
 an extra kopek from us in his life, as God is my 
 witness ! " 
 
 " He is an unselfish, honourable man," — re- 
 marked Arkady. 
 
 " Precisely so, unselfish. And I not only adore 
 him, Arkady Nikolaitch, I am proud of him, 
 and my whole pride consists in this, that in course 
 of time these words will stand in his biography: 
 ' he was the son of a simple staff -doctor, who, 
 nevertheless, understood how to divine him early 
 in life, and spared no expense on his educa- 
 tion. . .' " The old man's voice broke. 
 
 1 As serfs were wont to do to their masters. —Translator, 
 
 214
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 Arkady squeezed his liand. 
 
 " What think you,"— asked Vasily Ivanitch, 
 after a brief silence, — " assuredly he will not 
 attain in the medical career that fame which you 
 jjrophes}^ for him? " 
 
 " Of course not in the medical career, although 
 in that respect also he will be one of the leading 
 lights." 
 
 " In what career then, Arkady Nikolaitch? " 
 
 " That is difficult to say at present, but he will 
 become famous." 
 
 " He will become famous! "—repeated the old 
 man, and became immersed in meditation. 
 
 " Arina Vlasievna has ordered me to ask you 
 to drink tea," — said Anfisushka as she passed 
 them with a huge dish of ripe raspberries. 
 
 Vasily Ivanitch started—" And will there be 
 chilled cream for the raspberries? " 
 
 " There will, sir." 
 
 " See to it that it is cold ! Do not stand on cere- 
 mony, Ai-kady Nikolaitch,— take a lot. I won- 
 der why Evgeny does not come." 
 
 " Here I am,"— rang out Bazaroif' s voice from 
 Arkady's room. 
 
 Vasily Ivanitch wheeled hastily round. " Aha! 
 thou hast wished to visit thy friend, but thou wert 
 belated, amices and he and I have already had a 
 long conversation. Now we must go and drink 
 tea : thy mother summons us. By the way, I must 
 have a talk with thee." 
 
 215
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 "What about?" 
 
 " There is a wretched peasant here; he is suf- 
 fering from icterus. ..." 
 
 " In other words, from jaundice? " 
 
 " Yes, from chronic and very obstinate icterus. 
 I have prescribed for him centaury, and Saint 
 John's wort, I have made him eat carrots, I have 
 administered soda; but all these are palhatives; 
 something more decisive is necessary. Although 
 thou jeerest at medicine, yet I am persuaded that 
 thou canst give me practical advice. But we will 
 talk of that later. And now let us go and drink 
 tea." 
 
 Vasily Ivanitch sprang up briskly from the 
 bench and began to sing from Robert le Diable : 
 
 " We ""ll make a law, a law, a law unto ourselves 
 In joy ... in joy ... in joyfulness to dwell! " 
 
 "What remarkable vitality! "—said BazarofF 
 and he withdrew from the window. 
 
 Midday arrived. The sun blazed from behind 
 a thin veil of continuous, whitish clouds. Silence 
 reigned: only the cocks crowed provokingly at 
 each other in the village, arousing in every one 
 who heard them a strange sensation of drowsiness 
 and weariness ; and somewhere aloft in the crests 
 of the trees resounded like a wailing call the un- 
 intermitting squeak of a young hawk. Arkady 
 and Bazaroff were lying in the shade of a small 
 hay-stack, having placed beneath themselves a 
 
 216
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 couple of armfiils of the rustlingly-dry, but still 
 green and fragrant grass. 
 
 " Yonder aspen-tree," — began Bazaroff , " re- 
 minds me of my childhood ; it grows on the brink 
 of a pit, the relic of a brick-shed, and at that time 
 I was convinced that that pit and the asi^en pos- 
 sessed a peculiar talisman: I never felt bored 
 when I was by their side. I did not understand 
 then that I was not bored, because I was a child. 
 Well, now I am grown up, and the talisman does 
 not work." 
 
 " How much time hast thou spent here alto- 
 gether? " — asked Arkady. 
 
 " Two years in succession ; then we used to come 
 here occasionally. We led a wandering life; we 
 used to haunt the towns chiefly." 
 
 " And has this house been standing long? " 
 
 " Yes. My grandfather built it, my mother's 
 father." 
 
 " Who was he— thy grandfather? " 
 
 " The deuce knows. Some Second-Major or 
 other. He served under Suvoroff , and was for- 
 ever telling about crossing the Alps. He lied, I 
 suppose." 
 
 " That 's why there is a portrait of Suvoroff 
 hanging in your drawing-room. I like such little 
 houses as yours, old and warm; and there is a cer- 
 tain peculiar odour in them." 
 
 " It smacks of olive oil from the shrine-lamp, 
 and sweet clover," — articulated Bazaroff with a 
 
 217
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 yawn. — " But what a lot of flies there are m these 
 charming little houses phew!" 
 
 " Tell me,"— began Arkady, after a brief 
 silence, — " wert thou oppressed in thy child- 
 hood?" 
 
 " Thou seest what my parents are like. — 
 They 're not strict folks." 
 
 " Dost thou love them, Evgeny? " 
 
 "Yes, Arkady!" 
 
 "They love thee so!" 
 
 RazaroiF said nothing for a while. — "Dost 
 thou know what I am thinking about? " — he said 
 at last, throwing his hands behind his head. 
 
 "No. What is it?" 
 
 " I am thinking: my parents have a jolly good 
 time in the world ! My father, at the age of sixty, 
 fusses about, talks about ' palliative ' remedies, 
 doctors people, is generous to his peasants, — in a 
 word, he leads a life of dissipation; and my 
 mother finds life pleasant also: her day is so 
 crammed with all sorts of occupations, with akhs ! 
 and okhs! that she has no time to bethink herself; 
 while I " 
 
 "While thou?" 
 
 " While I think: here I lie now under a hay- 
 stack .... the space I occupy is small, so tiny 
 in comparison with the surrounding expanse, 
 where I am not, and where no one cares about me ; 
 and the portion of time which I shall manage to 
 live through is so insignificant, in com^Jarison with 
 
 218
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 eternity, where I have not been and shall not be. 
 . . . But in this atom, this mathematical point, 
 the blood is circulating, the brain is working, it 
 wants something also. . . . What a monstrosity ! 
 What nonsense! " 
 
 " Permit me to remark that what thou art say- 
 ing is applicable to all men in general. ..." 
 
 " Thou art right," — chimed in BazarofF. — 
 " What I wanted to say is that they, that is, my 
 parents, are occupied, and do not bother about 
 their own insignificance ; it does not stink in their 
 nostrils . . . while I . . . feel simply bored and 
 wrathful." 
 
 " Wrathful? Why wrathful? " 
 
 "Why? What dost thou mean by 'why'? 
 Can it be that thou hast forgotten? " 
 
 " I remember everything, but nevertheless I do 
 not acknowledge that thou hast a right to be 
 angry. Thou art unhapp3% I admit, but . . . ." 
 
 " Eh ! I perceive that thou, Arkady Nikolae- 
 vitch, understandest love like all the most modern 
 young men : cheep, cheep, cheep, chicken, but just 
 as soon as the chicken begins to approach, make 
 off as fast as you can! — I am not like that. But 
 enough on that score. It is shameful to talk about 
 what cannot be helped." He turned over on his 
 side.— "Alia! yonder is a bold ant dragging a 
 half -dead fly. Drag it along, brother, drag it 
 along! Don't mind its resistance, take advantage 
 of the fact that thou, in thy quality of an animal, 
 
 219
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 hast a right not to recognise the feeling of suffer- 
 ing, which is quite the reverse of the case with one 
 of us, who is ' self -broken ' ! " 
 
 " That is not the thing for thee to say, Evgeny ! 
 — When hast thou broken thyself? " 
 
 Bazaroif raised his head.—" That 's the only 
 thing I am proud of. I have not broken myself, 
 and a woman shall not break me. Amen ! Done 
 with! Thou wilt never hear another word about 
 it from me." 
 
 The two friends lay for some time in silence. 
 
 " Yes,"— began BazarofF,— " man is a strange 
 being. When one gazes thus from one side, and 
 from a distance, at life in the wilds, such as our 
 ' fathers ' lead, it seems to him : What could be 
 better? Eat, drink, and know that thou art act- 
 ing in the most regular, most sensible manner. 
 But no; melancholy seizes hold upon one. One 
 wants to consort with people, even if it be to re- 
 vile them, but to consort with them." 
 
 " One must arrange life in such a way that 
 every moment in it will be significant,"— said Ar- 
 kady thoughtfully. 
 
 " Who says so ! The significant, although it is 
 sometimes false, is sweet, but it is also possible to 
 reconcile one's self to the insignificant .... but 
 there 's the empty tittle-tattle, the empty tittle- 
 tattle — that 's the trouble." 
 
 " Tittle-tattle does not exist for a man, if only 
 he refuse to recognise it." 
 
 220
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 " H'm ... thou hast uttered the opposite com- 
 7nonplace" 
 
 " What?— What dost thou call by that name? " 
 
 " Why, this: to say, for example, that civilisa- 
 tion is useful, — that is a commonplace; but to say 
 that civilisation is harmful is the opposite com- 
 monplace. It appears to be more elegant, but, in 
 reality, it is identical." 
 
 " But where is the truth, on which side? " 
 
 "Where? I will answer thee like Echo: 
 * Where? ' " 
 
 " Thou art in a melancholy mood to-day, 
 Evgeny." 
 
 " Really? The sun must have stewed me, and 
 one should not eat so many raspberries." 
 
 " In that case, it would not be a bad idea to have 
 a nap," — remarked Arkady. 
 
 " All right ; only don't look at me : every man 
 has a stupid face when he is asleep." 
 
 " But is n't it a matter of indifference to thee 
 what people think of thee? " 
 
 " I don't know what to say to thee. A genuine 
 man ought not to worry about that; a gen- 
 uine man is the one for whom it is not worth 
 while to think, but whom one must obey or 
 hate." 
 
 " It is strange! I do not hate any one,"— said 
 Arkady, after reflection. 
 
 " And I hate so many. Thou art a tender soul, 
 a sluggish man, why shouldst thou hate!— Thou 
 
 221
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 art timid, thou hast little confidence in thy- 
 self. . . ." 
 
 "And thou,"— interrupted Arkady,— " hast 
 thou confidence in thyself? Hast thou a lofty 
 opinion of thyself? " 
 
 BazarofF remained silent for a while.—" When 
 I meet a man who will not sing small before me," 
 — he said M'ith breaks and pauses, — " then I will 
 alter my opinion of myself.— Hate! Why, here, 
 for example, thou didst say to-day, as we passed 
 the cottage of our overseer, Philip,— it is so fine 
 and white,— here thou didst say, — that Russia 
 would attain to perfection when the last peasant 
 should have such a dwelling, and every one of us 
 ought to promote it. . . . But I hated that last 
 peasant, Philip or Sidor, for whom I am to toil 
 and moil, and who will not even say ' thanks ' to 
 me ... . and what do I want with his thanks, 
 anjrway? Well, he will live in a white cottage, 
 but burdocks will be growing out of me.— Well, 
 and what comes next? " 
 
 " Enough, Evgeny . . . when one listens to 
 thee to-day, one involuntarily agrees with those 
 who accuse us of a lack of principles." 
 
 " Thou art talking like thy uncle. In general, 
 there are no principles— hast thou not discovered 
 that yet! but there are sensations. Everything 
 depends on them." 
 
 "How so?" 
 
 "Why, because.— Take me; for example: I 
 
 222
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 hold to the negative tendency,— by virtue of sen- 
 sation. It is agreeable to me to deny my brain is 
 constructed in that way— and that's enough! 
 Why do I like chemistry? Why dost thou like 
 apples ?— also by virtue of the sensation. All that 
 is identical. Deeper than that, men will never 
 penetrate. Not every one will tell thee that, and I 
 shall not tell thee that again." 
 
 " What? and is honour also a sensation? " 
 
 " I should say so! " 
 
 " Evgeny! "—began Arkady in a sad voice. 
 
 "Ah? What? Isn'tittothy taste?"— inter- 
 rupted BazarofF.— " No, brother! If thou hast 
 made up thy mind to mow down everything— lay 
 thyself b}^ the heels also ! . . . . But we have phi- 
 losophised enough. ' Nature incites to the silence 
 of slumber,' says Pushkin." 
 
 " He never said anything of the sort,"— said 
 Arkady. 
 
 " Well, if he did n't say it, he might and should 
 have said it in his quality of a poet. By the way, 
 he must have been in the military service." 
 
 " Pushkin never was a military man." 
 
 " Upon my word, he shows it on every page:— 
 ' To battle, to battle ! For the honour of 
 Russia! ' " 
 
 " What fables thou dost invent! Why, that is 
 downright calumny." 
 
 " Calumny? Much I care about that! He has 
 undertaken to scare me witli a word! Whatever 
 
 223
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 calumny you impute to a man he really deserves 
 something twenty times worse." 
 
 " We 'd better go to sleep," — said Arkady 
 with vexation. 
 
 " With the greatest pleasure,"— replied Baza- 
 rofF. But neither of them got to sleep. A cer- 
 tain almost hostile feeling had seized possession of 
 the hearts of both young men. Five minutes later 
 they opened their eyes and exchanged a glance 
 in silence. 
 
 " Look,"— said Arkady at last,—" a dry 
 maple-leaf has broken loose and falls to the 
 ground; its movement is exactlv like that of a 
 butterfly. Is n't it strange? The most melan- 
 choly and dead resembles the most merry and 
 lively." 
 
 "Oh, my friend, Arkady Nikolaitch! "— 
 cried BazarofF, — " I make one request of thee: 
 don't use fine language." 
 
 " I talk as I can. . . And this is despotism, in 
 short. An idea has come into mj^ head: why not 
 utter it?" 
 
 " Precisely ; but wh}^ should not I utter my 
 thought also? I think that to use fine language 
 is improper." 
 
 " What is proper then? To swear? " 
 
 " Eh, eh ! But I perceive that thou really art 
 bent upon following in the footsteps of thy uncle. 
 How that idiot would rejoice if he could hear 
 thee!" 
 
 224
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 " What was that thou didst call Pavel Petro- 
 vitch?" 
 
 " I called him what he deserves — an idiot." 
 
 " But this is unbearable! " exclaimed Arkadj^ 
 
 "Aha! the sentiment of consanguinuity has 
 spoken," — remarked BazarofF tranquilly. — "I 
 have noticed that it stands its ground very per- 
 sistently in people. A man is ready to reject 
 everything, he will part with every prejudice; but 
 to admit that his brother, who steals other people's 
 handkerchiefs is a thief — is bej^ond his strength. 
 Yes, and in fact : my brother, mine is not a genius 
 . . . is that possible?" 
 
 " What spoke in me was the simple sentiment 
 of justice, and not that of consanguinuity at all," 
 — retorted Arkady vehemently. — " But since 
 thou hast not that sensation, thou canst not judge 
 of it." 
 
 " In other words, Arkady Kirsanoff is too 
 lofty for my comprehension ; I bow my head and 
 hold my tongue." 
 
 " Please stop, Evgeny ; we shall end by quar- 
 relling." 
 
 " Akh, Arkady ! do me that favour : let us have 
 a good quarrel for once— to the point of peeling 
 off our coats to extermination." 
 
 " Well, if we go on like this, probabty we shall 
 wind up by . . . ." 
 
 " By fighting? " — interpolated Bazaroif. — 
 " What of that? Here on the hay, in such idyllic 
 
 225
 
 FATHERS xVXD CHILDREN 
 
 surroundings, far from the world and the gaze of 
 men — it does n't matter. But thou wilt not get 
 the better of me. I shall instantly clutch thee by 
 the throat " 
 
 Bazaroff spread wide his long, tough fin- 
 gers. . . Arkady turned over and made ready, as 
 though in jest, to offer resistance. . . . But his 
 friend's face struck him as so malevolent, there 
 seemed to him to be something so far from a jest 
 in the wrj^ smile on his lips, in his blazing eyes, — 
 that he felt an involuntary timidity. . . . 
 
 " Ah! so this is where you 've got to! " — rang 
 out Vasily Ivanitch's voice at that moment, and 
 the old regimental staff-surgeon stood before the 
 young men, clad in a home-made linen pea-jacket 
 and with a straw hat, also of domestic manufac- 
 ture, on his head. — " I have been hunting and 
 hunting for you. . . But you have chosen a cap- 
 ital place and are devoting yourselves to a very 
 fine occupation. Lying on the ' earth ' to gaze 
 at * heaven.' . . Do you know, there is a certain 
 special significance in that! " 
 
 " I gaze at heaven only when I want to sneeze," 
 — growled Bazaroff, and, turning to Arkady, he 
 added, in an undertone : " It 's a pity he has dis- 
 turbed us." 
 
 " Come, enough of that," — whispered Arkady, 
 and stealtliily pressed his friend's hand. But no 
 friendship can long withstand sucli clashes. 
 
 " I look at you, my young companions," — 
 
 226
 
 FATHERS AND CIIILDREX 
 
 Vasih' Ivanitch was saying in the meantime, as 
 he shook his head and rested his clasped hands on 
 an artfully twisted cane of his own manufacture, 
 with the figure of a Turk in place of a knob,— 
 " I look and cannot sufficiently admire you. How 
 much strength and the most Aigorous youth, ca- 
 pacities, talents, you have! 'T is simply . . . . 
 Castor and Pollux ! " 
 
 " See now — he makes pretensions to knowing 
 mythology'!" — remarked Bazaroff. " 'T is im- 
 mediately evident that he was strong on Latin in 
 liis day! I think I remember that thou wert given 
 the silver medal for composition — heyi" " 
 
 "The Dioscuri, the Dioscuri I "—repeated 
 Vasily Ivanitch. 
 
 " Come, father, have done with that, — don't get 
 sentimental." 
 
 " It is permissible once In a way," — stammered 
 the old man. — " But I have not hunted you up, 
 gentlemen, for the purpose of paying you com- 
 pliments, but witli the object, in the first place, 
 of informing you that we are to dine soon : and, 
 in the second place. — I wanted to warn thee, 
 Evgeny. . . . Thou art a sensible man, thou 
 knowest men and thou kno^vest women, and, con- 
 sequently, thou Mill pardon me. . . . Tliy mother 
 wished to have a prayer-service celebrated in lion- 
 our of thv arrival. Don't imaoine that I am sum- 
 moning thee to l>e present at that prayer-service: 
 it is abeadv finished ; but Father Alexvei . . . ." 
 
 227
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 "The pope?" 
 
 "Well, yes, the priest; he is going to dine 
 with us. ... I had not expected it, and even 
 advised against it . . . but somehow it turned out 
 
 that way .... he did not understand me 
 
 Moreover, he is a very good and sagacious 
 man." 
 
 " He won't eat my portion at dinner, will he? " 
 — asked Bazaroff. 
 
 Vasily Ivanitch laughed — " Good gracious, 
 what dost thou mean? " 
 
 " I demand nothing more. I am ready to sit 
 down at table with any sort of man." 
 
 Vasily Ivanitch adjusted his hat.—" I was 
 convinced in advance," — he said,—" that thou art 
 above all prejudices. As for that, I am an old 
 man: I have lived for sixty years, and I have 
 none." (Vasfly Ivanitch did not dare to con- 
 fess that he himself had desired to have the 
 prayer-service. . . . He was no less devout than 
 his wife.) "And Father Alexyei was very 
 anxious to make thy acquaintance. Thou wilt 
 like him, as thou wilt see. He is not averse to a 
 game of cards either, and even .... but that is 
 between ourselves ... he smokes a pipe." 
 
 "You don't say so? After dinner we'll sit 
 down to whist and I '11 beat him." 
 
 " Ha — ha — ha, we shaU see! That 's the ques- 
 tion." 
 
 " What 's that? Art thou going to recall the 
 
 228
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 pleasures of youth? "—said Bazaroff, with pecu- 
 har emphasis. 
 
 Vasily Ivanitch's bronzed cheeks crimsoned 
 with confusion. 
 
 " Art not thou ashamed of thyself, Evgeny?— 
 What 's past is past. Well, and I am ready to 
 confess in his presence that I had that passion in 
 my youth — as a matter of fact; and I have paid 
 well for it, too!— But how hot it is. Allow me to 
 sit down beside you. I 'm not in the way, am I ? " 
 
 " Not in the least," — replied Arkady. 
 
 Vasily Ivanitch dropped down on the hay with 
 a grunt. — " Your present couch, gentlemen,"— he 
 began, — " reminds me of my military, bivouac 
 life, field hospitals, also somewhere close to a hay- 
 stack, thank God for that." — He sighed. — " I 
 have gone through a great deal — a great deal, in 
 my time. Now, for instance, if you will permit 
 me, I will tell you a curious episode of the plague 
 in Bessarabia." 
 
 " For which you received the Order of St. 
 Vladimir? "—interpolated BazarofF. " We know 
 about it— we know about it. . . . By the way, 
 why dost not thou wear it?" 
 
 " Why, I have told thee that I have no preju- 
 dices,"— stammered Vasily Ivanitch (only the 
 day before he had commanded that the red rib- 
 bon should be ripped off his coat), and he be- 
 gan to narrate the episode of the plague. — 
 " Why, he has fallen asleep,"— he suddenly 
 
 229
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 Avhispered to Arkady, pointing at BazarofF, and 
 he winked good-humouredly. — "Evgeny! get 
 up! " — he added aloud. — " Come to dinner. . . ." 
 Father Alexyei, a stout and stately man, with 
 thick, carefully brushed hair, and an embroid- 
 ered belt over his lilac cassock, proved to be a very 
 adroit and ready-witted person. He hastened to 
 shake hands with Arkady and BazarofF, as 
 though he understood beforehand that they did 
 not need his blessing,^ and altogether he bore him- 
 self without constraint. He neither lowered his 
 ow^n dignity, nor gave offence to others; he 
 laughed opportunely at seminary Latin and stood 
 up for his Bishop ; he drank two glasses of wine, 
 but refused a third ; he accepted a cigar from Ar- 
 kady, but did not smoke it, saying that he would 
 carry it home. The only thing about him that 
 was not thoroughly agreeable was that he kept 
 slowly and cautiously lifting his hand to catch flies 
 on his face, and in so doing he sometimes crushed 
 them. He seated himself at the card-table with 
 a moderate show of satisfaction, and ended bv 
 winning two rubles and a half from BazarofF in 
 bills; in Arina Vlasievna's house no one had the 
 least conception of reckoning in silver money. . .^ 
 As before, she sat beside her son (she did not play 
 
 ^ It is customary for priests and the higher ecclesiastics to bestow 
 their blessing upon laymen, and have their band kissed in return, 
 instead of shaking hands.— Thanslator. 
 
 ^ At the epoch referred to, silver was considerably more valuable 
 than bills. — TuANSLATou. 
 
 230
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 cards), as before she propped her cheek on her 
 fist, and only rose for the purpose of giving 
 orders to serve some fresh viand. She was afraid 
 to caress BazarofF, and he did not encourage her, 
 did not challenge her to caresses, and, in addition, 
 Vasily Ivanitch had advised her not to " bother " 
 him too much.—" Young men don't like it,"— 
 he had inculcated upon her; (it is unnecessary to 
 say what the dinner was like that day : Timof eitch 
 had galloped off in person at early dawn for some 
 special Tcherkessian beef ; the overseer had gone 
 in another direction for burbot, perch and craw- 
 fish ; for mushrooms alone the peasant women had 
 been paid forty-two kopeks in copper money) ; 
 but Arina Vlasievna's ej-^es, immovably fastened 
 uj)on Bazaroff, expressed not alone devotion and 
 tenderness : in them there was visible also sadness 
 mingled with curiosity and terror : there was vis- 
 ible a sort of submissive reproach. 
 
 But BazarofF was in no mood to decipher pre- 
 cisely what his mother's eyes expressed ; he rarely 
 addressed her, and then onty with a curt question. 
 Once he asked her for her hand " for luck"; she 
 gently laid her soft little hand on his hard, broad 
 palm. 
 
 " Well," — she inquired, after waiting a while, 
 -"did n't it help?" 
 
 " Things went still worse,"— he replied with a 
 careless smile. 
 
 " They are taking great risks," — articulated 
 
 231
 
 T^ATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 Father Alexj^ei, as though with compassion, and 
 stroked his handsome beard. 
 
 " Napoleon's rule, my good father. Napoleon's 
 rule,"— interpolated Vasily Ivanitch,— and led an 
 ace. 
 
 " And it led him to the island of St. Helena," 
 — remarked Father Alexyei, and trumped with 
 the ace. 
 
 " Wouldst not thou like some raspberry water, 
 Eniiishenka? " — asked Arina Vlasievna. 
 
 BazarofF merely shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " No! "—he said to Arkady on the following 
 day, — " I 'm going away to-morrow. It 's tire- 
 some ; I want to work and it 's impossible here. 
 I '11 go back to the country with thee ; I have left 
 all my preparations there. In thy house at least 
 one can lock himself up. But here my father 
 keeps repeating to me : ' my study is at thy ser- 
 vice — no one will disturb thee,' — and he himself 
 never goes a step from me. And somehow, too, 
 I 'm ashamed to lock him out. And it 's the same 
 with my mother. I hear her sighing on the other 
 side of the wall, but if I go to her I have noth- 
 ing to say." 
 
 " She is greatly afflicted," — said Arkady, — 
 " and so is he." 
 
 " I '11 return to them." 
 
 " When? " 
 
 " Why, on my way to Petersburg." 
 
 " I am particularly sorry for thy mother." 
 
 232
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 " Why so? Has she been treating thee to 
 berries? " 
 
 Arkad}'' dropped his eyes.—" Thou dost not 
 know thy mother, Evgeny. She is not only an 
 excellent woman, she is very clever, really. This 
 morning she talked to me for half an hour— so 
 practically, so interesting." 
 
 " She probably dilated upon me the whole 
 time? " 
 
 " The conversation was not about thee alone." 
 
 " Possibly; things are more visible to thee as an 
 outsider. If a woman can maintain a half -hour's 
 conversation, that is a good sign. But I 'm going 
 awav, nevertheless." 
 
 " Thou wilt not find it easy to impart that in- 
 formation to them. They are both discussing 
 what we are to do a fortnight hence." 
 
 " It is not easy. The devil prompted me to- 
 day to annoy my father: the other daj^ he gave 
 orders that one of his serfs who pays him quit- 
 rent should be flogged— and he did quite right; 
 yes, yes, don't stare at me in such horror,— he did 
 quite right, because the man is the most frightful 
 thief and drunkard ; onlv mv father did not in the 
 least expect that I should get wind of the affair, 
 as the expression is. He was very mucli discon- 
 certed, and now I must grieve him to boot. . . 
 Never mind! It won't kill him! " 
 
 Bazaroff said, *' Never mind ! " but a whole day 
 elapsed before he could bring himself to inform 
 
 233
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 Vasily Ivanitch of his intention. At last, as he 
 was bidding him good-night in the study, he said, 
 with a forced yawn : 
 
 " Yes. . . I came near forgetting to tell thee. 
 . . Please order our horses to be sent on to Feodot 
 to-morrow for the relay." 
 
 Vasily Ivanitch was astounded.—" Is Mr. Kir- 
 sanoff going away from us? " 
 
 " Yes; and I am going with him." 
 
 Vasily Ivanitch whirled round where he stood. 
 — "Thou art going away? " 
 
 " Yes ... I must. Please make arrangements 
 about the horses." 
 
 " Very well ..." stammered the old man: — 
 " for the relay . . very good .... only .... only 
 .... What does it mean? " 
 
 " I must go to his house for a short time. Then 
 I will come back here." 
 
 "Yes! For a short time. . . Very good." — 
 Vasily Ivanitch pulled out his handkerchief, and 
 as he blew his nose he bent over almost to the 
 floor. . " Very well ... all shall be done. I was 
 thinking that thou wouldst stay with us ... . 
 longer. Three days. . . . That . . that . . is 
 very little, after three years; it is very little, 
 Evgeny! " 
 
 " But I tell thee I am coming back soon. 
 It is indispensable that I should go." 
 
 "Indispensable. . . . What then? One must 
 do one's duty first of all. ... So I am to des- 
 
 234
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 patch the horses? Very good. Of course Anna 
 and I did not expect this. She has begged some 
 flowers from a neighbour ; she meant to embelhsh 
 thy room." (Vasily Ivanitch made no mention 
 of the fact that very morning, as soon as it 
 was Hght, standing barefooted in his shppers, 
 he had taken counsel with Timofeitch, and 
 drawing forth, with trembling fingers, one bank- 
 note after another, had commissioned him to 
 make divers purchases, having special reference 
 to victuals and to claret, which, so far as he had 
 been able to observe, the young men greatly 
 liked.) "The main thing is freedom; — that is 
 my rule . . . one must not impede . . . 
 not . . ." 
 
 He suddenly relapsed into silence and went to- 
 ward the door. 
 
 " We shall see each other again soon, father, 
 really." 
 
 But Vasily Ivanitch, without turning round, 
 merely waved his hand and left the room. On 
 reaching his bedroom he found his wife in bed, 
 and began to pray in a whisper, in order not to 
 waken her. But she awoke, nevertheless. — " Is it 
 thou, Vasily Ivanitch? " — she asked. 
 
 " Yes, dear little mother." 
 
 " Comest thou from Eniiisha? Dost thou know 
 I am afraid : he does not sleep comfortably on the 
 couch. I ordered Anfisushka to give him thy 
 camp mattress and new pillows; I would have 
 
 235
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 given him our feather-bed, but I remember that 
 he does not hke a soft bed." 
 
 " Never mind, dear httle mother, don't worry. 
 He 's all right. O Lord, have mercy upon us 
 sinners," — he continued his prayer in a low voice. 
 Vasily Ivanitch was sorry for his old woman; he 
 did not like to tell her overnight what a sorrow 
 was in store for her. 
 
 BazarofF and Arkady went away on the fol- 
 lowing day. From early morning everything in 
 the house grew melancholy; the dishes tumbled 
 out of Anf isushka's hands ; even Fedka was sur- 
 prised, and ended by pulling off his boots. Vasily 
 Ivanitch bustled about more than ever: he was 
 evidently keeping up his courage; he talked in a 
 loud voice and clumped with his feet, but his face 
 was haggard and his glances constantly slipped 
 past his son. Arma Vlasievna wept quietly; she 
 was thoroughly distraught, and would not have 
 been able to control herself if her husband had not 
 argued with her for two whole hours early in the 
 morning. But when Bazaroff, after repeated 
 promises to return not later than a month hence, 
 tore himself at last from the restraining embraces, 
 and took his seat in the tarantas ; when the horses 
 started and the bell began to jingle and the wheels 
 began to revolve, — and there was no longer any 
 use in staring after him, and the dust had sub- 
 sided, and Timofeitch, all bowed and reeling as 
 he walked, dragged himself back to his kennel; 
 
 236
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 when tlie old folks were left alone in their house, 
 which also seemed suddenl}^ to have shrunk to- 
 gether and grown decrepit : Vasily Ivanitch, who 
 onl}^ a few moments before had been bravely wav- 
 ing his handkerchief from the porch, dropped into 
 a chair and drooped his head upon his breast. 
 "He has abandoned, abandoned us," — he stam- 
 mered, — "abandoned us; he found it tiresome 
 with us. Alone, solitary as a finger now, alone! " 
 he repeated several times, and every time he thrust 
 out his hand in front of him with the forefinger 
 standing apart. Then Arina Vlasievna went up 
 to him, and leaning her grey head against his grey 
 head, she said: " What is to be done, Vasya? A 
 son is a slice cut off. He is like the falcon : when 
 he would he flew hither, when he would he flew 
 away; thou and I are like mushrooms on a hol- 
 low tree : we sit in a row and never stir from our 
 places. Only I shall remain forever inalterable 
 to thee, as thou wilt to me." 
 
 Vasily Ivanitch removed his hands from his 
 face and embraced his wife, his friend, as closely 
 as he had embraced her in their j^outh: she had 
 comforted him in his grief. 
 
 23^
 
 XXII 
 
 In silence, only now and then exchanging insig- 
 nificant words, our friends arrived at Feodot's. 
 Bazaroff was not wholly satisfied with himself. 
 Arkady was displeased with him. Moreover, he 
 felt in his heart that causeless melancholy which is 
 known to very young people alone. The coach- 
 man transferred the harness to the fresh horses, 
 and clambering to the box, inquired: "To the 
 right, or to the left? " 
 
 Ai-kady shivered. The road to the right led to 
 the town and thence home ; the road to the left led 
 to Madame OdintzofF's. 
 
 He glanced at Bazar oiF. 
 
 " Evgeny,"-he asked,-" to the left? " 
 
 BazarofF turned away. — " What folly is this? " 
 — he muttered. 
 
 " I know that it is folly,"— replied Arkady. . . . 
 " But where 's the harm in that? Would it be the 
 first time we have perpetrated it? " 
 
 BazaroiF pulled his cap down on his brow.— 
 " As thou wilt,"— he said at last. 
 
 " Turn to the left,"— shouted Arkady. 
 
 The tarantas rolled on in the direction of 
 Xikolskoe. But once having decided on the 
 
 238
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 folly, the friends maintained a more obsti- 
 nate silence than ever, and even appeared to be 
 angry. 
 
 From the very way in which the butler received 
 them on the porch of JNIadame OdintzofF's house 
 the friends were enabled to divine that they had 
 not acted wisely in yielding to the whim which had 
 suddenly seized them. Evidently they were not 
 expected. They sat waiting for a fairly long time, 
 and with decidedly foolish faces, in the drawing- 
 room. Madame Odintzoff came at last. She 
 greeted them with the graciousness which was pe- 
 culiar to her, but was surprised at their speedy re- 
 turn, and, so far as could be judged from the de- 
 liberation of her movements and her speech, she 
 was not over delighted by it. They hastened to ex- 
 plain that they had only dropped in on their way, 
 and four hours later they went on to the town. She 
 confined herself to a slight exclamation, requested 
 Arkady to present her compliments to his father, 
 and sent for her aunt. The Princess made her 
 appearance in a very sleepy state, which imparted 
 still greater malice to the expression of her wrin- 
 kled old face. Katya was indisposed ; she did not 
 leave her room. Arkady suddenly became con- 
 scious of the fact that he was, at least, as desirous 
 of seeing Katya as Anna Sergyeevna herself. 
 The four hours passed in insignificant chat about 
 this and that ; Anna Sergyeevna both listened and 
 talked without a smile. Only just as they were 
 
 239
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 taking leave did her former friendliness seem to 
 stir in her soul. 
 
 " I have a fit of spleen just at present," — 
 she said, — " but you must pay no heed to that, 
 and come again — I am saying this to both of you, 
 — after a while." 
 
 Both Bazaroff and Arkady answered her by a 
 silent bow, seated themselves in their carriage, and 
 without halting again anj^where, drove off home 
 to Marino, where they arrived in safety on the 
 following day at evening. During the whole 
 course of the journey neither of them so much as 
 mentioned Madame Odmtzoff's name; Bazaroff, 
 in particular, hardly opened his mouth, and kept 
 staring to one side away from the road with a cer- 
 tain obdurate intensity. 
 
 Every one at Marino was extremely glad to see 
 them. The prolonged absence of his son had be- 
 gun to trouble Nikolai Petrovitch. He cried out, 
 flung his legs about and bounced about on the 
 divan when Fenitchka ran into his room with 
 beaming eyes and announced the arrival of " the 
 young gentlemen"; even Pavel Petrovitch felt a 
 certain agreeable agitation, and smiled conde- 
 scendingly as he shook hands with the returned 
 wanderers. They began to talk and ask ques- 
 tions ; Arkady did most of the talking, especially 
 at supper, which lasted until long after midnight. 
 Nikolai Petrovitch ordered several bottles of por- 
 ter to be served, which had just been brought from 
 
 240
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 JNIoscow, and he himself indulged in dissipation 
 to such an extent that his cheeks became deep 
 crimson, and he laughed incessantl}^ in a way 
 which was not precisel}^ childish nor yet precisely 
 nervous. The general exhilaration extended to 
 the servants also. Dunyasha ran back and fortli 
 like one possessed, and kept slamming the doors, 
 and Piotr, even at two o'clock in the morning, 
 was still trying to play a kazak waltz on the 
 guitar. The strings resounded wailingly and 
 pleasingly in tlie motionless air ; but, with the ex- 
 ception of a little preliminary fioritura, the edu- 
 cated valet could get nothing out of his instru- 
 ment: nature had denied him musical talent, as 
 well as all other faculties. 
 
 Meanwhile, life did not arrange itself very com- 
 fortably at INIarino, and poor Nikolai Petrovitch 
 fared badly. His anxieties about the farm aug- 
 mented with every passing day — cheerless, inex- 
 orable anxieties. His difficulties with his hired 
 labourers became unendurable. Some demanded 
 their pay or an increase, others went away after 
 they had received their earnest-money ; the horses 
 fell ill; the harness wore out as though burned 
 with fire; the work was heedlessly done; the 
 threshing machine which had been ordered from 
 Moscow turned out to be unsuitable, owing to its 
 weight; another was ruined the first time it was 
 used; half of the cattle-sheds burned do^\Ti be- 
 cause a blind old woman, one of the house-serfs, 
 
 241
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 went in windy weather to fumigate her cow with 
 a firebrand. . . . The catastrophe occurred, it is 
 true, according to the assertion of that same old 
 woman, because the master had taken it into his 
 head to set up some unheard-of cheeses and dairy- 
 products. The overseer suddenly grew lazy, and 
 even began to grow fat, as every Russian man 
 does grow fat when " free bread " falls to his lot. 
 On catching sight from afar of Nikolai Petro- 
 vitch, in order to display his zeal, he would fling 
 a chip at a sucking-pig which was running by, or 
 menace a half -nude little boy ; but the rest of the 
 time he spent chiefly in sleeping. The peasants 
 who had been placed on the quit-rent basis did 
 not bring their money at the appointed time and 
 stole wood in the forest; almost every night the 
 watchmen found, and sometimes captured after 
 a scrimmage, the peasants' horses in the meadows 
 of the '' farm." Nikolai Petrovitch tried the plan 
 of inflicting' a fine in money for the damage done 
 by this grazing, but the afl'air usually ended by 
 the horses being restored to their owners after 
 they had been fed at his expense for a day or 
 two. To crown all, the peasants began to 
 quarrel among themselves; brothers demanded a 
 division, their wives could not get along together 
 in one house; all at once a brawl began to rage, 
 and suddenly everything was in an uproar, as 
 though at the word of command every one was 
 rushing past the porch of the estate-oflice besieg- 
 
 242
 
 1 ATllEllS AND CHILDREN 
 
 ing the master, often with bruised faces, in an in- 
 toxicated condition, and demanding justice and 
 chastisement; clamour arose, and roars, and the 
 whimjjering shrieks of women mingled with curses 
 from the men. It became necessarj^ to examine 
 into the conflicting claims, to shout one's self 
 hoarse, knowing in advance that it was impossible, 
 nevertheless, to arrive at any correct decision. 
 There were not hands enough for the reaping: a 
 neighbouring peasant-proprietor, with the most 
 ingratiating countenance, had contracted to fur- 
 nish reapers at two rubles a desyatina, and had 
 cheated in the most unconscionable manner; his 
 peasant women demanded unheard-of prices, and, 
 in the meantime, the grain was falling from the 
 ear upon the ground, and while on the one hand 
 the reaping could not be managed, on the other 
 hand, the Council of Guardians was menacing 
 and demanding immediate and full payment of 
 interest on its loan 
 
 " It is beyond my strength! " — Nikolai Petro- 
 vitch more than once exclaimed with despair. — 
 " It is out of the question for me to fight myself, 
 and mj^ principles do not permit me to send for 
 the chief of the rural police, and yet, without the 
 fear of punishment, nothing can be accom- 
 plished!" 
 
 " Du calme, du calme" — Pavel Petrovitch re- 
 l^lied to this, but he himself purred and frowned 
 and tugged at his moustache. 
 
 243
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 BazarofF held himself aloof from all these 
 " squabbles," and, moreover, as a guest it was not 
 his place to meddle with other people's affairs. 
 On the day after his arrival at Marino, he be- 
 took himself to his frogs, his infusorise, his chem- 
 ical compounds, and busied himself exclusively 
 with them. Arkady, on the contrary, regarded it 
 as his duty, if not to aid his father, at least to 
 display a mien of being ready to aid him. He 
 listened patientty to him, and one day he offered 
 some piece of advice, not with the object of hav- 
 ing it followed, but for the sake of showing his 
 sympathy. Farming matters did not arouse re- 
 pugnance in him: he had even meditated with 
 pleasure on agricultural activity; but at that 
 period other thoughts were swarming in his brain. 
 Arkady, to his own amazement, thought inces- 
 santly of Nikolskoe ; formerly he would only have 
 shrugged his shoulders if any one had told him 
 that he could feel bored under the same roof with 
 BazarofF, and under what roof to boot! — 
 that of his father; but he really was bored and 
 longed to get away. He took it into his head to 
 walk until he was tired out, but this was of no 
 avail. While chatting one day with his father he 
 learned that Nikolai Petrovitch had several de- 
 cidedly interesting letters written in former days 
 by Madame Odintzoff 's mother to his dead wife, 
 and he did not leave him in peace until he had got 
 possession of these letters, in search of which 
 
 244
 
 FATHERS AND CIIILDREX 
 
 Nikolai Petrovitch was obliged to rummage in a 
 score of different drawers and chests. On enter- 
 ing into possession of these half -decayed papers, 
 Arkady seemed to calm down, just as though he 
 j)erceived ahead of him the goal toward which it 
 behooved him to advance. " I will tell j^ou both 
 about it," he kept constantly whispering, — add- 
 ing to himself: " I will go, I will go, devil 
 take it! " But he recalled his last visit, the cool 
 reception and the former awkwardness, and was 
 overcome with timidity. The " Perchance " of 
 youth, a secret desire to taste his happiness, to test 
 his powers all by himself, without the protection 
 of any one whomsoever — finally won the victory. 
 Ten days had not elapsed after his return to 
 Marino before he again galloped off to the town, 
 under the pretext of studying the mechanism of 
 the Sunday-schools,^ and thence to Nikolskoe. 
 Incessantly urging the postilion to greater speed, 
 he dashed thither like a young officer to a battle: 
 he felt afraid and gay and suffocating with im- 
 patience. " The chief thing is not to think," he 
 kept repeating to himself. He had chanced upon 
 a wild postilion; the man drew up in front of 
 every dram-shop, saj'^ing: "Have a drink?" or 
 " Don't we want a drink? " but, on the other hand, 
 when once he had got his drink he did not spare 
 
 1 For the instruction in reading, writing, and the common branches, 
 of those engaged in labor during the week: not schools for teaching 
 religion exclusively, as that subject occupies a prominent place in all 
 schools in Russia.— Translator. 
 
 245
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 the horses. ..." What am I doing? "—sud- 
 denly flashed through Arkady's head. " Well, I 
 can't turn back, anyway ! " The troika rolled 
 briskly on; the postilion shouted and whistled. 
 And now the little bridge rumbled under the hoofs 
 and wheels — now the avenue of clipped firs made 
 its appearance. ... A woman's pink gown flashed 
 amid the dark verdure, a young face peeped out 
 
 from beneath the light fringe of a parasol 
 
 He recognised Katya and she recognised him. 
 Arkady ordered the postilion to stop the gallop- 
 ing horses, sprang out of the equipage, and went 
 up to her. " So it is you! "—she said, and a rosy 
 flush gradually overspread all her face: — " Let us 
 go to my sister; she is yonder in the garden; she 
 will be glad to see you." 
 
 Katya led Arkady to the garden. His meet- 
 ing with her seemed to him a peculiarly happy 
 omen; she had been as delighted to see him as 
 though he were a member of the family. Every- 
 thing had turned out so capitally: neither butler 
 nor announcement. At the turn of the path he 
 caught sight of Anna Sergyeevna. She was 
 standing with her back to him. On hearing foot- 
 steps she gently turned round. 
 
 Arkady was on the point of feeling discon- 
 certed, but the first words she uttered immedi- 
 ately restored his composure. " (iood-morning, 
 fugitive!" she said in her even, gracious voice, 
 and advanced to meet him, smiling and blinking 
 
 216
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 with the sun and the wind: "Where didst thou 
 find him, Katya? " 
 
 " I have brought you something," — he began, 
 — " Anna Sergyeevna, which you were not in the 
 least expecting " 
 
 " You have brought yourself; that is the best 
 of all." 
 
 247
 
 XXIII 
 
 After seeing Arkady off with mocking sym- 
 pathy, and giving him to understand that he was 
 not in the shghtest degree deceived as to the real 
 object of his journey, Bazaroff definitively iso- 
 lated himself: the fever of work had descended 
 upon him. He no longer argued with Pavel Pet- 
 rovitch, the more so, as the latter in his presence 
 assimied an extremely aristocratic mien and ex- 
 pressed his opinions more by sounds than by 
 words. Only once did Pavel Petrovitch enter into 
 a controversy with the 7iihilist on the question 
 which was then in fashion as to the rights of the 
 nobility of the Baltic Provinces, but he suddenly 
 checked himself, saying with cold courtesy: 
 " However, we cannot understand each other; I, 
 at least, have not the honour to understand you." 
 
 "I should think not!" — exclaimed Bazaroff. 
 — "A man is capable of understanding every- 
 thing — the pulsation of the ether and what is 
 going on in the sun; but how another man can 
 blow his nose in any other way than he blows his 
 own, — that he is not capable of understanding." 
 
 "Is that witty?"— said Pavel Petrovitch in- 
 quiringly, and withdrew to one side. However, 
 
 248
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 he sometimes asked permission to be present at 
 Bazaroif 's experiments, and once even he put his 
 face, perfumed and washed with an excellent 
 preparation, down to the microscope, in order to 
 watch a transparent infusoria swallow a green 
 particle and chew it up carefully with certain very 
 agile little fists which it had in its throat. Nikolai 
 Petrovitch visited BazarofF much more frequently 
 than did his brother; he would gladly have come 
 every daj^ " to study," as he expressed it, had not 
 the cares of his estate called him elsewhere. He 
 did not disturb the j^oung naturalist; he seated 
 himself somewhere in a corner and watched at- 
 tentively, rarel}^ permitting himself a cautious 
 question. During dinner and supper he endeav- 
 oured to turn the conversation on physics, geol- 
 ogy or chemistry, as all other subjects, even those 
 connected with farming, not to mention those con- 
 nected with politics, might lead if not to collisions, 
 at least to mutual dissatisfaction. Nikolai Petro- 
 vitch divined that his brotlier's hatred for Baza- 
 rofF was not in the least diminished. One insig- 
 nificant incident, among many others, confirmed 
 liim in his surmise. The cholera had begun to 
 make its appearance here and there in the neigh- 
 bourhood, and had even " culled " a couple of per- 
 sons from INIarino itself. One night Pavel Petro- 
 vitch had a rather severe attack. He suffered 
 agonies imtil morning, but did not have recourse 
 to BazarofF's art— and wlien he saw him on the 
 
 240
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 following day, to his query: " Why had not he 
 sent for him?" — he replied, still ghastly pale, 
 but with his hair already well brushed and face 
 carefully shaved:— " Why, I believe you said 
 yourself that you did not believe in medicine." 
 Thus the days passed on; BazarofF toiled stub- 
 bornly and gloomily . . . and meanwhile there was 
 in Nikolai Petrovitch's house a being with whom 
 he not only relieved his heart, but gladly con- 
 versed. . . That being was Fenitchka. 
 
 His interviews with her generally took place 
 early in the morning in the garden or in the yard ; 
 he did not go to her room, and she never went but 
 once to his door to ask him whether or not she 
 ought to bathe Mitya? She not only trusted him, 
 she not only did not fear him, but she bore herself 
 in his presence with more freedom and ease than 
 even with Nikolai Petrovitch himself. It is diffi- 
 cult to say whence this arose; perhaps from the 
 fact that she unconsciously felt in BazarofF the 
 absence of everything savouring of the gentry 
 class, of all that loftiness which both attracts and 
 intimidates. In her eyes he was a capital doctor 
 and a simple man. Without feeling embarrassed 
 by his presence, she busied herself with her baby; 
 and one day, when her head suddenly began to 
 reel and ache, she accepted a spoonful of medicine 
 from his hand. Before Nikolai Petrovitch she 
 seemed to shun BazarofF: she did this not out of 
 craft, but from a certain sentiment of decorum. 
 
 250
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 Pavel Petrovitcli she feared more than ever; for 
 some time i)ast he had taken to watching her, and 
 was wont suddenly to make his appearance, as 
 though he had sprung out of the earth behind her 
 back in his English suit, with keen, immovable 
 face, and hands in his pockets.—" He fairly sends 
 a chill down your back," Fenitchka complained to 
 Dunyasha, and the latter in reply sighed and 
 thought of another " unfeeling " man. BazarofF, 
 without himself suspecting the fact, had become 
 the cruel tyrant of her soul. 
 
 Fenitchka liked Bazaroff and he also liked her. 
 Even his face underwent a change when he talked 
 with her: it assumed a clear, almost kindly ex- 
 pression, and a certain playful attentiveness be- 
 came mingled with its wonted carelessness. 
 Fenitchka grew handsomer with every passing 
 day. There is a period in the life of young women 
 when thej^ suddenly begin to blossom out and un- 
 fold like summer roses ; this period had arrived for 
 Fenitchka. Everything contributed thereto, even 
 the sultry July heat which then prevailed. Clad 
 in a thin white gown, she herself seemed whiter 
 and lighter: sunburn did not affect her, and the 
 heat, from which she could not guard herself, com- 
 municated a faint rose tint to her cheeks and ears, 
 and infusing a gentle lassitude into all her body, 
 was reflected with dreamy languor in her beau- 
 tifid eyes. She could hardly work at all; her 
 hands simply fell into her lap. She hardly walked 
 
 251
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 at all and kept groaning and complaining with 
 amusing weakness. 
 
 " Thou shouldst bathe more frequently," — 
 Nikolai Petrovitch said to her. He had built a 
 large bath-house, covered with canvas, in that one 
 of his ponds which had not already quite dried up. 
 
 " Okh, Nikolai Petrovitch! But one would 
 die before getting to the pond, and to walk back 
 would kill one. There 's no shade in the garden, 
 you see." 
 
 " There is no shade, it is true,"— replied Nikolai 
 Petrovitch, and mopped his brows. 
 
 One day, about seven o'clock in the morning, 
 BazarofF, as he was returning from a stroll, found 
 Fenitchka in the lilac arbour, long since out of 
 bloom, but still green and thick. She was sitting 
 on the bench with a white kerchief thrown over 
 her head, according to her custom ; beside her lay 
 a whole sheaf of red and white roses, still wet with 
 dew. He bade her good morning. 
 
 " Ah! Evgeny Vasilitch! " she said, and raised 
 the edge of her kerchief a little to look at him, in 
 which operation her arm was bared to the elbow. 
 
 " What are you doing here? " — said Bazaroif, 
 seating himself by her side. — " Are you binding 
 up a bouquet? " 
 
 " Yes; for the breakfast table. Nikolai Petro- 
 vitch likes it." 
 
 " But it is still a long time to breakfast. What 
 a mass of flowers! " 
 
 252
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 " I picked them now because it will get hot, 
 and it will be impossible to go out. It is only at 
 this hour that one can breathe. I have lost all my 
 strength with this heat. I 'm beginning to be 
 afraid that I am falling ill." 
 
 "What a whimsical idea! Here, let me feel 
 your pulse."— BazarofF took her hand, sought the 
 evenly-beating artery, and did not even count its 
 pulsations. — " You will live a hundred years,"— 
 he said as he released her arm. 
 
 " Akh, God forbid! " she exclaimed. 
 
 " Why? Don't you want to live a long time? " 
 
 " Yes, but a hundred years ! Our grandmother 
 was eighty-five years old— and what a martyr she 
 was ! Black, deaf, bent, she coughed incessantly ; 
 she was only a burden to herself. What a life! " 
 
 " So it is better to be young? " 
 
 " Of course; why not? " 
 
 " But how is it better? Tell me." 
 
 " What do you mean by ' how '? Here I am 
 young now, I can do everything,— I go and come, 
 and fetch and carry, and I am not obhged to ask 
 any one. . . What can be better? " 
 
 " Why, it 's all the same to me whether I am 
 young or old." 
 
 " What is it you say— that it is all the same? 
 What you say is impossible." 
 
 " Come, judge for yourself, Fedosya Niko- 
 laevna; of what use to me is my youth? I live 
 
 alone, a poor, wretched fellow. " 
 
 253
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 " That always depends on you." 
 
 " That 's precisely the point, that it does not 
 depend on me ! I wish somebody would take pity 
 on me." 
 
 Fenitchka gazed askance at BazarofF, but said 
 nothing.— " What book have you there? "—she 
 asked after a pause. 
 
 " This? It is a learned, wise book." 
 
 "And you are always studying? Doesn't it 
 bore you ? I think you must know everything by 
 this time." 
 
 " Evidently, I don't know everything. Try to 
 read a Httle of this." 
 
 " But I shall not understand anything. Is it in 
 Russian? "—asked Fenitchka, grasping the heav- 
 ily bound book with both hands.—" How thick 
 it is!" 
 
 " Yes, it is in Russian." 
 
 " That makes no difference; I shall not under- 
 stand anything." 
 
 " But I am not giving it to you with the object 
 of having you understand it. I want to watch 
 you while you read. When you read, the tip of 
 your little nose moves ver}^ prettily." 
 
 Fenitchka, who was beginning to decipher in 
 an undertone the first article which came to hand 
 " about creosote," broke out laughing, and threw 
 aside the book ... it slid from the bench to the 
 ground. 
 
 254)
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 " I am also fond of seeing you laugh," — said 
 BazarofF. 
 
 "Do stop!" 
 
 " I love to hear you talk. It is like the babbling 
 of a brook." 
 
 Fenitchka turned away her head. — " What a 
 queer man j^ou are! "—she said, her fingers stray- 
 ing among the flowers.—" And why should you 
 care to listen to me ? You have had conversation 
 with such clever folks." 
 
 " Ekh, Fedosya Nikolaevna! believe me: all 
 the clever ladies in the world are not worth your 
 elbow." 
 
 " Come, now, you have invented something 
 else!" — whispered Fenitchka, and folded her 
 arms. 
 
 BazarofF picked the book up from the ground. 
 — " This is a medical book: why do you fling it 
 away f 
 
 " A medical book? " — repeated Fenitchka, and 
 turned toward him.— " But do you know what? 
 Ever since you gave me those drops — you remem- 
 ber? — Mitya has slept so well! I can't think how 
 to thank you; you are so kind, really." 
 
 " Well, as a matter of fact, one should pay the 
 doctor," — remarked Bazaroff with a grin. — 
 " Doctors are greedj^ fellows, you know." 
 
 Fenitchka raised her eyes to Bazaroff, and they 
 seemed still darker than usual, owing to the whit- 
 
 255
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 ish reflection which fell upon the upper part of 
 her face. She did not know whether he was jest- 
 ing or not. 
 
 " If you like, we will pay you, with pleasure 
 
 I must ask Nikolai Petrovitch. . ." 
 
 " But do you think I want money? "— Bazaroff 
 interrupted her.—" No, I want no money from 
 you. 
 
 " What then? "—said Fenitchka. 
 
 " What? "—repeated BazarofF.— " Guess." 
 
 " I never can guess anything! " 
 
 " Then I will tell you; I want .... one of 
 these roses." 
 
 Again Fenitchka burst out laughing and even 
 clasped her hands, so amusing did BazarofF's de- 
 sire seem to her. She laughed, and at the same 
 time she felt flattered. Bazarofl" gazed intently 
 at her. 
 
 " Very well, very well,"— she said at last, and 
 bending toward the bench she began to sort over 
 the roses.—" Which would you like— a red or a 
 white one? " 
 
 " A red one, but not too large." 
 
 She straightened herself up.—" Here, take it," 
 —she said, but immediately drew back her out- 
 stretched hand, and biting her hp, cast a glance 
 at the entrance to the arbour— then began to 
 listen. 
 
 " What 's the matter? " — inquired Bazaroff.— 
 "Nikoldi Petrovitch?" 
 
 256
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 " No. . . . He has gone to the fields . . . and 
 I 'm not afraid of him .... but as for Pavel 
 Petrovitch It seemed to me " 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " It seemed to me that he was walking there. 
 No . . . there is no one. Take it."— Fenitchka 
 gave BazarofF a rose. 
 
 " What makes you afraid of Pavel Petro- 
 vitch?" 
 
 " He always frightens me. Whether he says 
 anything or not, he looks queer. And certainly 
 you don't like him either. You remember you 
 used to be forever disputing with him. I don't 
 know what you were disputing about, but I could 
 see that you twisted him about so and so. . . ." 
 
 Fenitchka demonstrated with her hands how, 
 in her opinion, BazarofF had twisted Pavel Petro- 
 vitch about. 
 
 BazarofF smiled.—" And if there had been any 
 danger of his vanquishing me you would have 
 stood up for me? "—he inquired. 
 
 " How should I have stood up for you? Why, 
 no one can overcome you." 
 
 " Do you think so? But I know a hand which, 
 if it wished, could knock me over with one finger." 
 
 " What hand is that? " 
 
 " Is it possible that you do not know?— Smell 
 and see how splendid is the perfume of the rose 
 5^ou have given me." 
 
 Fenitchka stretched out her neck and put her 
 
 257
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 face close to the flower. . . The kerchief shpped 
 from her head to her shoulders; a soft mass of 
 shining black hair, slightly dishevelled, was re- 
 vealed to view. 
 
 "Wait; I want to smell it with you," — said 
 BazarofF, and he bent over and kissed her firmly 
 on her parted lips. 
 
 She shuddered, and repelled him with both 
 hands against his breast, but her resistance was 
 weak, and he was able to repeat and prolong his 
 kisses. 
 
 A dry cough resounded behind the lilacs. 
 Fenitchka instantly moved to the other end of the 
 bench. Pavel Petrovitch made his appearance, 
 made a slight bow, and saying, with a sort of 
 malicious dejection — "Are you here?" — with- 
 drew. 
 
 Fenitchka immediately gathered up all her 
 roses and went out of the arbour. " Shame on 
 you, Evgeny Vasflievitch,"— she whispered as she 
 went. Unfeigned reproach was audible in her 
 whisper. 
 
 BazarofF suddenly recalled another scene of re- 
 cent occurrence, and felt conscience-stricken and 
 scornfully vexed with himself. But he immedi- 
 ately shook his head, ironically congratulated him- 
 self on his " formal entrance on the career of a 
 Lovelace," and went off to his cliamber. 
 
 But Pavel Petrovitch quitted the garden, and 
 strolling slowly, reached the forest. He remained 
 
 258
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDKEN 
 
 there for a rather long time, and when he returned 
 to breakfast Nikolai Petrovitch asked him with 
 anxiety whether he was well— so dark had his face 
 grown. 
 
 " As thou knowest, I sometimes suffer from an 
 overflo^A' of bile," Pavel Petrovitch answered him 
 with composure. 
 
 259
 
 XXIV 
 
 Two hours later he knocked at BazarofF's door. 
 
 " I must make my excuses for disturbing you 
 in your learned occupations," he began, as he 
 seated himself on a chair near the window and 
 rested both hands on a handsome cane with an 
 ivory handle — (he generally walked without a 
 cane) , — " but I am compelled to request that you 
 will bestow upon me five minutes of your time — 
 no more." 
 
 " All my time is at your disposal," — replied 
 Bazaroff, over whose face something had flitted 
 as soon as Pavel Petrovitch crossed the threshold 
 of the door. 
 
 " Five minutes will suffice for me. I have come 
 to propound one question to you." 
 
 "A question? What is it about? " 
 
 " Be so good as to hear me out. At the begin- 
 ning of your sojourn in my brother's house, when 
 as yet I had not denied myself the pleasure of 
 conversing with you, I chanced to hear you ex- 
 press your views on many subjects; but so far as 
 my memory serves me, neither between us nor in 
 my presence did the conversation turn upon the 
 subject of duels or of duelling in general. Per- 
 
 260
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 mit me to inquire, what is your opinion on that 
 point? " 
 
 BazarofF, who had risen at Pavel Petrovitch's 
 entrance, seated himself on the edge of a chair 
 and folded his arms. 
 
 " This is my opinion,"— said he:—" From the 
 theoretical point of view a duel is a piece of folly ; 
 but from the practical point of view,— it is quite 
 another matter." 
 
 " That is, you mean to say, if I have understood 
 you aright, that whatever may be your theoretical 
 views as to dueUing in practice, you would not 
 allow vourself to be insulted without demanding 
 satisfaction." 
 
 " You have perfectly divined my thought." 
 
 " Very good, sir. I am very much pleased to 
 hear this from you. Your words free me from 
 uncertainty. . . ." 
 
 " From indecision, you mean to say." 
 
 " That is the same thing, sir; I am expressing 
 myself in this manner so that I may be under- 
 stood ; I 'm no seminary rat. Your words release 
 me from a certain sad necessity. I have made up 
 my mind to fight with you." 
 
 Bazaroff opened his eyes wide.—" With me? " 
 
 " Yes, without fail." 
 
 " But what for? good gracious." 
 
 " I might explain the cause to you,"— began 
 Pavel Petrovitch:— " but I prefer to remain 
 silent on that point. To my taste you are super- 
 
 261
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDKEN 
 
 fluous here; I cannot endure you, I despise you, 
 and if that is not enough for you . . . ." 
 
 Pavel Petrovitch's eyes flashed. . . BazarofF's 
 began to flame also. 
 
 " Very good, sir,"— said he.—" Further expla- 
 nations are unnecessary. The fancy has seized 
 you to make a trial of your chivalrous spirit on 
 me. I might refuse you that satisfaction ; but let 
 that pass." 
 
 " I am intensely indebted to you," — repiled 
 Pavel Petrovitch, — " and can now hope that you 
 will accept my challenge without forcing me to 
 have recourse to violent measures." 
 
 " That is, speaking without allegories, to that 
 cane?" — remarked Bazarofl* coolly. — "That is 
 quite correct. There is no necessity whatever for 
 your insulting me. And it is not entirety devoid 
 of danger. You can remain a gentleman. ... I 
 accept your challenge, also in a gentlemanly 
 manner." 
 
 " Very good indeed," — said Pavel Petrovitch, 
 and placed his cane in a corner. — " We will im- 
 mediately say a few words about the conditions 
 of our duel ; but first I should like to understand 
 whether you consider it indispensable to resort 
 to the formality of a small preliminary quarrel, 
 which might serve as the pretext for my chal- 
 lenge?" 
 
 " No. It is better without any formalities." 
 
 " I think so myself. I also assume that it is in- 
 
 2G2
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 opportune to enter into the genuine causes of our 
 conflict. We cannot endure each other. What 
 more is needed? " 
 
 " What more is needed? "—repeated Bazaroff 
 ironically. 
 
 " As regards the conditions themselves of the 
 duel, as we shall have no seconds,— for where are 
 we to get them? " 
 
 " Precisely; where are we to get them? " 
 
 " I have the honour to propose to you the fol- 
 lowing: That we shall fight to-morrow morning 
 early, let us sa}'- at six o'clock, behind the grove, 
 with pistols ; the barrier at ten paces. . . ." 
 
 " Ten paces? that 's so; we hate each other at 
 that distance." 
 
 " We might make it eight,"— remarked Pavel 
 Petrovitch. 
 
 " We might; why not? " 
 
 " We will fire twice ; and each of us will put a 
 note in his pocket — in case of accidents — in which 
 he will cast the blame for his death upon himself." 
 
 " On that point I am not quite in accord with 
 you," — said BazarofF. — " It smacks somewhat of 
 a French romance, — it lacks probability." 
 
 " Possibly. But you must admit that it would 
 be unpleasant to subject one's self to the suspicion 
 of having committed murder." 
 
 " I do admit that. But there is a means of 
 avoiding that sad reproach. We shall have no sec- 
 onds, but we may have a witness." 
 
 263
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 " Who, precisely, permit me to ask? " 
 
 " Why, Piotr." 
 
 "WhatPiotr?" 
 
 " Your brother's valet. He is a man who stands 
 on the crest of contemporary civilisation and will 
 play his part with all the comme it faut indispen- 
 sable in such cases." 
 
 " It strikes me that you are jesting, my dear 
 sir." 
 
 " Not in the least. If you will consider my 
 proposition, you will become convinced that it is 
 full of common sense and simplicity. You cannot 
 hide an awl in a bag, and I take it upon myself to 
 prepare Piotr in the proper manner, and bring 
 him to the field of battle." 
 
 " You persist in jesting," — ejaculated Pavel 
 Petrovitch, rising from his seat. — " But after the 
 amiable readiness which you have displayed I 
 have no right to be too exacting with you. . . . 
 And so everything is arranged. . . . By the way, 
 you have no pistols? " 
 
 " Where should I get any pistols, Pavel Petro- 
 vitch? I am not a warrior." 
 
 " In that case, I offer j^ou mine. You may feel 
 assured that it is five years since I have fired 
 them." 
 
 " That is a very comforting piece of news." 
 
 Pavel Petrovitch got his cane. ..." And 
 now, my dear sir, it only remains for me to 
 thank you and surrender you to j^our occupa- 
 
 20 t
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 tions again. I have the honour to bid you good 
 morning." 
 
 " Farewell until our agreeable meeting, my 
 dear sir," — said Bazaroff, as he escorted his guest 
 to the door. 
 
 Pavel Petrovitch departed, but Bazaroff stood 
 still in front of the door, and suddenly exclaimed : 
 " Whew! the devil! how fine and how stupid! A 
 pretty comedy we have undertaken to i)lay! 
 That 's the way trained dogs dance on their hind 
 legs. But it was impossible to refuse ; for I think 
 he would have struck me, and then . . ." (Bazaroff 
 turned pale at the mere thought ; all his pride rose 
 up in arms.) " Then I should have been obliged 
 to strangle him like a kitten." He returned 
 to his microscope, but his heart was aroused, 
 and the composure which was indispensable for 
 his observations had vanished. — " He saw us to- 
 day," — he thought, " but can it be that he is stand- 
 ing up for his brother? But of what importance 
 is a kiss ? There 's something else here. Ba ! is n't 
 he in love himself? Of course he is; that is as 
 clear as the day. What a complicated mess, when 
 you come to think of it ! ... It 's a bad busi- 
 ness! " — he decided at last: — " it 's a bad business, 
 look at it from whichever side you will. In the 
 first place, I must risk my life, and, in any case, 
 go away ; and there 's Arkady . . . and that 
 lady-bug, Nikolai Petrovitch. 'T is a bad, bad 
 business." 
 
 2G5
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 The day passed somehow in a pecuHarly quiet 
 and languid manner. It was as though P'enitchka 
 did not exist in the world; she sat in her little 
 ]-oom like a mouse in its hole. Nikolai Petrovitch 
 liad a careworn aspect. He had been informed 
 that rust had made its appearance in his wheat, 
 on which he had set special hopes. Pavel Petro- 
 vitch crushed every one, even Prokofitch, with his 
 icj^ politeness. Bazaroff began a letter to his 
 father, but tore it up and flung it under the table. 
 " If I die,"-he thought, " they will hear of it: 
 but I shall not die. No, I shall live on from hand 
 to mouth in this world for a long time to come." 
 — He ordered Piotr to come to him at daybreak 
 on the following morning for an important af- 
 fair; Piotr imagined that he wished to take him 
 with him to Petersburg. BazarofF went to bed 
 late, and incoherent dreams tormented him all 
 night long. . . . Madame Odintzoff hovered be- 
 fore him, but she was his mother, and a kitten with 
 black whiskers followed her, and that kitten was 
 Fenitchka; but Pavel Petrovitch presented him- 
 self to him as a huge forest, with which, neverthe- 
 less, he was compelled to fight. Piotr waked him 
 at four o'clock ; he immediately dressed and went 
 out with him. 
 
 It was a splendid, cool morning; tiny, motley 
 cloudlets hung like snipe in the clear, pale azure ; 
 a fine dew was sprinkled on the leaves and grass, 
 and glistened like silver on the spiders' webs ; the 
 
 266
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 moist dark earth seemed still to retain the rosy 
 traces of the dawn; the songs of larks showered 
 down from all over the skj'. Bazaroff walked to 
 the grove, seated himself in the shadow at the edge 
 of it, and only then did he reveal to Piotr what 
 service he expected from him. The educated 
 lackey was frightened to death; but BazarofF 
 soothed him av ith the assurance that he would have 
 nothing to do except stand at a distance and look 
 on, and that he was assuming no responsibility 
 whatever. — " And meanwhile," — he added, — 
 " think what an important part awaits thee! " — 
 Piotr flung his hands apart, dropped his eyes, and 
 leaned back, all green, against a birch tree. 
 
 The road from Marino wound round the grove ; 
 a light dust lay upon it, as yet untouched since the 
 preceding day by either wheel or foot. BazarofF 
 involuntarily gazed along the road, plucked and 
 chewed a blade of grass, and kept repeating to 
 himself: " What a piece of stupidity! " The ma- 
 tutinal chill made him shiver once or twice. . . . 
 Piotr stared dejectedly at him, but Bazaroff only 
 grinned : he was not afraid. 
 
 The sound of a horse's hoofs rang out on the 
 road. . . A peasant made his appearance from 
 behind the trees. He was driving two hobbled 
 horses in front of him, and, as he passed BazarofF, 
 he looked at him rather strangely, without doffing 
 his cap, which obviously disconcerted Piotr as an 
 evil omen. " Here 's another fellow who has 
 
 267
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 risen early,"— thought BazarofF; " but for busi- 
 ness, at all events, while we " 
 
 " I think he 's coming, sir," whispered Piotr 
 suddenly. 
 
 BazaroiF raised his liead and perceived Pavel 
 Petrovitch. Clad in a light checked sack-coat and 
 snow-white trousers, he was walking briskly down 
 the road ; under his arm he carried a box wrapped 
 up in green cloth. 
 
 " Pardon me, I seem to have made you wait," 
 —he said, bowing first to Bazaroff and then to 
 Piotr, in whom he at that moment respected some- 
 thing in the nature of a second.—" I did not wish 
 to rouse my valet." 
 
 "It is of no consequence, sir,"— replied Baza- 
 rofF, — " we have only just arrived ourselves." 
 
 " Ah! so much the better! "—Pavel Petrovitch 
 cast a glance around him.—" There is no one in 
 
 sight, no one will interfere " 
 
 Let us begin." 
 
 You demand no fresh explanations, I sup- 
 pose? " 
 
 " I do not." 
 
 " Would you like to load? "—inquired Pavel 
 Petrovitch, taking the pistols from their case. 
 
 " No ; do you load, and I will measure oiF the 
 paces. My feet are the longer,"— added BazaroiF 
 with a sneer. — " One, two, three . . . ." 
 
 " Evgeny Vasilievitch," — stammered Piotr 
 M'ith difficulty (he was shaking as though in a 
 
 268 

 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 fever) ,— " I don't Ccare wliat you say, but I am go- 
 ing away." 
 
 *' Four .... five. . . . Go, my dear fellow, 
 go : thou mayest even stand behind a tree and stop 
 up thine ears, only don't shut thine eyes; and if 
 any one falls run and lift him up. Six . . . seven 
 
 . . . eight " BazarofF paused. — " Is this 
 
 enough? "—he said, addressing Pavel Petrovitch; 
 — " or shall I add a couple of paces more? " 
 
 " As you like,"— said the latter, ramming in 
 the second bullet. 
 
 " Well, let 's add a couple of paces more. — 
 BazarofF drew a line on the ground with the toe 
 of his boot. — " Here 's the barrier. Oh, by the 
 way : how many paces is each of us to go from the 
 barrier? That also is an important question. We 
 did not discuss that yesterday. ." 
 
 " Ten, I suppose,"— replied Pavel Petrovitch, 
 handing BazarofF both pistols. " Be so good as to 
 make your choice." 
 
 " I will. But you must admit, Pavel Petro- 
 vitch, that our duel is unusual to the point of ab- 
 surdity. Just look at the face of our second! " 
 
 " You always want to jest," — replied Pavel 
 Petrovitch. — " I do not deny the strangeness of 
 our duel, but I considered it my duty to warn you 
 that I intend to fight seriously. A hon entendeur, 
 saint! " 
 
 " Oh! I do not doubt that we intend to exter- 
 minate each other; but whv not laucfh and com- 
 
 269
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 bine utile dulci? So be it: you talk to me in 
 French, and I '11 talk to you in Latin." 
 
 " I shcill fight seriously,"— repeated Pavel Pe- 
 trovitch, and went to his post. Bazaroff , on his 
 side, counted off ten paces from the barrier, and 
 halted. 
 
 " Are you ready? " — asked Pavel Petrovitch. 
 
 " Perfectly." 
 
 " We can advance." 
 
 Bazaroff moved slowly forward, and Pavel 
 Petrovitch followed his example, thrusting his 
 left hand into his pocket, and gradually raising 
 the barrel of his pistol. ..." He is aiming 
 straight at my nose," — thought Bazaroff, " and 
 how carefully he is narrowing his eyelids, the 
 bandit! But this is an unpleasant sensation; I 
 will look at his watch-chain. . . ." Something 
 whizzed sharply close to BazarofF's ear, and at 
 that moment the sound of a shot rang out.—" I 
 heard it, consequently I 'm all right," flashed 
 through his head. He advanced another step, 
 and, without taking aim, pressed the trigger. 
 
 Pavel Petrovitch gave a slight start and 
 clapped his hand to his hip.— A stream of blood 
 flowed down his white trousers, 
 
 Bazaroff flung aside his pistol and ap- 
 proached his adversary.— " You are wounded?" 
 — he said. 
 
 " You had the right to call me to the bar- 
 rier,"— returned Pavel Petrovitch:—" but that is 
 
 270
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 a mere trifle. According to the agreement, each 
 of us has another sliot." 
 
 " Well, excuse me, that will do for another 
 time,"— replied BazarofF, and caught Pavel Pe- 
 trovitch, who was beginning to turn pale, in his 
 arms. — " I 'm not a duellist now, but a doctor; 
 and, first of all, I must inspect your wound. 
 Piotr! come here, Piotr! where art thou hiding 
 thyself? " 
 
 " All this is nonsense. ... I need assistance 
 from no one,"— faltered Pavel Petrovitch, — 
 " and . . . we must . . . fire . . again. . ." 
 He tried to twirl his moustache, but his hand 
 weakened, his eyes rolled up, and he lost con- 
 sciousness. 
 
 " Here 's a pretty state of things! A swoon! 
 What's the cause of this! "—involuntarily ex- 
 claimed Bazaroff, as he laid Pavel Petrovitch 
 down on the grass.— " Let 's see what sort of a 
 performance this is."— He pulled out his hand- 
 kerchief, wiped away the blood, and felt of the 
 wound. ..." The bone is uninjured," — he mut- 
 tered between his teeth,—" the bullet passed 
 through not far below the skin; one muscle, the 
 vastus externus, is hurt. He can dance, if he 
 likes, three weeks hence! . . . But a swoon! Okh, 
 these nervous people! Just see how thin his 
 skin is ! " 
 
 " Is he killed? "—rustled Piotr's quaking voice 
 behind his back. 
 
 271
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 BazarofF glanced round. — " Run for water as 
 quickly as possible, my good fellow, and he will 
 outlive you and me." 
 
 But the perfected servant appeared not to un- 
 derstand his words, and did not stir from the spot. 
 Pavel Petrovitch slowly opened his eyes. " He is 
 dying! " whispered Piotr, and began to cross him- 
 self. 
 
 " You are right. . . What a stupid physiog- 
 nomy!" — said the wounded gentleman, with a 
 forced smile. 
 
 "Come, now, run for water, you devil!"— 
 shouted BazarofF. 
 
 " It is not necessary. . . It was only a momen- 
 tary vertige. . . . Help me to sit up . . . there, 
 that 's it. . . . All that is needed is to bind up 
 this scratch with something, and then I will walk 
 home, or a drozhky can be sent for me. The duel 
 need not be renewed, if that suits j^ou. You have 
 behaved nobly .... to-day — to-day, pray ob- 
 serve." 
 
 " It is not worth while to revert to the past," — 
 returned BazarofF, — " and as for the future, it is 
 not worth while to bother our heads about that 
 either, because I intend to decamp without delay. 
 Now let me bandage your leg ; your wound is not 
 dangerous, but it will be better, in any case, to 
 stop the flow of blood. But first it is indispen- 
 sable that this mortal should be brought to con- 
 
 sciousness." 
 
 272
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 Bazaroff shook Piotr by the collar and sent him 
 for a drozhky. 
 
 " See to it that thou dost not alarm my bro- 
 ther,"— Pavel Petrovitch said to him. — " Don't 
 dare to announce it to him." 
 
 Piotr flew off at headlong speed ; and while he 
 was running for the drozhky the two adversaries 
 sat on the ground and held their j^eace. Pavel 
 Petrovitch tried not to look at Bazaroff; neverthe- 
 less, he was not willing to be reconciled to him; 
 he was ashamed of his own arrogance, of his lack 
 of success: he was ashamed of this whole affair 
 which he had instigated, although he also felt that 
 it could not have ended in a more favourable man- 
 ner. " He will not hang on here any longer, at 
 all events,"— he soothed himself:—" and for that, 
 thanks." The silence continued, awkward and 
 oppressive. Neither of them was comfortable. 
 Each of them recognised the fact that the other 
 understood him. This consciousness is agreeable 
 to friends and extremely disagreeable to enemies, 
 especially when it is impossible for them either to 
 ex23lain themselves or to separate. 
 
 " Have n't I bandaged your leg too tightly? " 
 — asked Bazaroff at last. 
 
 " No, never mind, it is very well done,"— re- 
 plied Pavel Petrovitch, and after a brief pause, 
 he added: — " it will not be possible to deceive my 
 brother; we shall have to tell him that we quar- 
 relled over politics." 
 
 273
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 " Very good," — said BazarofF. — " You can say 
 that I abused all anglomaniacs." 
 
 " Capital. What do you suppose that man is 
 thinking about us now? " — went on Pavel Petro- 
 vitch, pointing at that same peasant who, a few 
 minutes previous to the duel, had driven past Ba- 
 zarofF the hobbled horses, and on returning along 
 the road had " turned out," and had pulled off 
 his cap at the sight of " the gentry." 
 
 " Who knows! "—replied Bazaroff : — " the 
 most likely thing of all is that he thinks nothing. 
 — The Russian peasant is that same mysterious 
 stranger of whom Mrs. Radcliffe used to prate 
 so much. Who can understand him? He does 
 not understand himself." 
 
 *' Ah! There you go again!" — Pavel Petro- 
 vitch was beginning, then suddenly exclaimed: — 
 " See what our fool of a Piotr has done! There 's 
 my brother galloping hither! " 
 
 BazarofF turned round and perceived the pale 
 face of Nikolai Petrovitch, who was seated in the 
 drozhky. He sprang out before it came to a halt 
 and flew to his brother.—" What 's the meaning 
 of this?"— he said in an agitated voice:— 
 " Evgeny Vasilitch, for heaven's sake, what is 
 this?" 
 
 "Never mind,"— replied Pavel Petrovitch:— 
 " there was no necessity for disquieting you. Mr. 
 BazarofF and I have had a little quarrel, and I 
 have paid for it a bit." 
 
 274
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 " But for God's sake, what was the cause of all 
 this?" 
 
 " How can I explain it to thee? BazarofF ex- 
 pressed himself disrespectfully about Sir Robert 
 Peel. I hasten to add that I alone am to blame 
 for all this, and Mr. BazarofF has behaved excel- 
 lently. I challenged him." 
 
 " But thou art bleeding, good gracious! " 
 
 " And didst thou suppose that I had water in 
 my veins? But this bloodletting is really advan- 
 tageous for me. Is n't that so, doctor? Help me 
 to get into the drozhky, and don't yield to melan- 
 choly. To-morrow I shall be well. There, that 's 
 right; very good indeed. Drive on, coachman." 
 
 Nikolai Petrovitch walked after the drozhky. 
 BazarofF made a motion to remain behind 
 
 " I must request you to attend to my brother," 
 — Nikolai Petrovitch said to him, — " until we get 
 another physician from the town." 
 
 BazarofF bowed in silence. 
 
 An hour later Pavel Petrovitch was lying in 
 bed, with his leg skilfully bandaged. The whole 
 house was in a commotion: Fenitchka swooned. 
 Nikolai Petrovitch quietly wrung his hands, but 
 Pavel Petrovitch laughed and jested, especially 
 with BazarofF; he had donned a fine batiste shirt, 
 a dandified morning jacket, and a fez; he would 
 not allow them to draw down the shades at the 
 windows, and lamented amusingly about the 
 necessity of abstaining from food. 
 
 275
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 But toward nightfall, he became feverish; his 
 head began to ache. The doctor from the town 
 made his appearance. (Nikolai Petrovitch had 
 not obeyed his brother, and Bazaroff himself had 
 not wished it; he had sat in his own room all day 
 long, all sallow and cross, and had only run in to 
 see the invalid for the very briefest space; twice 
 he had chanced to encounter Fenitchka, but she 
 had jumped away from him in horror. ) The new 
 doctor advised cooling beverages, but otherwise 
 confirmed Bazaroff 's assertions that no danger 
 was to be apprehended. Nikolai Petrovitch told 
 him that his brother had w^ounded himself through 
 heedlessness, to which the doctor replied: "H'm!" 
 — but on receiving upon the spot twenty-five 
 rubles, silver, in hand, he said: " You don't say 
 so! that often happens, really." 
 
 No one in the house went to bed or undressed. 
 Nikolai Petrovitch kept stealing into his brother's 
 room on tiptoe and stealing out again on tiptoe: 
 the latter dozed, groaned softty, said to him in 
 Yr^rvi^'." Coucliez-vous" —2ii\^ asked for a drink. 
 Once Nikolai Petrovitch made Fenitchka bring 
 him a glass of lemonade; Pavel Petrovitch re- 
 garded her intently, and drank the glass to the 
 bottom. Toward morning the fever increased 
 somewhat, a slight delirium made its appearance. 
 At first Pavel Peti*6vitch uttered incoherent 
 words; tlien he suddenly opened his eyes, and per- 
 ceiving his brotlier at his bedside bending anx- 
 
 276
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 iously over him, he said: — " Fenitchka has some- 
 thing in common with Nelly, has n't she, 
 Nikolai?" 
 
 " With what Nelly, Pasha? " 
 
 " How canst thou ask? With Princess R. . . . 
 Especially in the upper part of the face. C'est de 
 la meme famille." 
 
 Nikolai Petrovitch made no reply, but mar- 
 velled within himself at the vitality of old feelings 
 in a man. " It 's coming to the surface," he 
 thought. 
 
 " Akh, how I love that vain creature!" — 
 moaned Pavel Petrovitch, sadly flinging his arms 
 above his head. — " I cannot endure it when some 
 audacious fellow dares to touch . . . ."he stam- 
 mered a few moments later. 
 
 Nikolai Petrovitch merely sighed; he did not 
 suspect to whom those words applied. 
 
 BazarofF presented himself to him at eight 
 o'clock on the following morning. He had 
 already managed to pack, and to set at liberty 
 all his frogs, insects, and birds. 
 
 " You have come to bid me farewell? " — said 
 Nikolai Petrovitch, rising to greet him. 
 
 " Exactly so, sir." 
 
 " I understand you, and I fully approve of 
 your course. My poor brother, of course, is to 
 blame: and he has been punished. He told me 
 himself that he had placed you in such a position 
 that it was impossible for you to refuse. I believe 
 
 277
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 tliat you could not have avoided this duel, which 
 . . . which, to a certain extent, is accounted for 
 merely by the constant antagonism of your 
 mutual views." (Nikolai Petrovitch had got en- 
 tangled in his words.) " My brother is a man of 
 the old stamp, irascible and morose. . . . Thank 
 God that it has ended thus. I have taken all nec- 
 essary measures to avoid publicity. . . ." 
 
 " I wiU leave you my address, in case any un- 
 pleasantness arises,"— remarked Bazaroff care- 
 lessly. 
 
 " I hope that no unpleasantness will arise, 
 Evgeny Vasilitch. ... I am very sorry that 
 your sojourn in my house should have had such 
 . . . such an ending. I am the more distressed 
 because Arkady " 
 
 " I shall certainly see him again," — returned 
 BazaroiF, in whom every sort of " explanation " 
 and " declaration " always aroused a sentiment of 
 impatience; — "if I do not, I beg that you will 
 give him my regards and accept the expression of 
 my regret." 
 
 " And I beg . . ." replied Nikolai Petrovitch, 
 with a bow. But BazarofF did not await the end 
 of his phrase, and left the room. 
 
 On hearing that Bazaroff was about to depart, 
 Pavel Petrovitch expressed a wish to see him and 
 to shake hands with him. But here also Bazaroff 
 remained as cold as ice; he comprehended that 
 Pavel Petrovitch wished to appear magnanimous. 
 
 278
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 He did not succeed in bidding Fenitclika good- 
 bye: he merely exchanged a glance with her 
 through a window. Her face seemed sad to him. 
 " She '11 go to destruction probably! "—he said to 
 himself. ..." Well, she '11 extricate herself, 
 somehow or other! " 
 
 On the other hand, Piotr was so overcome with 
 emotion that he wept on his shoulder, until Baza- 
 rofF froze him with the question: "Wasn't he 
 a cry-baby?" while Dunyasha was compelled 
 to flee to the grove to conceal her agitation. 
 The cause of all this woe clambered into the 
 peasant cart, lighted a cigar, and when, at the 
 fourth verst, at a turn of the road, the Kirsanoff 
 farm, with its new manor-house, presented itself, 
 all spread out in a line to his eyes for the last time, 
 he merely spat, and muttering: " Cursed stuck-up 
 gentry!" wrapped himself more closely in his 
 cloak. 
 
 Pavel Petrovitch soon improved; but he was 
 obliged to keep his bed for about a week. He 
 bore his captivity, as he expressed it, with consid- 
 erable patience, only he made a great fuss over his 
 toilet, and kept giving orders that they should 
 fumigate with eau de cologne. Nikolai Petro- 
 vitch read the newspapers to him; Fenitchka 
 waited on him as of yore, brought his bouillon, 
 lemonade, soft-boiled eggs, tea ; but a secret terror 
 took possession of her every time she entered his 
 chamber. Pavel Petrovitch's unexpected be- 
 
 279
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 havioiir had frightened all the people in the 
 house, and her most of all; Prokofitch alone re- 
 mained unperturbed, and explained that the gen- 
 try were wont, in his time, to fight " onlj^ noble 
 gentlemen, among themselves, but loafers they 
 would have ordered to be thrashed in the stables 
 for their insolence." 
 
 Fenitchka's conscience hardly reproached her 
 at all; but the thought of the real cause of the 
 quarrel tortured her at times; and, moreover, 
 Pavel Petrovitch gazed at her in such a strange 
 way .... in such a way, that even when she had 
 her back turned toward him she felt his eyes 
 upon her. She grew thin from incessant inward 
 perturbation, and, as is usual, became prettier 
 than ever. 
 
 One day— it happened in the morning,— Pavel 
 Petrovitch felt well, and had transferred himself 
 from the bed to the divan, and Nikolai Petrovitch, 
 after inquiring about his health, had betaken him- 
 self to the threshing-floor. Fenitchka brought a 
 cup of tea, and, placing it on a small table, was 
 on the point of withdrawing. Pavel Petrovitch 
 detained her. 
 
 " Whither away in such haste, Fedosya Niko- 
 laevna,"— he began:— "have you something to 
 do? " 
 
 " No, sir ... I must pour out the tea." 
 
 " Dunyasha can do that without you; sit a while 
 with the sick man. By the way, I must have a 
 talk with you," 
 
 280
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 Fenitclika silently seated herself on the edge 
 of an arm-chair. 
 
 " Listen,"— said Pavel Petrovitch, and tugged 
 at his moustache,—" I have long wished to ask 
 you : you seem to be afraid of me? " 
 I, sirf . . . 
 
 " Yes, you. You never look at me, just as 
 though your conscience were not clear." 
 
 Fenitchka blushed, but glanced at Pavel Petro- 
 A itch. He struck her as rather strange, and her 
 heart quivered softly. 
 
 " Your conscience is clear, is n't it? " — he asked 
 her. 
 
 " Why should n't it be clear? " — she whispered. 
 
 "As if there were not cause? — However, 
 before whom should you be guilty? Before me? 
 That is not probable. Before other persons here 
 in the house? That also is an impossibility. Be- 
 fore my brother, perchance? But surely you love 
 him? "' 
 
 " I do." 
 
 " With all your soul, with all your heart? 
 
 " I love Nikolai Petrovitch with all my heart 
 
 " Really? Look at me, Fenitchka" (he called 
 her this for the first time) . . . . " You know it 
 is a great sin to lie! " 
 
 " I am not lying, Pavel Petrovitch. If I did 
 not love Nikolai Petrovitch, I should not want to 
 live any longer." 
 
 " And 3'ou would not betraj^ him for any one? " 
 
 " For whom should T betray him? " 
 
 281 

 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 "As if there were no one! Why, for ex- 
 ample, for that gentleman who went away from 
 here." 
 
 Fenitchka rose to her feet.—" O Lord, my 
 God, Pavel Petrovitch, why do you torture me? 
 What have I done to you? How is it possible to 
 talk like that? . . . ." 
 
 " Fenitchka," — said Pavel Petrovitch in a mel- 
 ancholy voice, — " you know I saw " 
 
 " What did you see, sir? " 
 
 " Why, yonder ... in the arbour." 
 
 Fenitchka turned all crimson, to her very hair 
 and her ears. — " And how am I to blame for 
 that? " — she articulated with difficulty. 
 
 Pavel Petrovitch half rose. — " You are not to 
 blame? No? Not in the least ? " 
 
 " I love no one in the world but Nikolai Petro- 
 vitch, and I shall love him forever! "—said 
 Fenitchka, with sudden force, while sobs swelled 
 her throat. " And as for what you saw, I shall 
 say, at the Last Judgment, that I am not and was 
 not to blame for that; and I would rather die at 
 once, if I am to be suspected of such a thing, as 
 
 that toward my benefactor Nikolai 
 
 Petrovitch. ... I ... ." 
 
 But here her voice failed her, and, at the same 
 time, she felt Pavel Petrovitcli grasp and squeeze 
 her hand. . . . She looked at him and was fairly 
 petrified. He had become more pallid than be- 
 fore; his eyes were shining, and, what was most 
 
 282
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 wonderful of all, a heavy, isolated tear was rolling 
 down his cheek. 
 
 " Fenitchka! "—he said, in a queer sort of whis- 
 per : — " love, love my brother ! He is such a kind, 
 good man ! Do not betray him for any one in the 
 world, do not listen to anybody's speeches! Think, 
 what can be more dreadful than to love and not be 
 beloved! Never abandon my poor Nikolai! " 
 
 Fenitchka's eyes grew diy, and her terror 
 passed off,— so great was her amazement. But 
 what was her state of mind w^hen Pavel Petro- 
 vitch — Pavel Petrovitch himself — pressed her 
 hand to his lips, and fairly hung over it, not 
 kissing it, and only sighing from time to time in 
 a convulsive manner. . . . 
 
 " O Lord,"— she thought,—" can it be that he 
 has a fit? . . ." 
 
 But at that moment his whole ruined life was 
 throbbing within him. 
 
 The stairs creaked under swift footsteps. . . . 
 He thrust her away from him, and threw his head 
 back on his pillow. The door opened,— and 
 Nikolai Petrovitch made his appearance, merry, 
 fresh, rosy-cheeked. ]Mitya, as fresh and rosy as 
 his father, clad only in his little shirt, was jump- 
 ing about on his breast, clutching with his little 
 bare feet at the big buttons of his rustic coat. 
 
 Fenitchka fairly flew to him, and tlirowing her 
 arms around both him and her son, dropped her 
 head on his shoulder. Nikolai Petrovitch was as- 
 
 283
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 tonished; Fenitchka, reserved and modest, had 
 never caressed him in the presence of a third 
 person. 
 
 " What is the matter with thee? "—he said, and 
 glancing at his brother, he transferred Mitya to 
 her.— " Thou dost not feel worse?"— he asked, 
 approaching Pavel Petrovitch. 
 
 The latter had buried his face in a batiste hand- 
 kerchief. — " No ... it is just never 
 
 mind On the contrary, I am much better." 
 
 " Thou wert in too much of a hurry to get to 
 the divan. Whither art thou going? " — added 
 Nikolai Petrovitch, turning to Fenitchka ; but she 
 had already banged the door behind her. — " I had 
 brought my sturdy young warrior to show thee; 
 he was longing for his uncle. Why has she taken 
 him away? But what ails thee? Has anything 
 happened between you two?" 
 
 " Brother! " — said Pavel Petrovitch solemnly. 
 
 Nikolai Petrovitch quaked. Dread fell upon 
 him — he himself did not know why. 
 
 " Brother," — repeated Pavel Petrovitch, — 
 " give me thy word to fulfil my request." 
 
 " What request? Speak." 
 
 " It is very important; in my opinion, the entire 
 happiness of thy life depends upon it. All this 
 time I have been meditating a great deal about 
 'ivhat I am now going to say to thee. . . . Bro- 
 ther, fulfil thy duty, the duty of an honest and 
 noble man; put an end to the scandal and bad 
 
 284.
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 example which is caused by thee, the best of 
 men! 
 
 " What is it thou meanest to sa3^ Pavel? " 
 
 " Marry Fenitchka. . . . She loves thee. She 
 is the mother of thy son." 
 
 Nikolai Petrovitch retreated a pace and clasped 
 his hands. — " Is it thou who sayest this, Pavel? 
 — thou whom I have always regarded as the most 
 inexorable antagonist of such marriages! Thou 
 sayest this! But can it be that thou dost not 
 know that it was solely out of respect for thee 
 that I have not fulfilled that which thou hast 
 rightly designated as my duty? " 
 
 " It was a mistake for thee to respect me in this 
 instance," — returned Pavel Petrovitch with a mel- 
 ancholy smile. — " I am beginning to think that 
 BazaroiF was right when he reproached me with 
 being aristocratic. No, my dear brother, it is time 
 for us to cease putting on airs, and think of the 
 world: we are already old and peaceable men; it 
 is time for us to lay aside all vanity. We will, as 
 thou sayest, fulfil our duty ; and, lo, we shall also 
 receive happiness into the bargain." 
 
 Nikolai Petrovitch flew to embrace his brother. 
 
 "Thou hast finally opened my eyes!"— he 
 cried.—" Not in vain have I always maintained 
 that thou art the kindest and wisest man in the 
 world ; but now I see that thou art as sagacious as 
 thou art magnanimous." 
 
 "Softly, softly," -Pavel Petrovitch inter- 
 
 285
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 rui^ted him. — "Do not irritate the leg of thy 
 sagacious brother, who, at the age of fifty, has 
 fought a duel like an ensign. So that affair is 
 settled: Fenitchka is to be my .... helle-soeur." 
 
 " My dear Pavel ! But what will Arkady say? " 
 
 " Arkady? He will go into raptures, take my 
 word for it! JNIarriage is not among his princi- 
 ples, but the sentiment of equality in him will be 
 flattered. And, in fact, what are castes au dioc- 
 neuvieme siecle? " 
 
 " Akh, Pavel, Pavel! let me kiss thee again. 
 Don't be afraid, I will be cautious." 
 
 The brothers embraced. 
 
 " What dost thou think, — would it not be well 
 for thee to announce thine intention to her at 
 once? " — asked Pavel Petrovitch. 
 
 " What need is there of haste? " — returned 
 Nikolai Petrovitch. — " Did you discuss it? " 
 
 " Did we discuss it ? Quelle idee! " 
 
 " Well, ver}'^ good. First of all, get well, and 
 that will not escape us; we must think it over 
 thoroughly, consider . . . ." 
 
 "But I thought thou hadst made up thy 
 mind? " 
 
 " Of course I have; and I thank thee from my 
 soul. Now I will leave thee ; thou must rest ; all 
 agitation is injurious to thee. . . . But we will 
 discuss it again. Go to sleep, my dear soul, and 
 God give thee health! " 
 
 " Why does he thank me so? " thought Pavel 
 
 386
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 Petrovitch, when he was left alone. " As if it did 
 not depend on him ! And I, as soon as he is mar- 
 ried, will go away somewhere, as far as possible, 
 to Dresden or Florence, and I will live there until 
 I die." 
 
 Pavel Petrovitch moistened his brow with eau 
 de cologne, and closed his eyes. Illuminated by 
 the brilliant da3dight, his handsome, emaciated 
 head lay on the white pillow like the head of a 
 corpse. . . And he was a corpse. 
 
 287:
 
 XXV 
 
 At Nikolskoe, in the garden, under the shadow of 
 a lofty ash-tree, Katya and Arkady were sitting 
 on a turf bench; on the ground beside them Fifi 
 had estabhshed himself, imparting to his long 
 body that elegant curve which is known to sports- 
 men as " the grey-hare pose." Both Arkady and 
 Katya were silent; he held in his hands a half- 
 opened book, while she was collecting from a 
 basket the crumbs of white bread M'hich still re- 
 mained in it, and tossing them to a small family 
 of sparrows, which, with the pusillanimous au- 
 dacity peculiar to their kind, were hopping and 
 chirping around her very feet. A faint breeze, 
 rustling the leaves of the ash, shifted softly to and 
 fro along the dark path and Fifi's yellow back, 
 pale-golden patches of light ; a level shade encom- 
 passed Arkadj^ and Katya; only from time to 
 time did a brilliant streak kindle in her hair. 
 Both maintained silence ; but precisely the manner 
 in which they were silent, in which they sat side 
 by side, expressed trusting intimacy: neither of 
 them seemed to be thinking of his neighbour, yet 
 each was secretly glad of the other's proximity. 
 Their faces also have undergone a change since 
 
 288
 
 FATHERS AND CPIILDREN 
 
 we last beheld them: Arkady seems more com- 
 posed, Kdtya more animated, more self-pos- 
 sessed. 
 
 "Don't you think,"— began Arkady,— " that 
 the ash-tree bears a very appropriate name in 
 Russian : ^ no other tree pierces the air so lightly 
 and clearly as it does." 
 
 Katya raised her eyes aloft, and said, " Yes," 
 and Arkady thought: "This one does not re- 
 proach me for expressing myself in fine lan- 
 guage" 
 
 " I don't like Heine," — began Katya, indicat- 
 ing with her eyes the book which Arkady held in 
 his hands: — " either when he laughs or when he 
 weeps; I love him when he is thoughtful and 
 sad." 
 
 " But he pleases me when he laughs,"— re- 
 marked Arkady. 
 
 " Those are the old traces in you of your satiri- 
 cal tendency. . ."("Old traces! "—thought Ar- 
 kady; — "if Bazaroff were to hear that!") 
 " Wait, we will make you over." 
 
 " Who will make me over? You? " 
 
 "Who? — my sister; Porfiry Platonovitch, 
 with whom you no longer quarrel; aunty, whom 
 you escorted to church the day before yesterday." 
 
 " I could n't refuse ! And as for Anna Sergye- 
 evna, she herself, you remember, agreed with 
 Evgeny on many points." 
 
 1 Yasen, "ash-tree;" yasno, "clearly."— Tbanslatmi. 
 
 289
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 " My sister was under his influence then, just 
 as you were." 
 
 " Just as I was? Do you mean to say that you 
 notice that I have already freed myself from his 
 influence? " 
 
 Katya made no reply. 
 
 " I know,"— pursued Arkady, — " that you 
 never did like him." 
 
 " I cannot judge of him." 
 
 " Do j^ou know what, Katerina Sergyeevna? 
 Every time I hear that answer I do not believe 
 in it. . . . There is no man as to whom any one 
 of us cannot pronounce judgment! That is sim- 
 ply an evasion." 
 
 " Well, then I will tell you that I .... do not 
 exactly dislike him, but I feel that he is a stranger 
 to me, and I have nothing in common with him 
 
 and neither have you." 
 
 Why so? " 
 
 How can I tell you? . . . He is a bird of 
 prey, while you and I are tame." 
 
 " And am I tame also? " 
 
 Katya nodded. 
 
 Ai'kady scratched behind his ear. — " See here, 
 Katerina Sergyeevna, you know that is really in- 
 sulting." 
 
 " Would you really like to be a bird of prey? " 
 
 " A bird of prey — no, but strong, energetic." 
 
 " That cannot be had by wisliing. . . There 's 
 your friend— he does not wish it, but it is in him." 
 
 290 

 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 " H'm ! So you think he Iiad great influence on 
 Anna Sergyeevna? " 
 
 " Yes. But no one can keep the upper hand of 
 her for long,"— added Katya, in an undertone. 
 
 " Why do you think that? " 
 
 " She is ver\^ proud. ... I did not mean to say 
 that .... she sets a high value on her indepen- 
 dence." 
 
 *' And who does not? "—asked Arkady, and 
 through his mind there flashed: "What good 
 does it do her? "— " What good does it do her? " 
 also flashed through Katya's mind. When young 
 people meet often on friendh^ terms, the same 
 thoughts are constantly occurring to them. 
 
 Arkad)^ smiled, and moving a little closer to 
 Katj^a, said in a whisper:—" Confess that you are 
 a little afraid of her." 
 
 "Of whom?" 
 
 " Of /zfr/^— repeated Arkady significantly. 
 
 " And j^ou? " — questioned Katya, in her turn. 
 
 " And I also; observe, I say: and I also." 
 
 Katya shook her finger at him. — " I am sur- 
 prised,"— she began:—" my sister has never been 
 so favourably disposed toward you as at precisel}' 
 the present moment; much more so than during 
 vour first visit." 
 
 ft. 
 
 " Here 's news! " 
 
 "But haven't j^ou noticed it? Aren't you 
 pleased? " 
 
 Arkadv meditated. 
 
 291
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 « 
 
 How have I won Anna Sergyeevna's good 
 will? Must it not have been because I brought 
 her your mother's letter? " 
 
 " For that reason, and there are other causes, 
 which I will not mention." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " I won't tell." 
 
 *' Oh! I know: you are very stubborn." 
 I am. 
 
 *' And observing." 
 
 Katya shot a sidelong glance at Arkady. — 
 " Perhaps that enrages you? What are you 
 thinking about? " 
 
 " I am thinking where you could have got that 
 observation which you really do possess. You are 
 so timorous, distrustful ; you are afraid of every- 
 body. . . ." 
 
 " I have lived much alone; one begins, invol- 
 untarily, to think a great deal under such cir- 
 cumstances. But am I really afraid of every- 
 body? " 
 
 Arkady threw a penetrating glance at Katya. 
 
 " All this is very fine,"— he went on,—" but 
 people in your position — I mean to say, with 
 your means — rarely possess that gift; it is diffi- 
 cult for the truth to make its way to them, as it is 
 to kings." 
 
 " But I 'm not rich, you know." 
 
 Arkady was surprised, and did not at once un- 
 derstand Katya. " And, in fact, all the property 
 
 292
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 does belong to her sister! " occurred to his mind; 
 this thought was not unpleasant to him. — " How 
 well you said that! " he said. 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " You spoke well; simply without confusion or 
 affectation. By the way: I imagine that there 
 must be something peculiar— a sort of ostenta- 
 tion—in the feeling of a person who knows and 
 says that he is poor." 
 
 " I have experienced nothing of the sort, thanks 
 to my sister; I mentioned my position simply be- 
 cause the words slipped off my tongue." 
 
 " Exactly. But confess that there is in you a 
 little bit of that ostentation of which I just 
 spoke." 
 
 " For example? " 
 
 " For example, of course,— pardon my ques- 
 tion,— you would not marry a wealthy man." 
 
 " If I loved him very much. . . No, I think I 
 would not marry him even then." 
 
 "Ah! there, you see! "—exclaimed Arkady, 
 and, after a brief pause, he added:—" But why 
 would n't you marry him? " 
 
 " Because they sing in the ballad about in- 
 equality." 
 
 " Perhaps you want to rule, or . . . ." 
 
 " Oh, no! Why should I? On the contrary, I 
 am ready to submit; only inequality is oppressive. 
 But I do understand respecting one's self and 
 submitting; that is happiness; but not an ex- 
 
 293
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 istence of subjugation. . , No, I am satisfied as 
 am. 
 
 " Satisfied as you are," — repeated Arkady 
 after Katya.— " Yes, yes,"— he went on; — " it is 
 not for nothing that you are of one blood with 
 Anna Sergyeevna; you are as independent as 
 she is; but you are more secretive. I am con- 
 vinced that on no account would you be the first 
 to express your feelings, no matter how powerful 
 and sacred thej^^ might be. . . ." 
 
 "But how could it be otherwise? "—inquired 
 Katya. 
 
 "You are equally clever; you have as much 
 character as she has, if not more. . . ." 
 
 " Do not compare me with my sister, please," 
 — interposed Katya hurriedly, — " it is too dis- 
 advantageous to me. You appear to have for- 
 gotten that my sister is a beauty and a wit, and 
 . . . you, in particular, Arkady Nikolaitch, 
 ought not to utter such words, and with such a 
 serious countenance into the bargain." 
 
 " What does this mean, ' You in particular? ' 
 — and from what do you conclude that I am 
 jesting? " 
 
 " Of course you are jesting." 
 
 "Do you think so? But what if I am con- 
 vinced of what I am saying? What if I am of 
 the opinion that I have not even yet expressed 
 myself with sufficient force? " 
 
 " I don't understand you." 
 
 29^
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 " Really? Well, now I see: I really have ex- 
 aggerated your power of observation." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 Arkady made no reply and turned away, while 
 Katya rummaged out a few more crumbs in her 
 basket, and began to toss them to the sparrows; 
 but the sweep of her hand was too vigorous, and 
 the birds flew away without managing to peck. 
 
 " Katerina Sergyeevna! " — began Arkady 
 suddenly:—" it makes no difference to you, prob- 
 ably; but you must know that I would not ex- 
 change you not only for your sister, but for any 
 one in the world." 
 
 He rose and walked swiftly away, as though 
 frightened at the words which had dropped from 
 his tongue. 
 
 And Katya dropped both her hands, together 
 with the basket, on her lap, and bowing her head, 
 gazed after Arkady. Little by little, a scarlet 
 flush faintly tinged her cheeks; but her lips did 
 not smile, and her dark eyes expressed surprise, 
 and some other, as yet nameless, feeling. 
 
 "Art thou alone?" — Anna Sergyeevna's 
 voice resounded near her.—" I thought thou 
 hadst gone into the garden with Arkady." 
 
 Katya, without haste, turned her eyes on her 
 sister (elegantly, even exquisitely attired, she was 
 standing on the path, and tickling Fifi's ears with 
 the tip of her open parasol), and said, also with- 
 out haste:—" I am alone." 
 
 295
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 " I perceive that," — replied the other, with a 
 laugh:— "he must have gone off to his own 
 room." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Have you been reading together? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Anna Sergyeevna took Katya by the chin and 
 raised her face. 
 
 " You have not quarrelled, I hope? " 
 
 " No,"— said Katya, and gently put aside her 
 sister's hand. 
 
 " How solemnly thou answerest! I thought I 
 should find him here, and would suggest to him 
 that he take a stroll with me. He is always beg- 
 ging me to do that. Thy shoes have been brought 
 from town; go and try them on: I noticed 
 yesterday that those thou art now wearing 
 are quite worn out. In general, thou dost not 
 pay sufficient attention to that point, yet 
 thou hast such charming little feet! And thy 
 hands are good . . . only large; so thou must 
 captivate with the tiny feet. But thou art not a 
 coquette." 
 
 Anna Sergyeevna went her way along the 
 path, her handsome gown rustling faintly; 
 Katya rose from the bench, and taking with her 
 Heine, went away also — only not to try on her 
 shoes. 
 
 " Charming little feet,"— she thought, as she 
 walked slowly and lightly up the stone steps of 
 
 296
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 the terrace, which were red-hot with the sun; — 
 " charming Httle feet, you say. . . . Well, and he 
 shall be at them." 
 
 But she immediately felt ashamed, and ran 
 nimbly up-stairs. 
 
 Arkady walked along the corridor to his room ; 
 the butler overtook him, and announced that Mr. 
 BazarofF was sitting in his chamber. 
 
 " Evgeny! "—muttered Arkady, almost in 
 terror. 
 
 "He has just this moment come, and gave or- 
 ders that his arrival should not be announced to 
 Anna Sergyeevna, and bade me conduct him 
 straight to you." 
 
 "Can a catastrophe have happened at our 
 house? "—thought Arkady, and running hastily 
 up-stairs to his room, he flung open the door. 
 BazarofF's aspect instantaneously calmed him, al- 
 though a more experienced eye probably would 
 have detected in the figure of the unexpected vis- 
 itor, energetic as of yore but haggard, the tokens 
 of inward agitation. With his dusty cloak on his 
 shoulders, and his cap on his head, he was sitting 
 on the window-sill ; he did not rise, even when Ar- 
 kady flung himself upon his neck, with noisy ex- 
 clamations. 
 
 " What a surprise! How does it happen! " — 
 he kept repeating, as he bustled about the room 
 like a man who imagines, an^ is trying to demon- 
 strate, that he is delighted.-^" Everything is all 
 
 297
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 right at our house, of course; they are all well, 
 are n't they? " 
 
 " Everything at thy home is all right, but all 
 are not well,"— said BazarofF.— " But don't jab- 
 ber : order them to bring me some kvas ; sit down 
 and listen to what I will impart to thee in a few, 
 but, I hope, fairly forcible phrases." 
 
 Arkady grew mute, and BazarofF narrated to 
 him the story of his duel with Pavel Petrovitch. 
 Arkady was greatly amazed, and even grieved; 
 but he did not consider it necessarj^ to say so; he 
 merely asked whether his uncle's wound were 
 really not dangerous, and, on receiving the reply, 
 — that it was extremely interesting, only not in a 
 medical sense,— he smiled in a constrained way, 
 and dread fell upon his heart, and he felt some- 
 what ashamed. BazarofF seemed to understand 
 him. 
 
 " Yes, brother,"— he said,—" that 's what it 
 means to live with feudal lords. Thou wilt fall 
 into feudal ways, and take part in knightly tour- 
 neys. Well, sir, so I took myself ofF to ' the 
 fathers,' " — BazarofF wound up, — " and on the 
 
 way I dropped in here in order to inform 
 
 thee of all this, I would have said, if I did not 
 regard a useless lie as a piece of stupidity. No, I 
 dropped in here— the devil knows why. You see, 
 it is useful for a man, once in a while, to grab 
 himself by the topknot and pluck himself out, like 
 a radish from a garden-bed ; I performed that feat 
 
 298
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 recently. . . But I wanted to take just one more 
 look at that from which I had parted— at that 
 bed where I was planted." 
 
 " I hope that these words do not refer to me," 
 — returned Arkady, with perturbation.—" I hope 
 that thou art not thinking of parting from me" 
 
 BazarofF cast an intent, almost piercing glance 
 at him. 
 
 " Does that really pain thee so? It strikes me 
 that tliou hast already parted from me. Thou art 
 
 so fresh and pure th}^ affairs with Anna 
 
 Sergyeevna must be progressing well." 
 
 " What affairs of mine with Anna Sergye- 
 evna? " 
 
 " Why, didst not thou come hither from the 
 town, my child? By the wa}^ how are the Sun- 
 day-schools getting on there ? Art not thou enam- 
 oured of her ? Or has the time arrived for thee to 
 be discreet? " 
 
 " Evgeny, thou knowest I have always been 
 frank with thee ; I can assure thee, I swear to thee, 
 that thou art in error." 
 
 "H'm! a new word,"— commented Bazaroff. 
 — " But there 's no need for thee to wax warm 
 over it, for as thou seest, it is a matter of perfect 
 indifference to me. A romanticist would have 
 said : ' I feel that our paths are beginning to 
 diverge,' but I simply say that we have got dis- 
 gusted with each other." 
 
 "Evgeny! . . ." 
 
 299
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 " IV, 
 
 My dear soul, that 's no calamity" ; one gets 
 disgusted with plenty of things in this world! 
 But now I am thinking whether it is n't time for 
 us to say farewell? Ever since I came hither I 
 have felt most abominably, as though I had been 
 reading too much of Gogol's letters to the wife of 
 the Governor of Kaluga. By the way, I did not 
 order the horses unharnessed." 
 
 " Upon my word, this is impossible ! " 
 
 " But why? " 
 
 " I am not speaking of myself ; but this will be 
 in the highest degree discourteous to Anna Ser- 
 gyeevna, who is extremely anxious to see thee." 
 
 " Well, as to that, thou art mistaken." 
 
 " On the contrary, I am convinced that I am 
 right,"— retorted Arkady. — " And why dost thou 
 dissimulate? When it comes to that, dost tliou 
 mean to say that thou didst not come hither on her 
 account thyself? " 
 
 " Perhaps that is correct, but thou art mistaken, 
 nevertheless." 
 
 But Arkady was right. Anna Sergyeevna did 
 wish to see Bazaroif, and sent him an invitation, 
 through the butler, to come to her. BazarofF 
 changed his clothes before he went to her: it 
 turned out that he had packed his new suit in such 
 a way that it was at hand. 
 
 Madame Odintzoff did not receive him in the 
 room where he had so unexpectedly made his dec- 
 laration of love, but in the drawing-room. She 
 
 300
 
 FATHERS AND CHIT>DREN 
 
 graciously offered Iiim the tips of her fingers, but 
 her face expressed involuntary constraint. 
 
 " Anna Sergyeevna," — Bazaroff made haste to 
 say, — " first of all, I must reassure )'ou. You see 
 before you a mortal who has long since recovered 
 his senses, and who hopes that others also have 
 forgotten his foil}. I am going away for a long 
 time, and you must admit that, although I am not 
 a soft person, yet it would be far from a cheerful 
 thing for me to carry away the thought that you 
 remember me with loathing." 
 
 Anna Sergyeevna heaved a deep sigh, like a 
 person who has just climbed to the top of a loft}^ 
 mountain, and her face became enHvened with a 
 smile. She offered her hand to Bazaroff for the 
 second time, and reciprocated his pressure. 
 
 " Let sleeping dogs lie," — she said, — " the more 
 so as, to speak candidl}^ I also sinned at that time 
 — if not through coquetry, by something else. 
 In a word, let us be friends as before. It was 
 a dream, was it not? And who remembers 
 dreams? " 
 
 " Who remembers them? And, moreover, love 
 . . . is an imaginary feeling, you know." 
 
 " Really? I am very glad to hear it." 
 
 Thus did Anna Sergyeevna express herself, 
 and thus did Bazaroff express himself; they both 
 thought that they were speaking the truth. Did 
 their words contain the truth, the whole truth? 
 They themselves did not know, much less does the 
 
 . 301
 
 \ 
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDKEN 
 
 author. But they entered upon the sort of con- 
 versation which seemed to indicate that they thor- 
 oughly beheved each other. 
 
 Anna Sergyeevna asked Bazaroff , among other 
 things, what he had been doing at the Kirsa- 
 nofFs'. He came near teUing her about his duel 
 with Pavel Petrovitch, but restrained himself at 
 the reflection that she might imagine that he was 
 trjang to make himself interesting, and answered 
 her that he had been working all that time. 
 
 " And I," — said Anna Sergyeevna, — " first 
 moped— God knows why; I even prepared to 
 go abroad; just fancy! .... Then it passed off, 
 your friend Arkady Nikolaitch arrived, and I 
 fell back into my rut, into my genuine role." 
 Into what role, permit me to inquire? " 
 The role of aunt, preceptress, mother, what- 
 ever you please to call it. By the way, do you 
 know, that formerly I did not quite understand 
 your intimate friendship with Arkady Nikola- 
 itch! I considered him decidedly insignificant. 
 But now I have come to know him better, and 
 have convinced mvself that he is clever. . . And 
 the chief point, he is young, young .... not 
 like you and me, Evgeny Vasilitch." 
 
 " Is he still as timid as ever in your presence? " 
 inquired Bazaroff. 
 
 " But is it possible " began Anna Ser- 
 gyeevna, and, after reflecting a little, she added: 
 — " Now he has become more confiding, he talks 
 
 302 

 
 FATHERS AND CIIILUREN 
 
 with me. Formerly lie avoided me. However, I 
 did not seek his society. He and Katya are 
 g-reat friends." 
 
 Bazaroff felt vexed.—" It is impossible for a 
 woman not to be crafty! "—he thought. " You 
 say that he avoided you,"— he articulated, with a 
 cold sneer,—" but, probably, it was no secret to 
 you that he was in love with you ? " 
 
 " What? He too? "—broke from Anna Ser- 
 gyeevna. 
 
 " He too,"— repeated BazarofF, with a submis- 
 sive bow. — " Is it possible that you did not know 
 it, and that I have been telling you news? " 
 
 Anna Sergyeevna dropped her eyes.—" You 
 are in error, Evgeny Vasilitch." 
 
 " I think not. But perhaps I ought not to 
 allude to that.— And don't you be sly hence- 
 forth," he added to himself. 
 
 " Why should not you allude to it ? But I 
 think that you are ascribing too much importance 
 to a momentary impression. I begin to suspect 
 that you are inclined to exaggeration." 
 
 " It is better for us not to talk about that, Anna 
 Sergyeevna." 
 
 " Why? "—she retorted, but she herself turned 
 the conversation on another subject. Xeverthe- 
 less, she felt awkward with Bazaroff, although 
 she had told him, and had assured herself, that 
 everything was forgotten. As she exchanged 
 simple phrases with him, she felt the slight con- 
 
 303
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 straint of terror. Thus do people on a steamer, 
 at sea, chat and laugh, care-free, exactly as 
 though they were on solid land ; but let the slight- 
 est halt take place, let the smallest sign of any- 
 thing unusual present itself, and instantly there 
 starts forth upon all countenances an expression 
 of peculiar alarm, which bears witness to the 
 constant consciousness of danger. 
 
 Anna Sergyeevna's conversation with BazarofF 
 did not last long. She began to grow thought- 
 ful, to return abstracted replies, and, at last, pro- 
 posed to him that they should go into the hall, 
 where they found the Princess and Katya. " But 
 where is Arkady Nikolaevitch? "—inquired the 
 hostess; and on learning that he had not shown 
 himself for more than an hour past, she sent for 
 him. He was not soon found: he had ensconced 
 himself in the very depths of the garden, and with 
 his chin propped upon his clasped hands, he was 
 sitting absorbed in thought. His thoughts were 
 profound and important, but not sad. He knew 
 that Anna Sergyeevna was sitting alone with Ba- 
 zaroff, and he felt no jealousy, as formerly; on 
 the contrary, his face beamed gently; he seemed 
 to be surprised at something, and to be rejoicing, 
 and making up his mind to something. 
 
 304
 
 XXVI 
 
 The deceased Mr. Odintzoff had not liked novel- 
 ties, but he had permitted " a certain play of en- 
 nobled taste," and, in consequence thereof, he had 
 erected in his garden, between the hot-house and 
 the pond, a building in the nature of a Greek 
 portico of Russian brick. In the rear, blind wall 
 of this portico, or gallery, six niches had been let 
 in for statues, which OdintzofF had intended to 
 import from Italy. These statues were intended 
 to represent Solitude, Silence, Meditation, Mel- 
 ancholy, JVIodesty, and Sentiment. One of them, 
 the Goddess of Silence, with her finger on her 
 lips, had been brought and set in place; but that 
 very same day the naughty little boys of the 
 house-serfs had broken off her nose, and although 
 a neighbouring plasterer had undertaken to at- 
 tach a nose to her " twice as good as the former," 
 OdintzofF had ordered her to be taken awa}'', and 
 she was placed in. a corner of the threshing-shed, 
 where she stood for long j^ears, arousing the su- 
 perstitious fears of the peasant women. The 
 front side of the portico had long since become 
 overgrown with thick brushwood; only the cap- 
 itals of the columns were visible above tlie dense 
 verdure. In the portico itself, even at noonday, 
 
 305
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 it was cool. Anna Sergyeevna had not been fond 
 of visiting this spot since she had seen an adder 
 there, but Katya often came to sit on a big stone 
 bench which had been constructed beneath one 
 of the niches. Surrounded by coolness and shade, 
 she read, worked, or surrendered herself to that 
 sensation of complete tranquillity which is prob- 
 ably known to everj'- one, and whose charm con- 
 sists in a barely -conscious, mute contemplation of 
 the broad stream of life, which incessantly rolls 
 both around us and in us. 
 
 On the day following Bazaroff 's arrival, Katya 
 was sitting on her favourite bench, and beside her 
 again sat Arkady. He had begged her to come 
 with him to the " portico." 
 
 About an hour remained before breakfast-time ; 
 the dewy morning had already changed into a 
 hot day. Arkady's countenance preserved its ex- 
 pression of the day before ; Kat3^a wore a troubled 
 aspect. Her sister, immediately after tea, had 
 called her to her in her boudoir, and having first 
 caressed her, which always rather terrified Katya, 
 she had advised her to be cautious in her beha\T[our 
 toward Arkady, and, in particular, to shun soli- 
 tary conversations with him, which, it seemed, had 
 been commented upon by her aunt, and by all the 
 household. In addition to this, on the previous 
 evening, Anna Sergyeevna had been out of sorts ; 
 and Katya herself had felt agitated, as though 
 she recognised that she had done wrong. In yield- 
 
 306
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 ing to Arkady's plea, she had told herself that it 
 was for the last time. 
 
 " Katerina Sergyeevna,"— he began, with a 
 certain bashful ease,—" since I have had the hap- 
 piness of living in your house, I have talked over 
 
 many things with you, and yet there is one 
 
 question .... which is very important for me 
 that I have not yet touched upon. You remarked 
 yesterday that I have been made over here,"— he 
 added, both seeking and avoiding Katya's gaze, 
 fixed questioningly upon him. — " As a matter of 
 fact, I have undergone a change in many respects, 
 and you know that better than any one else,— 
 j^ou, to whom, in reality, I am indebted for this 
 change." 
 
 "I? . . . Tome? . . . ." said Katya. 
 
 " Now I am no longer that arrogant boy that 
 I was when I came hither," — pursued Arkady; 
 — " not in vain have I passed my twenty-third 
 year; as before, I desire to be of use, I desire 
 to consecrate all my powers to the truth; but I 
 no longer seek my ideals where I formerly 
 sought them; they present themselves to me 
 . . . much closer at hand. Hitherto, I have 
 not understood myself; I have set myself 
 
 tasks that were bej^ond my strength M}^ 
 
 eyes have recently been opened, tlianks to a 
 certain feeling. ... I do not express my- 
 self quite clearly, but I hope you understand 
 me " 
 
 307
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 Katya made no reply, but ceased to look at 
 Arkady. 
 
 " I assume," — he went on again, in a more agi- 
 tated voice, and a chaffinch above his head, in the 
 foliage of a birch-tree, unconcernedly carolled his 
 song, — " I assume that it is the duty of every 
 honest man to be perfectly frank with those .... 
 those persons who .... in a word, with the per- 
 sons who are near to his heart, and, therefore, I 
 .... I intend . . . ." 
 
 But here Arkad3^'s eloquence failed him; he 
 became confused, stammered, and was forced to 
 pause for a while; still Katya did not raise her 
 eyes. Apparently, she did not understand what 
 all this was leading up to, and was waiting for 
 something. 
 
 *' I foresee that I shall surprise you," — began 
 Arkady, collecting his forces afresh, — " the more 
 so as this feeling relates, in a certain way . . . 
 in a certain wav, observe, — to vou. I remember 
 that you reproached me yesterday with a lack of 
 seriousness," — went on Arkady, with the aspect 
 of a man who has walked into a morass, feels that 
 with every step he is sinking deeper and deeper, 
 and, nevertheless, strides onward, in the hope of 
 traversing it as speedily as possible: — "that re- 
 proach is often directed .... falls ... on 
 young people, even when they have ceased to 
 
 merit it; and if I had more self-confidence " 
 
 (" Come, help me, help me! " thought Arkady, in 
 
 308
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 despair, but Katya, as before, did not turn her 
 head.) — " If I could hope . . . ." 
 
 " If I could feel convinced of what you say,"— 
 rang out Anna Sergyeevna's clear voice at that 
 moment. 
 
 Arkady instantly became dumb, and Katya 
 turned pale. A path ran past the bushes which 
 screened the portico. Anna Sergyeevna was 
 walking along it, in company with Bazaroff. 
 Katya and Arkady could not see them, but they 
 heard every word, the rustling of her gown, her 
 very breath. They advanced a few paces and 
 halted, as though with deliberate intent, directly 
 in front of the portico. 
 
 " You see,"— pursued Anna Sergyeevna, — 
 " you and I have made a mistake ; neither of us is 
 in his first youth, especially I ; we have lived, we 
 are weary; why should we both stand on cere- 
 mony? — we are clever: at first, we interested each 
 
 other, our curiosity was aroused and 
 
 then " 
 
 " And then I grew insipid,"— put in Bazaroff. 
 
 " You know that that was not the cause of our 
 falling out. But, at any rate, we did not need 
 each other; that is the princij^al point: there was 
 too much in us that was .... how shall I ex- 
 press it? . . . identical. We did not comprehend 
 that at first. On the contrary, Arkady . . . ." 
 
 " Do you need him? "—inquired Bazaroff. 
 
 " That will do, Evgeny Vasilievitch. You say 
 
 309
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 that he is not indifferent to me, and it always has 
 seemed to me that he liked me. I know that I am 
 fit to be his aunt, but I will not conceal from you 
 that I have begun to think more frequently of 
 him. There is a certain charm in that young, 
 fresh feeling " 
 
 " The word fascination is more used in such 
 cases," — interposed Bazaroif ; seething bitterness 
 was audible in his calm, but dull voice. — " Arkady 
 seemed to be mysterious with me yesterday ; he did 
 not mention either you or your sister. . . That 
 is an important symptom." 
 
 " He is exactly like a brother with Katya,"— 
 said Anna Sergyeevna,— " and I like that in him, 
 although possibly I ought not to allow such in- 
 timacy between them." 
 
 " Is that the .... sister . . . speaking in 
 you? "—articulated BazarofF slowly. 
 
 " Of course ; . . . . but why are we standing 
 here? Let us go on. What a strange conversa- 
 tion between us, is it not? And could I have an- 
 ticipated that I should talk thus with you? You 
 know that I am afraid of you, .... and, at the 
 same time, I trust you because, in reality, you are 
 very kind." 
 
 " In the fii'st place, I am not kind in the least ; 
 and, in the second place, I have lost all signifi- 
 cance for you, and you tell me that I am kind. 
 
 That is exactly the same as placing a 
 
 wreath of flowers on the head of a corpse." 
 
 310
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 " Evgeny Vasilitch, we cannot control . . . ." 
 began Anna Sergyeevna; but a breeze swept by, 
 rustled the leaves, and carried away her words. 
 
 " Assuredly, you are free," — enunciated Baza- 
 roff, after a brief pause. It was impossible to 
 make out any more ; the footsteps died away . . . 
 all became silent. 
 
 Arkady turned to Katya. She was sitting in 
 the same attitude, only she had bowed her head 
 still lower than before. 
 
 " Katerma Sergj'-eevna,"— he said, with a trem- 
 bling voice, and with tightly clasped hands: — " I 
 love you forever and irrevocably, and I love no 
 one but you. I wanted to say this, to learn your 
 opinion and to ask your hand, because I am not 
 rich, and I feel that I am prepared for all sacri- 
 fices. . . You do not answer ? You do not believe 
 me? You think that I am speaking idly? But 
 remember these last few days ! Is it possible that 
 you have not long ago convinced yourself, every- 
 thing else— understand me— everything, every- 
 thing else long ago vanished without a trace? 
 Look at me, say one word to me. . I love .... 
 I love you . . . believe me! " 
 
 Katya looked at Arkady with a solemn, beam- 
 ing gaze, and after long meditation, hardly smil- 
 ing, she said:—" Yes." 
 
 Arkady sprang from the bench. — " Yes ! You 
 said ' yes,' Katerina Sergyeevna! What does that 
 word mean? Does it mean ' I love you,' or that 
 
 311
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 you believe me? ... Or .... or .... I dare 
 not finish . . . ." 
 
 " Yes,"— repeated Katya, and this time he un- 
 derstood her. He seized her large, beautiful 
 hands, and panting with rapture, pressed them to 
 his heart. He could hardly stand on his feet, and 
 merely kej)t repeating: " Katya, Katya . . . ." 
 and she fell to weeping, in an innocent sort of 
 way, laughing gently at her own tears. He who 
 has not beheld such tears in the eyes of the beloved 
 being has not yet experienced to what a degree, 
 all swooning with gratitude and with shame, a 
 man can be happy on this earth. 
 
 On the following day, early in the morning, 
 Anna Sergyeevna ordered BazaroiF to be sum- 
 moned to her boudoir, and, with a forced laugh, 
 she handed him a folded sheet of note-paper. It 
 was a letter from Arkady : in it he asked the hand 
 of her sister. 
 
 BazarofF swiftly glanced over the letter, and 
 exerted an effort over himself not to display the 
 impetuous feeling which instantly flamed up in 
 his soul. 
 
 " So that 's how it is,"— he said;—" and you, I 
 believe, no longer ago than yesterday, supposed 
 that he loved Katerina Sergyeevna with the love 
 of a brother. What do you mean to do now? " 
 
 " What do you advise me to do? "—asked Anna 
 Sergyeevna, continuing to laugh. 
 
 " Why, I think," -replied Bazaroif , also with 
 
 c:3
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 a laugh, although he did not feel at all merry, and 
 did not, in the least, wish to laugh, any more than 
 she did:—" I think you will have to give the 
 young people your blessing. It is a fine match, in 
 every respect; KirsanofF has a respectable prop- 
 erty, he is his father's only son, and the father is 
 a fine fellow also, I will not deny it." 
 
 Madame OdintzofF paced the room. Her face 
 flushed and paled by turns. 
 
 " You think so? "-she said. " Why not? I 
 see no obstacle. ... I am glad for Katya . . . 
 and for Arkady Nikolaevitch. Of course I shall 
 await his father's reply. I will send him himself 
 to him. But, you see, it turns out that I was right 
 yesterday when I told you that we were both old 
 folks. . . . How is it that I did not see this? It 
 amazes me! " 
 
 Again Anna Sergyeevna began to laugh, and 
 immediately turned away. 
 
 " The young people of the present day have be- 
 come very sly,"— remarked BazarofF, and began 
 to laugh also. — " Good-bye,"— he said again, 
 after a brief pause. — " I hope you will finish this 
 affair in the most agreeable manner; and I shall 
 rejoice from afar." 
 
 Madame Odintzoff turned swiftly toward him. 
 
 " You are not going away? Why should you 
 not remain noxio? Remain .... it is jolly to 
 talk with you .... just like walking on the 
 brink of a precipice: at first one feels timid, but 
 
 313
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 afterward one gets courage from somewhere or 
 other. Remain." 
 
 " Thanks for your suggestion, Anna Sergye- 
 evna, and for your flattering opinion of my con- 
 versational talents. But I think that I have been 
 already revolving too long as it is, in a sphere 
 which is foreign to me. Flying fish are able to 
 maintain themselves for quite a while in the air, 
 but they are bound soon to splash back into the 
 water; permit me also to paddle in my own ele- 
 ment." 
 
 Madame Odintzofl* looked at Bazaroff . A bit- 
 ter sneer contorted his pale face. " That man 
 loved me! " she thought — and she felt sorry for 
 him, and oiFered him her hand with sympathy. 
 
 But he understood her. — " No! " — he said, and 
 retreated a pace. — " I am a poor man, but up to 
 this time I have not accepted alms. Farewell, 
 madame, and may good health be yours." 
 
 " I am convinced that this is not our last meet- 
 ing," — articulated Anna Sergyeevna, with an in- 
 voluntary movement. 
 
 " All sorts of things happen in this world! " — 
 replied BazarofF, bowed, and left the room. 
 
 "So thou hast taken it into thy head to build a 
 nest? "—he said that same day to Arkady, as, 
 squatting on his heels, he packed his trunk. — 
 " Why not? It is a good move. I expected a 
 wholly different direction from thee. Or, per- 
 chance, this has stunned thee thyself? " 
 
 314
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 " I really did not exi:)ect it when I parted from 
 thee," — replied Arkady. " But why dost thou 
 thyself quibble and say: ' It is a good move,' as 
 though I were not aware of thine opinion as to 
 matrimony? " 
 
 " Ekh, my dear friend,"— said BazarofF: — 
 "what a way thou hast of expressing thyself! 
 Thou seest what I am doing: there turns out to 
 be an empty space in my trunk, and I stuff in hay ; 
 so it is with our trunk of life ; it must be filled with 
 anything that comes to hand, so that there may be 
 no empty space. Please do not take offence : thou 
 probably recallest what opinion I have always 
 held of Katerma Sergyeevna. Some young ladies 
 bear the reputation of being clever because they 
 sigh cleverly ; but thy young lady can stand up for 
 herself, and stand up in such wise, to boot, that 
 she will manage thee, — well, and that is as it 
 should be." 
 
 He banged down the lid and rose from the floor. 
 — " And now I repeat to thee in farewell because 
 there is no use in deceiving ourselves : we are part- 
 ing forever, and thou feelest that thyself . . . 
 thou hast acted wisely ; thou wert not created for 
 our bitter, harsh, wretched life. There is in thee 
 neither insolence nor malice, but there is youth- 
 ful audacity and youthful arrogance; that is not 
 suited to our cause. A man of your sort, a noble- 
 man, cannot go any further than noble submission 
 or noble effervescence, and that is stuff and non- 
 315
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 sense. You, for example, do not fight,— and yet 
 you imagine that you are a dashing fellow, — while 
 we want to fight. And what is the state of the 
 case? Our dust eats thine eyes out, our mud be- 
 spatters thee, but thou hast not grown up to our 
 stature ; thou involuntarily admirest thyself ; it is 
 pleasant for thee to scold thyself ; but we find that 
 tiresome — serve us up others! we must break 
 others! Thou art a splendid young fellow; but, 
 nevertheless, thou art a soft, liberal young gentle- 
 man, — et voldtoutj, as my parent expresses him- 
 self." 
 
 " Thou art bidding me an eternal farewell, 
 Evgeny? "—said Arkady sadly. " And hast 
 thou no other words for me? " 
 
 Bazaroif scratched the nape of his neck. — " I 
 have, Arkady, I have other words, only I shall not 
 utter them, because that is romanticism, — that 
 means: making one's self too— sypuppy. But do 
 thou marry as promptly as possible, and estab- 
 lish thy nest, and beget as many children as thou 
 canst. They will be clever creatures, simply be- 
 cause they will be born in a different age from 
 w hat thou and I were. Ehe ! I see that the horses 
 are ready. It is time to go! I have said good- 
 bye to everybody Well, how now? shall 
 
 we embrace? " 
 
 Arkady flung himself on the neck of his former 
 preceptor and friend, and the tears fairl;) 
 streamed from his eyes. 
 
 31G
 
 FATHERS AND CIIILDKEN 
 
 " That 's what it is to be young! "—ejaculated 
 BazaroiF calmly. — " But I place my hopes on 
 Katerina Sergyeevna. Just see how quickly she 
 will comfort thee! " 
 
 "Farewell, brother!" — he said to Arkady, 
 when he had clambered into the peasant cart ; and 
 pointing to a pair of jackdaws, which were sitting 
 on the roof of the stable, he added: — " Look yon- 
 der! — study them! " 
 
 " What does that mean? " — asked Ai'kady. 
 
 " What? Art thou so weak in natural liistorj% 
 or hast thou forgotten, that the daw is the most 
 respectable, domestic of birds? An example for 
 thee! — Good-bj^e, senor! " 
 
 The cart rattled and rolled away. 
 
 BazarofF had spoken the truth. As he chatted 
 with Katya that evening he had totally forgotten 
 his tutor. He had already begun to come under 
 her swaj^ and Katya was conscious of it, and was 
 not surprised. He was obliged to go to Marino, 
 to Nikolai Petrovitch, on the following day. 
 Anna Sergyeevna did not wish to embarrass the 
 young people, and only out of decorum did not 
 leave them too long alone together. She mag- 
 nanimously banished from them the Princess, who 
 had been reduced to a state of tearful wrath by 
 the news of the impending marriage. At first 
 Anna Sergyeevna feared lest the spectacle of 
 their happiness should seem somewhat oppressive 
 to her; but it turned out to be exactly the reverse: 
 
 317
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 that spectacle not only did not oppress her, it in- 
 terested her, it touched her at last. Anna 
 Sergyeevna was delighted yet saddened by this. 
 "Evidently, BazarofF is right," — she thought: 
 " curiosity, mere curiosity, and love of a quiet 
 life, and egotism " 
 
 " Children," — she said aloud,—" is love an im- 
 aginary feeling? " 
 
 But neither Katya nor Arkady even understood 
 her. They shunned her; they could not get the 
 conversation which they had involuntarily over- 
 heard out of their minds. However, Anna 
 Sergyeevna speedily reassured them; and that 
 was not difficult : she had reassured herself. 
 
 318
 
 XXVII 
 
 The old BazarofFs were all the more delighted 
 at their son's unexpected return, in proportion as 
 they had the least expected it. Arina Vlasievna 
 was perturbed to such a degree, and so exhausted 
 herself by running all over the house, that Vasily 
 Ivanitch compared her to a " mother partridge " : 
 the bobtail of her short, loose, morning gown 
 really did give her a somewhat bird-like air. And 
 he himself merely bellowed and bit the amber 
 mouthpiece of his tchubuk sideways, and grasp- 
 ing his neck with his hands, twisted his head, as 
 though he were trying to find out whether it were 
 well screwed on, then suddenly opened his wide 
 mouth to its full extent, and laughed heartily 
 but absolutely without sound. 
 
 " I have come to you for six whole weeks, old 
 man,"— Bazaroif said to him:—" I want to work, 
 so please don't bother me." 
 
 " Thou wilt forget my physiognomy, that 's the 
 way I shall bother thee! "—replied Vasily Iva- 
 novitch." 
 
 He kept his promise. Having installed his son, 
 as before, in his study, he devoted himself to hid- 
 ing from him, and restrained his wife from all 
 
 319
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 superfluous manifestations of tenderness. " My 
 dear woman," — he said to her, " during Eni- 
 ushka's first visit we bored him a bit ; now we must 
 be more sensible." Arina Vlasievna agreed with 
 her husband, but gained little by so doing, because 
 she saw her son only at meals, and became defini- 
 tively afraid to speak to him. " Eniushenka! " — 
 she would say to him, — and before he could glance 
 round she would be tugging at the cords of her 
 reticule, and stammering: "Never mind, never 
 mind, I did n't mean anything," and then she 
 would betake herself to Vasfly Ivanovitch and say 
 to him, propping her cheek on her hand: " I 
 should like to find out, my darling, what Eniiisha 
 wants to-day for dinner, cabbage-soup or beet- 
 soup? " 
 
 " But why dost not thou ask him thyself? " — 
 "But I shall bore him!" However, BazarofF 
 soon ceased to lock himself up : the fever of work 
 leaped away from him, and was replaced by de- 
 jected boredom and dull disquiet. A strange lan- 
 guor was perceptible in all his movements; even 
 his walk, firm and impetuously bold, underwent 
 a change. He ceased to take solitarj^ strolls and 
 began to seek society; he drank tea in the draw- 
 ing-room, prowled about the vegetable-garden 
 with Vasily Ivanovitch, and smoked with him 
 " dumb as a fish." One day he inquired of his 
 father concerning Father Alexyei. At first, 
 Vasily Ivanovitch rejoiced at this change, but his 
 
 320
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREX 
 
 joy was not of long duration. " Eniusha dis- 
 tresses me," he complained quietly to his wife; 
 " he is not exactly dissatisfied or angry, that 
 would not matter; he is embittered, he is melan- 
 choly, — that is the terrible thing. He persist- 
 ently maintains silence, as though he were re- 
 proaching thee and me; he is getting thin, his 
 complexion has a bad colour." — " O Lord, O 
 Lord! " whispered the old woman; " I would like 
 to put an amulet on his neck, but of course 
 he would not let me." Vasily Ivanovitch 
 himself made sev^eral attempts to question Baza- 
 rofF about his work, about his health, about Ar- 
 kady But Bazaroff answered him unwill- 
 ingly and carelessly, and one day, noticing that 
 his father, in conversation, was making stealthy 
 approaches toward something, he said to him 
 with vexation : " Why art thou constantly, as it 
 were, walking round me on tiptoe? That manner 
 is worse than thv former one! " 
 
 " Well, well, well, I did n't mean anything! " 
 hastily replied poor Vasily Ivanovitch. His polit- 
 ical hints remained equally fruitless. In begin- 
 ning, one day, a conversation in connection with 
 the impending emancipation of the serfs, about 
 progress, he hoped to arouse the sympathy of his 
 son; but the latter said indifferently: " Yester- 
 day, as I was walking past a hedge, I heard the 
 little peasant boys of this locality shouting, in 
 place of some ancient ballad: "^ The loyal time 
 
 321
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 is coming, the heart feeleth love "—there 's prog- 
 ress for thee." 
 
 Sometimes Bazaroff betook himself to the vil- 
 lage, and, banteringly, as was his wont, entered 
 into conversation with some peasant man or other. 
 " Come," he said to him, " expound to me your 
 views of life, brother: for in you, thev sav, lies the 
 whole force and future of Russia, with you a new 
 epoch in history will begin, — you will give us both 
 a genuine language and laws." The peasant 
 either made no reply or uttered some words to the 
 following effect :" And we can . . . too, because, 
 you know .... what limits are appointed to 
 us, for example." 
 
 " Do thou just explain to me what thy world 
 is," — Bazaroff interrupted him. " And is it that 
 same world which stands on three fishes? " 
 
 " The earth does stand on three fishes,"— 
 explained the serf soothingly, in a patriarch- 
 ally-good-humoured singsong, — " but against our 
 commune ^ there is, as every one knows, the will 
 of the master ; because you are our fathers. And 
 the more strict is the lord of the manor in his 
 demands, the pleasanter it is for the peasant." 
 
 One day, after listening to a speech of this sort, 
 Bazaroff shrugged his shoulders scornfully and 
 turned aside, and the peasant went his way. 
 
 " What wert thou talking about? "—another 
 peasant asked him— a middle-aged man, with a 
 
 1 31ir, world; 31 ir, commune.— Translator. 
 
 322
 
 lATIIEKS AND CIIILDJIJLV 
 
 surly countenance, from the threshold of liis cot- 
 tage, who had witnessed from afar this conver- 
 sation with Bazaroif. — " About the arrears of 
 taxes? " 
 
 " About the arrears of taxes, forsooth, my good 
 fellow! "—replied the first peasant, and in his 
 voice there was no longer a trace of the patriarchal 
 singsong, but, on the contrary, a certain careless 
 moroseness was audible. — "We just chattered a 
 bit; his tongue was itching to talk. Everybody 
 knows how it is— he 's a gentleman ; can he under- 
 stand anything? " 
 
 "How should he understand! "—replied the 
 other peasant, and shaking their caps and tucking 
 in their belts, the two set to discussing their own 
 affairs and needs. Alas! BazarofF, who had 
 shrugged his shoulders, and knew how to talk to 
 the peasants (as he had boasted, in the course of 
 his quarrel with Pavel Petrovitch) , that self-con- 
 fident Bazaroif did not even suspect that he was, 
 in their eyes, something in the nature of a born 
 fool. . . . 
 
 However, at last he found an occupation for 
 himself. One day, in his presence, Vasily Iva- 
 iiitch was binding up a peasant's injured leg, but 
 the old man's hands trembled and he could not 
 manage the bandages; his son helped, and from 
 that time forth he began to take part in his prac- 
 tice, without ceasing, at the same time, to jeer, 
 botli at the remedies which he himself had recom- 
 
 323
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 mended, and at his father, who immediately made 
 use of them. But BazarofF's sneers did not in 
 the least discomfit Vasily Ivanovitch; rather did 
 they comfort him. Clasping his soiled dressing- 
 gown to his belly with two fingers, and smoking 
 his pipe, he listened with delight to BazarofF, and 
 the more ill-temper there was in his sallies, the 
 more good-naturedly did his enraptured father 
 laugh, displaying all his black teeth, to the very 
 last one. He even frequently repeated these stu- 
 pid or senseless sallies, and, for example, for a 
 space of several days he would keep repeating, 
 without rhyme or reason : " Well, that 's of no 
 consequence! " ^ simpl)?" because his son, on learn- 
 ing that he was accustomed to go to Matins, had 
 employed that expression. — " Thank God! he has 
 ceased to have the blue devils! " he whispered to 
 his wife; " the way he snubbed me to-day,— it was 
 wonderful! " On the other hand, the thought that 
 he possessed such an assistant inspired him with 
 enthusiasm, filled him with pride. " Yes, yes," he 
 said to a peasant woman, in a man's coat, and a 
 head-dress like a pointed coronet, with horns, as 
 he handed her a phial of Gulyard water, or a pot 
 of white ointment, " my good soul, thou shouldst 
 thank God every minute that my son is visiting 
 me: thou art being doctored now after the most 
 scientific and the newest method, dost thou under- 
 
 1 In Russian rather slangily expressed: "That 's the ninth 
 aifair! " — Translator. 
 
 324
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREX 
 
 stand that? Even the Emperor of the French, 
 Xapoleon, has no better doctor." And the woman 
 who had come to complain that she " had got the 
 gripes " (but she was not herself able to explain 
 what she meant bv these words) merely made a 
 reverence, and thrust her hand into her bosom, 
 where lay four eggs wrapped up in the end of a 
 towel. 
 
 BazarofF once even extracted a tooth for a pass- 
 ing pedlar of dress goods, and although that 
 tooth was of the most ordinary sort, nevertheless 
 Vasily Ivanovitch preserved it as a rarity, and ex- 
 hibited it to Father Alexyei, repeating inces- 
 santly : 
 
 "Just look, what roots! Such strength as 
 Evgeny has! He fairly lifted that dry-goods 
 pedlar into the air. . . It seems to me that even 
 an oak-tree would have flown out ! . . . ." 
 
 " It is laudable! "—said Father Alexyei at last, 
 not knowing what reply to make, and how to rid 
 himself of the old man, who had gone into ec- 
 stasies. 
 
 One day a wretched peasant from a neighbour- 
 ing village brought to Vasfly Ivanovitch his bro- 
 ther, who was ill with typhus fever. Lying prone 
 upon a truss of straw, the unfortunate man was 
 dying ; dark spots covered his body ; he had even 
 lost consciousness. Vasily Ivanovitch expressed 
 his regret that it had not occurred to some one ear- 
 lier to have recourse to the aid of medicine, and 
 
 325
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 announced that there was no hope. As a matter 
 of fact, the peasant did not get his brother home 
 alive ; the man died in the cart. 
 
 Three days later BazarofF entered his father's 
 room, and inquired whether he had not lunar 
 caustic? 
 
 " I have; what dost thou need it for? " 
 
 " I need it ... to cauterise a wound." 
 
 " Whose? " 
 
 " My own." 
 What, thine own ! Why ? What wound is it ? 
 Where is it?" 
 
 " Here on my finger. To-day I went to the vil- 
 lage, thou knowest, the one whence they brought 
 that peasant with the typhus. For some reason, 
 they were preparing to open him, and I had had 
 no practice in that for a long time." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " Well, and so I asked leave of the district 
 physician, and cut myself." 
 
 Vasily Ivanovitch turned pale all over, and 
 without uttering a word, he flew to his cupboard, 
 whence he immediately returned with a piece of 
 lunar caustic in his hand. Bazaroff was about to 
 take it and depart. 
 
 " For God's sake," — said Vasfl}'- Ivanovitch: — 
 " let me do it myself." 
 
 Bazaroff grinned. — " How anxious thou art 
 for practice! " 
 
 " Don't jest, please. Show me thy finger. The 
 wound is not large. Does n't it hurt? " 
 
 826
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 " Press on harder, don't be afraid." 
 
 Vasily Ivanovitch paused. — " What dost thou 
 think, Evgeny, would n't it be better for us to cau- 
 terise it with a hot iron? " 
 
 " That ought to have been done sooner, but 
 now, in reahty, even the lunar caustic is of no use. 
 If I have been infected, it is too late anyway." 
 
 " How too late? " Vasily 
 
 Ivanovitch could hardly articulate. 
 
 " I should think so! More than four hours 
 have elapsed since then." 
 
 Vasily Ivanovitch cauterised the wound a little 
 longer. — " And had not the district doctor any 
 lunar caustic? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " How came that, my God! A physician — and 
 he has not such an indispensable thing! " 
 
 " Thou shouldst see his lancets," — said Baza- 
 roff , and left the room. 
 
 Until evening, and during the whole course of 
 the following day, Vasily Ivanovitch caught at 
 every possible pretext to enter his son's room, and, 
 although he not only did not mention his wound, 
 but even endeavoured to talk about the most irrel- 
 evant subjects, still he peered so persistently into 
 his eyes and watched him in so perturbed a man- 
 ner, that BazarofF lost patience, and threatened 
 to leave the house. Vasily Ivanovitch gave him his 
 word not to worry, the more so, as Arina Vlasi- 
 evna, from whom, of course, he had concealed 
 everything, was beginning to besiege him with 
 
 327
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 questions as to why he did not sleep, and what had 
 happened to him? For two whole days he perse- 
 vered, although he did not greatly like the looks 
 of his son, whom he still watched by stealth, .... 
 but on the third day at dinner he could endure it 
 no longer. BazarofF sat with bowed head, and did 
 not touch a single viand. 
 
 " Why dost thou not eat, Evgeny? " — he 
 asked, imparting to his face the most care-free of 
 expressions. — " The food is well cooked, I think." 
 
 " I don't feel like it, so I don't eat." 
 
 "Hast thou no appetite? And how is thy 
 head?" — he added, in a timid voice: — "does it 
 ache? " 
 
 " Yes. Why should n't it ache? " 
 
 Arina Vlasievna straightened up, and pricked 
 up her ears. 
 
 " Don't be angry, please, Evgeny," — went on 
 Vasily Ivanovitch,— " but wilt not thou allow me 
 to feel thy pulse? " 
 
 BazarofF rose to his feet. — " I can tell thee, 
 without feeling my pulse, that I have fever." 
 
 " And hast thou had a chill? " 
 
 " I have. I will go and lie down; and do you 
 send me some linden tea. I must have caught 
 cold." 
 
 " That explains why I heard thee coughing last 
 night,"— said Arina Vlasievna. 
 
 " I have taken cold,"- repeated BazarofF, and 
 left the room. 
 
 328
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 Arina Vlasievna busied herself with preparing 
 the tea from hnden flowers, but Vasily Ivanovitch 
 went into the adjoining room and silently tore his 
 hair. 
 
 BazarofF did not get up again that day, and 
 spent the whole night in a heavy, half -conscious 
 doze. About one o'clock in the morning, opening 
 his eyes with an effort, he beheld above him, by 
 the dim light of the shrine-lamp, the pale face of 
 his father, and ordered him to go away ; the latter 
 obeyed, but immediately returned on tiptoe, and 
 half screening himself with the cupboard door, he 
 gazed at his son, never once removing his eyes. 
 Arina Vlasievna also had not gone to bed, and 
 opening the door of the study a mere crack, she 
 kept approaching to listen " how Eniusha was 
 breathing," and to look at Vasily Ivanovitch. She 
 could see nothing but his motionless, bowed back, 
 but even that afforded her some solace. In the 
 morning, Bazaroff tried to rise; he went to bed 
 again. Vasily Ivanovitch waited upon him in 
 silence; Arina Vlasievna came to him, and asked 
 him how he felt. He replied: "Better," and 
 turned his face to the wall. Vasily Ivanovitch 
 waved his wife off with both hands; she bit her 
 lip, in order to keep from crying, and left the 
 room. Everything about the house seemed sud- 
 denly to have grown dark; all faces lengthened, 
 a strange stillness reigned ; a loud-voiced cock was 
 carried off from the court-yard to the village, and 
 
 32a
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 for a long time could not understand why he was 
 treated in that wa}^ Bazaroff continued to lie, 
 nestled up to the wall. Vasily Ivanovitch tried to 
 put various questions to him, but they wearied Ba- 
 zaroff, and the old man subsided into silence in his 
 arm-chair, only now and then cracking his fin- 
 gers. He went out into the garden for a few 
 moments, stood there like a statue, as though over- 
 whelmed with inexpressible amazement (in gen- 
 eral the expression of amazement never left his 
 face), and returned again to his son, striving to 
 avoid interrogations from his wife. At last, she 
 seized him by the arm, and convulsively, almost 
 menacingly, she said: "But what ails him?" Then 
 he regained his composure, and forced himself to 
 smile at her in reply; but, to his own horror, in- 
 stead of a smile, he evoked a laugh from some- 
 where within him. He had sent for the doctor at 
 daybreak. He considered it necessary to inform 
 his son of this, so that the latter might not wax 
 angry. 
 
 Bazaroff suddenly turned over on the couch, 
 stared dully and intently at his father, and asked 
 for a drink. 
 
 Vasily Ivanovitch gave him water, and seized 
 the opportunity to feel his forehead. 
 
 " Old man,"— began Bazaroff in a hoarse, slow 
 voice,—" this is a bad business of mine. I am 
 poisoned, and thou wilt bury me a few days 
 hence." 
 
 330
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 Vasilj'^ Ivanovitch reeled, as though some one 
 had struck him a blow on the legs. 
 
 " Evgeny ! " — he stammered, — " what is it thou 
 art saying! God be with thee ! Thou hast caught 
 cold. . . ." 
 
 " Stop," — BazarofF interrupted him without 
 haste. — " It is not permissible for a physician to 
 talk like that. All the signs of infection exist, 
 thou knowest it thyself." 
 
 " Where are the signs .... of infection, 
 Evgeny? . . . Gracious heavens!" 
 
 "And how about this?"— said BazarofF, and 
 stripping up the sleeve of his shirt, he showed his 
 father the ill-omened red spots breaking out. 
 
 Vasily Ivanovitch shuddered, and turned cold 
 with terror. — " Let us assume," — he said at last, 
 — " let us assume . . . if . . . even if there is 
 something in the nature of infec- 
 tion . . . ." 
 
 " Of pyemia," — prompted his son. 
 
 " Well, yes ... in the nature of an 
 
 epidemic . . . ." 
 
 " Of pyemia" — repeated BazarofF gruffly and 
 distinctly: — " can it be that thou hast already for- 
 gotten thy text-books? " 
 
 " Well, yes, yes, as thou wilt. . . . Neverthe- 
 less, we will cure thee. . ." 
 
 " Come, that 's humbug. But that is not the 
 point. I did not expect that I should die so soon ; 
 that is a very disagreeable accident, to speak the 
 
 331
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 truth. Both thou and mother must now profit by 
 the fact that rehgion is strong in you ; here 's your 
 chance to put it to the proof." — He took another 
 sip of water. — " But I should like to make one re- 
 quest of thee . . . while my head is still under 
 my command. To-morrow, or the day after to- 
 morrow, as thou art aware, my brain will resign 
 from duty. Even now I am not quite certain 
 whether I am expressing myself clearly. While 
 I have been lying here it has seemed to me all the 
 while as though red dogs were running around 
 me, and that thou wert making a point over me, 
 as over a woodcock. It is exactly as though I 
 were drunk. Dost thou understand me well? " 
 
 " Goodness, Evgenj^ thou art talking in pre- 
 cisely the proper way." 
 
 " So much the better; thou hast told me that 
 thou hast sent for the doctor. . . Thou hast com- 
 forted thyself thereby; .... comfort me also: 
 send a special messenger " 
 
 "To Arkady Nikolaitch? "—interpolated the 
 old man. 
 
 "Who is Arkady Nikolaitch? "—said Baza- 
 roff, as though in doubt. . . . " Akh, yes! that 
 fledgling! No, don't touch him; he has become 
 a full-grown bird now. Do not be surprised ; this 
 is not delirium. But do thou send a messenger to 
 Anna Sergyeevna OdintzofF; there is a landed 
 proprietress of that name yonder. . . Knowest 
 thou? " (Vasily Ivanovitch nodded.) " Say that 
 
 332
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 Evgeny Bazaroff gave orders to present his com- 
 pliments, and order the man to say that he is 
 dying. Wilt thou fulfil this? " 
 
 " I will. Only, can it be possible that thou 
 shouldst die, Evgeny? . . . Judge for thyself! 
 Where would be the justice after that? " 
 
 " I don't know; only send the messenger." 
 
 " I will send him this very minute, and will 
 write a letter myself." 
 
 " No, why shouldst thou? Say that I gave 
 orders that my compliments were to be presented ; 
 nothing more is necessary. And now I will go 
 back to my dogs. It is strange ! I try to fix my 
 thoughts on death, and it comes to nothing. I see 
 some sort of a spot .... and that is all." 
 
 Once more he turned painfully toward the 
 wall; but Vasfly Ivanovitch left the study, and 
 when he reached his wife's bed-chamber, he fairly 
 tumbled down on his knees before the holy pic- 
 tures. 
 
 "Pray, Arina, pray?" — he moaned:— "our 
 son is dying." 
 
 The doctor— that same district doctor who had 
 no lunar caustic— arrived, and, after examining 
 the patient, advised them to adopt a waiting 
 policj^ and added a few words as to the possi- 
 bility of recovery. 
 
 " But did you ever happen to see people in my 
 situation fail to betake themselves to the Ely si an 
 Fields? "—inquired Bazaroff, and, suddenly 
 
 333
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 grasping the leg of a heavy table, which stood 
 near the divan, he shook the table and moved it 
 from its place. 
 
 " The strength, the strength is all there still," 
 —he said,— " but I must die! .... An old man 
 has, at least, succeeded in weaning himself from 
 life, while I . . . . But come, just try to contra- 
 dict death. It contradicts thee, and that ends the 
 matter! Who is weeping there?"— he added, 
 after a brief pause.—" Mother? Poor thing! 
 Whom will she feed now with her wonderful beet- 
 soup? And thou also, Vasily Ivanitch, I believe 
 thou art whimpering too? Well, if Christianity 
 does not help, be a philosopher, a stoic! I be- 
 lieve thou wert boasting of being a philosopher? " 
 
 " Much of a philosopher I am! " roared Vasily 
 Ivanovitch, and the tears fairly dripped down his 
 cheeks. 
 
 Bazaroff grew worse with every passing hour; 
 the malady took a swift course, which usually hap- 
 pens in cases of surgical poisoning. He had not, 
 as yet, lost consciousness, and understood what 
 was said to him; he still struggled. " I will not 
 be delirious,"— he whispered, clenching his fists; 
 — " what nonsense! " And immediately he said: 
 " Well, and if from eight you subtract ten, how 
 many will remain? "—Vasily Ivanovitch walked 
 about like a crazy person, suggested now one rem- 
 edy, now another, and did nothing but keep cov- 
 ering his son's feet. " He must be wrapped up 
 
 334.
 
 1 ATIIERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 in cold sheets . . . nausea .... mustard plas- 
 ters on his stomach .... blood-letting,"— he 
 said, with an effort. The doctor, whom he had 
 implored to remain, humoured him, gave the pa- 
 tient lemonade, and for liimself asked now a pipe, 
 now " something strengthening and warming," 
 that is to say, vodka. Arina Vlasievna sat on a 
 low bench near the door, and only now and then 
 went away to pray; a few days previously her 
 toilet mirror had slipped out of her hands and 
 been broken, and she had always regarded this as 
 a bad sign ; even Anf isushka was not able to say 
 anything comforting to her. Timofeitch had 
 gone to Madame OdintzofF. 
 
 The night was bad for BazarofF. . . . He was 
 tortured by a violent fever. Toward morning he 
 was resting more easily. He asked that Arina 
 Vlasievna might brush his hair, kissed her hand, 
 and drank a couple of mouthfuls of tea. Vasily 
 Ivanovitch revived somewhat. 
 
 "Thank God! "-he kept repeating;-" the 
 crisis has come .... the crisis has come ! " 
 
 " Eka, what art thou thinking of? "—said Ba- 
 zarofF:—" what does that word signify? He has 
 hit upon it ; he has said, ' the crisis,' and is com- 
 forted. It is astounding how a man still has faith 
 in words. If people call him a fool, for example, 
 and yet do not beat him, he grows melancholy ; if 
 they call him a clever fellow, and yet give him no 
 money,— he feels satisfaction." 
 
 335 —
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 This little speech of Bazaroff 's, which recalled 
 his former " sallies," touched Vasily Ivanovitch. 
 
 "Bravo! Splendidly said, splendidly!" — he 
 exclaimed, pretending to clap his hands. 
 
 Bazaroff laughed sadly. 
 
 " Well then, according to thy opinion," — he 
 said, — " is the crisis past, or is it beginning? " 
 
 " Thou art better, that is what I see, that is 
 what delights me," — replied Vasily Ivanovitch. 
 
 " Well, very good ; it is never a bad thing to re- 
 joice. And hast thou sent to her? thou remem- 
 berest? " 
 
 " Yes, of course." 
 
 The change for the better did not last long. 
 The assaults of the malady were renewed. Vasily 
 Ivanovitch sat by Bazaroff 's side. It seemed as 
 though some special anguish were torturing the 
 old man. Several times he was on the point of 
 speaking — and could not. 
 
 "Evgeny!" — he blurted out at last:— "my 
 son, my dear, precious son." 
 
 This unusual appeal took effect upon Bazaroff. 
 .... He turned his head a little, and, evidently 
 striving to escape from beneath the burden of 
 oblivion which was weighing him down, he articu- 
 lated:-" What, my father? " 
 
 " Evgeny,"— went on Vasily Ivanovitch, and 
 sank down on his knees beside Bazaroff, although 
 the latter did not open his eyes, and did not see 
 him. — " Evgeny, thou art better now; God grant 
 
 336
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 that thou may est recover; but take advantage of 
 this time, comfort thy mother and me, fulfil thy 
 Christian duty! It is terrible for me to say this 
 to thee; but it is still more terrible . . . forever, 
 thou knowest, Evgeny . . . reflect, what " 
 
 The old man's voice broke, and a strange ex- 
 pression crept across the face of his son, although 
 he continued to lie with closed eyes. — " I do not 
 refuse, if it can give you comfort," — he said at 
 last; " but it seems to me that there is no need of 
 haste as yet. Thou thyself sayest that I am 
 better." 
 
 " Thou art better, Evgeny, thou art better; but 
 who knov^s, for all that depends upon the will of 
 God, and when thou hast fulfilled thy duty " 
 
 "No, I will wait,"— interrupted BazarofF.— " I 
 agree with thee that the crisis has arrived. But if 
 we are both mistaken, what then ? They give the 
 communion to the unconscious also." 
 
 " For mercy's sake, Evgeny. ..." 
 
 " I will wait. And now I want to sleep. Don't 
 disturb me." 
 
 And he laid his head in its former position. 
 
 The old man rose, seated himself in the arm- 
 chair, and gripping his chin, began to bite his 
 fingers. . . 
 
 Th • rumble of a carriage with springs,^ that 
 sound ^diich is peculiarly noticeable in the depths 
 
 ^ On account of the bad roads, most carriages for country use are 
 built without springs. — Translator. 
 
 337
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 of the country, suddenly struck his ear. Nearer, 
 nearer rolled the light wheels ; and now the snort- 
 ing of horses was audible. . . . Vasily Ivanovitch 
 sprang to his feet and rushed to the window. A 
 two-seated carriage, drawn by four horses, was 
 driving into the court-yard of his tiny house. 
 Without pausing to consider what this might sig- 
 nify, he ran out on the porch, in an outburst of 
 senseless joy. ... A liveried lackey opened the 
 carriage door; a lady with a black veil and a black 
 mantle alighted from it. . . . 
 
 " I am Madame Odintzoif,"— she said.—" Is 
 Evgeny Vasilitch alive? You are his father? 
 I have brought a doctor with me-." 
 
 "Benefactress!" — exclaimed Vasily Ivano- 
 vitch, and seizing her hand, he pressed it con- 
 vulsively to his lips, while the doctor whom Anna 
 Sergyeevna had brought, a small man in specta- 
 cles, with a German physiognomy, alighted in a 
 leisurely way from the carriage. " He is still 
 alive; my Evgeny is alive, and now he will be 
 saved ! Wife ! wife ! . . . An angel from heaven 
 has come to us. . . ." 
 
 "What is it, O Lord! "—stammered the old 
 woman, as she ran out of the drawing-room, and 
 comprehending nothing then and there in the 
 anteroom, fell at the feet of Anna Sergyeevna, 
 and began, like a mad woman, to kiss her gown. 
 
 " What are you doing? What are you doing? " 
 — Anna Sergyeevna kept reiterating; but Arina 
 
 338 
 
 it
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 Vlasievna paid no heed to her, and Vasily Ivano- 
 vitch merely repeated : " An angel ! an angel 1 " 
 
 '' Wo ist der Kranke? And where is the pa- 
 tient? " said the doctor at last, not without some 
 indignation. 
 
 Vasily Ivanovitch came to his senses.—" Here, 
 here, please follow me, wertJiester Herr Kollege," 
 —he added, reviving an ancient memory. 
 
 " Eh! "—ejaculated the German, and made a 
 sour grimace. 
 
 Vasily Ivanovitch conducted him to the study. 
 
 " The doctor from Anna Sergyeevna Odin- 
 tzoff,"— he said, bending down to his son's very 
 ear;—" and she is here herself." 
 
 Bazaroff suddenly opened his eyes. — " What 
 didst thou say? " 
 
 " I say that Anna Sergyeevna Odintzoif is 
 here, and has brought her doctor to thee." 
 
 Bazaroff gazed about him. — " She is here. . . 
 I want to see her." 
 
 " Thou shalt see her, Evgeny ; but first the doc- 
 tor and I must have a talk. I will narrate to him 
 the whole history of thy illness, since Sidor 
 Sidoritch " (this was the name of the district 
 physician) "has gone away, and we will hold a 
 little consultation." 
 
 Bazaroff glanced at the German.— " Well, 
 have your talk as quickly as possible, only not in 
 Latin, for I understand the meaning of jam 
 m oritur." 
 
 339
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 " Der II err scheint des Deutschen mdchtig zii 
 sein" — began the new disciple of iEsculapius 
 turning to Vasily Ivanovitch. 
 
 " Ich .... habe . . . you had better talk 
 Russian," said the old man. 
 
 " Ah, ah ! so dat 's de vay it ees. . . As you like 
 ..." And the consultation began. 
 
 Half an hour later, Anna Sergyeevna, escorted 
 by Vasily Ivanovitch, entered the room. The doc- 
 tor had contrived to whisper to her that the recov- 
 ery of the sick man was not to be thought of. 
 
 She cast a glance at Bazaroff . . . and halted 
 at the door, so startled was she by his swollen and, 
 at the same time, corpse-like face, with its dimmed 
 eyes riveted upon her. She was simply fright- 
 ened, with a sort of cold and insufferable dread; 
 the thought that she would not have felt like 
 that if she were really in love with him, flashed 
 instantaneously through her mind. 
 
 "Thank you,"— he said, with an effort;— "I 
 did not expect this. It is a good deed. So we 
 have met again, as you promised." 
 
 " Anna Sergyeevna has been so kind,"— began 
 Vasily Ivanovitch. 
 
 " Father, leave us.— Anna Sergyeevna, you 
 permit me? I think that now . . ." 
 
 He indicated his feeble, outstretched body with 
 a movement of his head. 
 
 Vasily Ivanovitch uithdrew. 
 
 " Thanks,"— repeated Bazaroff.-" Tliis is a 
 
 340
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 deed in royal style. They say that Tzars also 
 visit the dying." 
 
 " Evgen}" Vasilitch, I hope . . . ." 
 
 " Ekh, Anna Sergyeevna, let us speak the 
 truth. I am done for. I have fallen under the 
 wheel. And it turns out that there was no need 
 to think of the future. Death is an ancient jest, 
 but new to each person. So far, I am not afraid 
 .... and then unconsciousness will come, and 
 fuW (He waved his hand f eebly. ) - " Well, 
 what 's the use of nty saying to you . . . .' I love 
 you ' ! That had no sense before, much less now. 
 Love is a form, and mv own form is already de- 
 composing. I had better say that — what a splen- 
 did woman you are ! And now j^ou stand there, so 
 beautiful. . . ." 
 
 Anna Sergyeevna involuntarily shuddered. 
 
 " Never mind, be not disturbed .... sit down 
 there. . . Don't come near me: for my malady 
 is contagious." 
 
 Anna Sergyeevna swiftly crossed the room and 
 seated herself in an arm-chair beside the divan 
 on which BazarofF lay. 
 
 " Magnanimous! " — he whispered. " Okh, 
 how near, and how young, and fresh, and pure 
 .... in this hateful room! .... Well, good- 
 bye! may you live long; that is the best thing of 
 all; and enjoy yourself while yet there is time. 
 Behold, what a disgusting spectacle: the worm is 
 half crushed, yet it bristles up. And, you see, I 
 
 341
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 thought also: I will yet accomplish many deeds; I 
 shall not die — not I! there 's the aim, for I am 
 a giant! And now the giant's whole problem 
 is to die decorously, although no one cares about 
 
 that It makes no diiFerence; I will not 
 
 evade the issue." 
 
 BazaroiF ceased speaking and began to feel for 
 his glass. Anna Sergyeevna gave him a drink, 
 without removing her glove, and breathing timor- 
 ously the while. 
 
 "You will forget me,"— he began again; — 
 " the dead is no fit comrade for the living. My 
 father will tell you, ' Just see what a man Russia 
 is losing.' . . . That is nonsense, but do not un- 
 deceive the old man. Anything for the sake of 
 soothing the child .... you know. And treat 
 my mother kindly. For such people as they are 
 not to be found in your grand society, even in the 
 
 day-time with a light I am necessary to 
 
 Russia. . . . No, evidently, I am not necessary. 
 And who is? A shoemaker is necessary, a tailor 
 is necessary, so is a butcher ; .... he sells meat, 
 .... a butcher; .... stay, I am getting 
 mixed up Yonder is a forest . . ." 
 
 Bazaroff laid his hand on his brow. 
 
 Anna Sergyeevna bent toward him. — " Ev- 
 geny Vasilitch, I am here . . . ." 
 
 He instantly clasped her hand and half sat up. 
 — " Farewell,"— he said, with sudden force, and 
 his eyes flashed with their last gleam. — " Fare- 
 
 312
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 well. . . Listen .... vou know, I did not kiss 
 you then. . . . Breathe upon the expiring lamp, 
 and let it be extinguished " 
 
 Anna Sergyeevna touched her lips to his brow. 
 
 " Enough! "—he said, and dropped back on his 
 pillow. — " Now .... darkness . . ." 
 
 Anna Sergyeevna softly left the room. — 
 *' Well? "— Vasily Ivanovitch asked her in a 
 whisper. 
 
 "He has fallen asleep,"— she replied, in a 
 barely audible tone. 
 
 BazarofF was not fated to wake again. To- 
 ward evening he fell into complete unconscious- 
 ness, and on the following day he died. Father 
 Alexyei performed over him the rites of religion. 
 When he was anointed,^ when the holy chrism 
 touched his breast, one of his eyes opened, and 
 it seemed as though, at the sight of the priest in 
 his vestments, of the smoking censer, the light in 
 front of the holy picture, something resembling 
 a shudder of fear was reflected on the dying face. 
 When at last he breathed his last sigh, and uni- 
 versal groaning arose in the house, Vasily Iva- 
 novitch was seized with a sudden transport of vio- 
 lence. " I said that I would repine," — he shouted 
 hoarsely, with a flaming, distorted countenance, 
 shaking his fist in the air, as though he were men- 
 
 1 The Rite of Holy Unction in the Catholic Church of the East differs 
 from Extreme Unction in the Roman Church, in that (among other 
 points) it may be administered when the sufferer is not expected to 
 die: for heaUng only, in the Apostolic sense. —Tkanslator. 
 
 343
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 acing some one. " And I will repine, I will re- 
 pine ! " But Arma Vlasievna, all in tears, flung 
 herself upon his neck, and both fell on their knees. 
 — " So,"— as Anfisushka afterward narrated in 
 the servants' hall,—" they bowed their heads side 
 by side, like sheep at noonday. . . ." 
 
 But the midday heat passes and evening draws 
 on, and the night, and then comes the return to 
 the quiet refuge, where the suffering and the 
 weary find sweet repose. ... 
 
 344
 
 XXVIII 
 
 Six months have passed. The white winter has 
 come, with its stern stillness of cloudless frosts, 
 dense creaking snow, rosy hoar-frost on the trees, 
 jDale-emerald sky, caps of smoke above the chim- 
 neys, clumps of steam from the doors opened for a 
 moment, the fresh faces, as though bitten, of the 
 people, and the bustling trot of benumbed horses. 
 The January day is already drawing to its close ; 
 the evening chill is seizing the motionless air in a 
 still tighter grip, and the blood-red sunset is dy- 
 ing out. The lights have been kindled in the win- 
 dows of the house at Marino; Prokofitch, in a 
 black dress suit and white gloves, is laying the 
 table for seven persons. A week previously, in 
 the little parish church, quietly, and almost with- 
 out witnesses, two weddings had taken place: 
 Arkady's to Katya, and Nikolai Petrovitch's to 
 Fenitchka; and on the day in question 
 Nikolai Petrovitch is giving a farewell din- 
 ner for his brother, who is about to take his 
 departure for Moscow on business. Anna 
 Sergyeevna had gone thither also immediately 
 after tlie wedding, after having lavishly endowed 
 the young couple. Precisely at three o'clock all 
 
 845
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 assembled round the table. iSIitya was placed 
 there also; he had been provided with a nurse, in 
 a glazed brocade coronet-cap. Pavel Petrovitch 
 took his seat between Katya and Fenitchka: the 
 " husbands " settled themselves beside their wives. 
 Our acquaintances have changed of late: all of 
 them seem to have grown handsomer and more 
 manly; Pavel Petrovitch alone has grown thin, 
 which, however, has imparted still more elegance 
 and grand-seigneurism to his expressive features. 
 . . . And Fenitchka also has become a different 
 person. In a fresh silken gown, with a gold chain 
 on her neck, she sat with respectful composure,— 
 respectful toward herself, toward everything 
 which surrounded her, and smiled, as though she 
 wished to say : " You must excuse me, I am not 
 to blame." And not she alone, but all the others 
 smiled also, and seemed to be excusing them- 
 selves ; all felt somewhat awkward, somewhat sad, 
 and, in reahty, very comfortable. Each one lis- 
 tened to the other w4th amusing amiability, as 
 though all of them had entered into an agreement 
 to play some artless comedy. Katya was more 
 composed than all the rest : she gazed confidingly 
 about her, and was able to observe that Nikolai 
 Petrovitch had already succeeded in falling head 
 over ears in love with her. Before the end of the 
 dinner he rose, and taking his wine-glass in hand, 
 he addressed himself to Pavel Petrovitch : 
 
 " Thou art leaving us ... . thou art leaving 
 
 346
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 us, my dear brother,"— he began: — "of course, 
 not for long; but, nevertheless, I cannot refrain 
 from expressing to thee that I . . . . that we 
 .... so far as I .... so far as we .... 
 That 's the difRcult}^ that we do not know how to 
 make speeches! Arkady, do thou speak!" 
 
 " No, papa, I am not prepared." 
 
 " And I prepared myself finely! Simply then, 
 brother, permit me to embrace thee, to wish thee 
 all that is good, and return to us as speedily as 
 possible! " 
 
 Pavel Petrovitch kissed all present, not exclud- 
 ing Mitya, of course; over and above this, he 
 kissed Fenitchka's hand, which she did not know 
 how to offer properly, and draining his glass, 
 which had been filled for the second time, he said, 
 with a profound sigh: "Be happy, my friends! 
 Farewell!" — This English tail to his speech 
 passed unnoticed, but all were touched. 
 
 " In memory of BazarofF,"— whispered Katya 
 in her husband's ear, as she clinked glasses with 
 him. In reply, Arkady pressed her hand warmly, 
 but could not bring himself to propose that toast 
 aloud. 
 
 This would appear to be the end? But per- 
 chance some one of our readers would like to 
 know what each one of the persons whom we have 
 introduced is doing now, precisely at the present 
 moment. We are ready to gratify him. 
 
 Anna Sergyeevna has recently married, not for 
 
 347.
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 love, but from conviction, one of the future promi- 
 nent men of Russia, a very clever man, a lawyer 
 with strong practical sense, a firm will, and a re- 
 markable gift of words,— a man who is still 
 young, kind, and cold as ice. They live on good 
 terms with each other, and will, in all probability, 
 attain to happiness . . . perchance to love. Prin- 
 cess X. . . has died, forgotten on the very day of 
 her death. The Kirsanoif 's, father and son, have 
 settled down in Marino. Their affairs are begin- 
 ning to right themselves. Arkady has become an 
 ardent farmer, and the " farm " already yields 
 a fairly large income.^ Nikolai Petrovitch has 
 been made an Arbitrator of the Peace,^ and toils 
 with all his might; he is incessantly travelling 
 about over his section; he makes long speeches (he 
 is of the opinion that the peasants must be 
 " taught," that is to say, they must be reduced to 
 a state of exhaustion by frequent rej)etition of one 
 and the same set of words ) , and, nevertheless, to 
 tell the truth, he does not wholly satisfy either 
 the cultivated nobles, who talk now with chic and 
 again with melancholy, about the ma??cipation 
 (pronouncing the 7nan through their noses), nor 
 the uneducated nobles, who unceremoniously re- 
 vile " thot wi^wcipation." He is too tender to suit 
 either party. A son, Kolya, has been born to 
 
 ^ A class of officials, appointed after the emancipation of the serfs, 
 to adjust the questions which arose between the landed proprietors 
 and the serfs as to the division of the land.— Transi^vtor. 
 
 348
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 Katerina Sergyeevna, and Mitya is already run- 
 ning about like a fine, dashing fellow, and chat- 
 ters volubly. Fenitchka (Fedosya Nikolaevna) 
 adores no one — after her husband and son — so 
 much as her daughter-in-law, and when the latter 
 seats herself at the piano she is delighted not to 
 leave her all day long. By the way, let us make 
 mention of Piotr. He has stiffened up for good, 
 with stupidity and pompousness, pronounces 
 every e like iu: tiupiur, ohiuzpiutchiun,^ but he 
 also has married, and acquired a very respectable 
 dowry with his bride, the daughter of a market- 
 gardener in the town, who refused two fine suit- 
 ors, merely because they did not possess watches : 
 but Piotr not onty had a watch, but patent-leather 
 half -boots into the bargain. 
 
 In Dresden, on the Briihl terrace, between two 
 and four o'clock, at the most fashionable time for 
 promenading, j'^ou may meet a man about fifty 
 years of age, who is already completely grey, and 
 seems to be suffering from gout, but is still hand- 
 some, elegantly attired, and with that peculiar 
 stamp which a man acquires only by long asso- 
 ciation with the highest classes of society. This 
 man is Pavel Petrovitch. He has quitted Mos- 
 cow and gone abroad to restore his health, and 
 has taken up his residence in Dresden, wliere he 
 consorts mostly with the Englisli and with travel- 
 
 ^ Instead oi temper (now); ohezpetrh^n (provided for). —Translator. 
 
 349
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 ling Russians. With the English, his manner is 
 simple, almost modest, yet not lacking in dignity ; 
 they find him rather tiresome, but respect in him 
 a perfect gentleman. With the Russians he is 
 more at his ease, gives free play to his bile, sneers 
 at himself and at them ; but all this is very charm- 
 ing, and careless, and decorous, as he does it. He 
 entertains Slavyanophil views: every one knows 
 that this is considered tres distingue in the upper 
 circles. He never reads anything in Russian, but 
 on his writing-table there is a silver ash-tray in 
 the form of a peasant's bast slipper. Our tourists 
 run after him a great deal. Matvyei Hitch Kol- 
 yazin, when he was in temporary opposition, paid 
 him a majestic visit, as he was passing through 
 on his way to a Bohemian watering-place; and 
 the natives, with whom, however, he has very little 
 to do, fairly revere him. No one can obtain a 
 ticket for the Court Choir, the theatre, and so 
 forth, so easily and so quickly as der Herr Baron 
 von Kirsdnoff. He always does as much good as 
 can; he still makes some noise: not for nothing- 
 had he once been a lion;— but life is painful for 
 him — more painful than he himself suspects. 
 . . . One needs but to watch him in the Russian 
 church, when, leaning against the wall, apart, he 
 falls into thought, and does not move for a long 
 time, bitterly setting his teeth, then suddenly he 
 comes to himself, and begins, almost impercepti- 
 bly, to cross himself. . . . 
 
 Madame Kukshin also has gone abroad. She 
 
 350
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 is now in Heidelberg, and is studying the natural 
 sciences no more, but architecture, in which, ac- 
 cording to her statement, she has discovered new 
 laws. As of yore, she haunts the society of stu- 
 dents, especially that of the young Russian physi- 
 cists and chemists, with whom Heidelberg is filled, 
 and who, after at first amazing the simple-minded 
 German professors with their sober views of 
 things, afterward amaze those same professors 
 with their utter idleness and absolute laziness. 
 With two or three chemists of this description, 
 who cannot distinguish oxygen from nitrogen, 
 but are filled full of self-abnegation and respect 
 for themselves, and with the great Elisyevitch, 
 SitnikofF, who also is preparing to be great, is 
 sauntering about Petersburg, and, according to 
 his own statement, is carrying on BazarofF's 
 " cause." It is said that some one recently gave 
 him a thrashing, but he did not remain in debt: 
 in an obscure little article, inserted in an ob- 
 scure little newspaper, he hinted that the man who 
 had thrashed him was a coward. He calls this 
 irony. His father torments him, as of yore, and 
 his wife considers him a fool . . . and a literary 
 man. 
 
 There is a small village cemetery in one of the 
 remote corners of Russia. Like almost all our 
 cemeteries, it presents a sorry aspect: the trench 
 which surrounds it has long since been overgrown ; 
 the grey wooden crosses have drooped and are rot- 
 ting beneath their penthouses, which once were 
 
 351
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 painted; tlie stone slabs are all out of place, as 
 though some one were thrusting them up from be- 
 low; two or three denuded trees barely afford a 
 scanty shade; sheep wander unchecked over the 
 graves. — But among these there is one, which no 
 man touches, which no beast tramples on: only 
 the birds alight upon it and carol at the dawn. 
 An iron railing surrounds it; two young fir-trees 
 are planted at each end of it: Evgeny Bazaroff is 
 buried in that grave. Thither, from the hamlet 
 hard by, two old people, already decrepit— hus- 
 band and wife— come frequently. Supporting 
 each other, they advance with painful tread ; they 
 approach the railing, fall upon their knees, and 
 weep long and bitterly, and gaze long and atten- 
 tively at the dumb stone, beneath which lies their 
 son ; they exchange a brief word, remove the dust 
 from the stone, adjust the branches of the fir- 
 trees, and again fall to praying, and cannot quit 
 that spot, where they seem to be nearer to their 
 son, to their memories of him. . . Can it be that 
 their prayers, their tears, are fruitless? Can it be 
 that love, holy, devoted love, is not all-powerful? 
 Oh, no! However passionate, sinful, rebellious, 
 may be the heart which has taken refuge in the 
 grave, the flowers which grow upon it gaze tran- 
 quilly at us with their innocent ej^es : not alone of 
 eternal repose do they speak to us, of that great 
 repose of " indifferent " nature; they speak also 
 of eternal reconciliation and of life everlasting. . . 
 
 352
 
 liilliH.?,^IflfR'^R£GIONA 
 
 MlHRARVrAriLITY 
 
 u^ 
 ThJ AA 000 575"l"96 """i" 
 
 ow. 
 
 JUL 
 
 ■ i2 
 
 1*5 
 
 «£C'OLD.URL 
 
 •l^i AUG 3 1968 
 SEP 3 1968 
 
 URL ^^ ^-^ '^'* 
 
 NOV 1 2 1970 
 .0£C 81972 
 
 ^j'orin L9-Series 444