CHAPTER X
About a fortnight passed by. Life at Maryino went on its accustomedcourse, while Arkady was lazy and enjoyed himself, and Bazarov worked.Every one in the house had grown used to him, to his careless manners,and his curt and abrupt speeches. Fenitchka, in particular, was so farat home with him that one night she sent to wake him up; Mitya had hadconvulsions; and he had gone, and, half joking, half-yawning as usual,he stayed two hours with her and relieved the child. On the other handPavel Petrovitch had grown to detest Bazarov with all the strength ofhis soul; he regarded him as stuck-up, impudent, cynical, and vulgar;he suspected that Bazarov had no respect for him, that he had all but acontempt for him--him, Pavel Kirsanov!
Nikolai Petrovitch was rather afraid of the young 'nihilist,' and wasdoubtful whether his influence over Arkady was for the good; but he wasglad to listen to him, and was glad to be present at his scientific andchemical experiments. Bazarov had brought with him a microscope, andbusied himself for hours together with it. The servants, too, took tohim, though he made fun of them; they felt, all the same, that he wasone of themselves, not a master. Dunyasha was always ready to gigglewith him, and used to cast significant and stealthy glances at him whenshe skipped by like a rabbit; Piotr, a man vain and stupid to the lastdegree, for ever wearing an affected frown on his brow, a man whosewhole merit consisted in the fact that he looked civil, could spell outa page of reading, and was diligent in brushing his coat--even hesmirked and brightened up directly Bazarov paid him any attention; theboys on the farm simply ran after the 'doctor' like puppies. The oldman Prokofitch was the only one who did not like him; he handed him thedishes at table with a surly face, called him a 'butcher' and 'anupstart,' and declared that with his great whiskers he looked like apig in a stye. Prokofitch in his own way was quite as much of anaristocrat as Pavel Petrovitch.
The best days of the year had come--the first days of June. The weatherkept splendidly fine; in the distance, it is true, the cholera wasthreatening, but the inhabitants of that province had had time to getused to its visits. Bazarov used to get up very early and go out fortwo or three miles, not for a walk--he couldn't bear walking without anobject--but to collect specimens of plants and insects. Sometimes hetook Arkady with him.
On the way home an argument usually sprang up, and Arkady was usuallyvanquished in it, though he said more than his companion.
One day they had lingered rather late; Nikolai Petrovitch went to meetthem in the garden, and as he reached the arbour he suddenly heard thequick steps and voices of the two young men. They were walking on theother side of the arbour, and could not see him.
'You don't know my father well enough,' said Arkady.
'Your father's a nice chap,' said Bazarov, 'but he's behind the times;his day is done.'
Nikolai Petrovitch listened intently.... Arkady made no answer.
The man whose day was done remained two minutes motionless, and stoleslowly home.
'The day before yesterday I saw him reading Pushkin,' Bazarov wascontinuing meanwhile. 'Explain to him, please, that that's no earthlyuse. He's not a boy, you know; it's time to throw up that rubbish. Andwhat an idea to be a romantic at this time of day! Give him somethingsensible to read.'
'What ought I to give him?' asked Arkady.
'Oh, I think Buchner's _Stoff und Kraft_ to begin with.'
'I think so too,' observed Arkady approving, '_Stoff und Kraft_ iswritten in popular language....'
'So it seems,' Nikolai Petrovitch said the same day after dinner to hisbrother, as he sat in his study, 'you and I are behind the times, ourday's over. Well, well. Perhaps Bazarov is right; but one thing Iconfess, makes me feel sore; I did so hope, precisely now, to get on tosuch close intimate terms with Arkady, and it turns out I'm leftbehind, and he has gone forward, and we can't understand one another.'
'How has he gone forward? And in what way is he so superior to usalready?' cried Pavel Petrovitch impatiently. 'It's that high andmighty gentleman, that nihilist, who's knocked all that into his head.I hate that doctor fellow; in my opinion, he's simply a quack; I'mconvinced, for all his tadpoles, he's not got very far even inmedicine.'
'No, brother, you mustn't say that; Bazarov is clever, and knows hissubject.'
'And his conceit's something revolting,' Pavel Petrovitch broke inagain.
'Yes,' observed Nikolai Petrovitch, 'he is conceited. But there's nodoing without that, it seems; only that's what I did not take intoaccount. I thought I was doing everything to keep up with the times; Ihave started a model farm; I have done well by the peasants, so that Iam positively called a "Red Radical" all over the province; I read, Istudy, I try in every way to keep abreast with the requirements of theday--and they say my day's over. And, brother, I begin to think that itis.'
'Why so?'
'I'll tell you why. This morning I was sitting reading Pushkin.... Iremember, it happened to be _The Gipsies_ ... all of a sudden Arkadycame up to me, and, without speaking, with such a kindly compassion onhis face, as gently as if I were a baby, took the book away from me,and laid another before me--a German book ... smiled, and went away,carrying Pushkin off with him.'
'Upon my word! What book did he give you?'
'This one here.'
And Nikolai Petrovitch pulled the famous treatise of Buchner, in theninth edition, out of his coat-tail pocket.
Pavel Petrovitch turned it over in his hands. 'Hm!' he growled. 'ArkadyNikolaevitch is taking your education in hand. Well, did you tryreading it?'
'Yes, I tried it.'
'Well, what did you think of it?'
'Either I'm stupid, or it's all--nonsense. I must be stupid, Isuppose.'
'Haven't you forgotten your German?' queried Pavel Petrovitch.
'Oh, I understand the German.'
Pavel Petrovitch again turned the book over in his hands, and glancedfrom under his brows at his brother. Both were silent.
'Oh, by the way,' began Nikolai Petrovitch, obviously wishing to changethe subject, 'I've got a letter from Kolyazin.'
'Matvy Ilyitch?'
'Yes. He has come to----to inspect the province. He's quite a bigwignow; and writes to me that, as a relation, he should like to see usagain, and invites you and me and Arkady to the town.'
'Are you going?' asked Pavel Petrovitch.
'No; are you?'
'No, I shan't go either. Much object there would be in dragging oneselfover forty miles on a wild-goose chase. _Mathieu_ wants to show himselfin all his glory. Damn him! he will have the whole province doing himhomage; he can get on without the likes of us. A grand dignity, indeed,a privy councillor! If I had stayed in the service, if I had drudged onin official harness, I should have been a general-adjutant by now.Besides, you and I are behind the times, you know.'
'Yes, brother; it's time, it seems, to order a coffin and cross one'sarms on ones breast,' remarked Nikolai Petrovitch, with a sigh.
'Well, I'm not going to give in quite so soon,' muttered his brother.'I've got a tussle with that doctor fellow before me, I feel sure ofthat.'
A tussle came off that same day at evening tea. Pavel Petrovitch cameinto the drawing-room, all ready for the fray, irritable anddetermined. He was only waiting for an excuse to fall upon the enemy;but for a long while an excuse did not present itself. As a rule,Bazarov said little in the presence of the 'old Kirsanovs' (that washow he spoke of the brothers), and that evening he felt out of humour,and drank off cup after cup of tea without a word. Pavel Petrovitch wasall aflame with impatience; his wishes were fulfilled at last.
The conversation turned on one of the neighbouring landowners. 'Rottenaristocratic snob,' observed Bazarov indifferently. He had met him inPetersburg.
'Allow me to ask you,' began Pavel Petrovitch, and his lips weretrembling, 'according to your ideas, have the words "rotten" and"aristocrat" the same meaning?'
'I said "aristocratic snob,"' replied Bazarov, lazily swallowing a sipof tea.
'Precisely so; but I imagine you have the same opinion of arist
ocratsas of aristocratic snobs. I think it my duty to inform you that I donot share that opinion. I venture to assert that every one knows me fora man of liberal ideas and devoted to progress; but, exactly for thatreason, I respect aristocrats--real aristocrats. Kindly remember, sir'(at these words Bazarov lifted his eyes and looked at PavelPetrovitch), 'kindly remember, sir,' he repeated, with acrimony--'theEnglish aristocracy. They do not abate one iota of their rights, andfor that reason they respect the rights of others; they demand theperformance of what is due to them, and for that reason they performtheir own duties. The aristocracy has given freedom to England, andmaintains it for her.'
'We've heard that story a good many times,' replied Bazarov; 'but whatare you trying to prove by that?'
'I am tryin' to prove by that, sir' (when Pavel Petrovitch was angry heintentionally clipped his words in this way, though, of course, he knewvery well that such forms are not strictly grammatical. In thisfashionable whim could be discerned a survival of the habits of thetimes of Alexander. The exquisites of those days, on the rare occasionswhen they spoke their own language, made use of such slipshod forms; asmuch as to say, 'We, of course, are born Russians, at the same time weare great swells, who are at liberty to neglect the rules ofscholars'); 'I am tryin' to prove by that, sir, that without the senseof personal dignity, without self-respect--and these two sentiments arewell developed in the aristocrat--there is no secure foundation for thesocial ... _bien public_ ... the social fabric. Personal character,sir--that is the chief thing; a man's personal character must be firmas a rock, since everything is built on it. I am very well aware, forinstance, that you are pleased to consider my habits, my dress, myrefinements, in fact, ridiculous; but all that proceeds from a sense ofself-respect, from a sense of duty--yes, indeed, of duty. I live in thecountry, in the wilds, but I will not lower myself. I respect thedignity of man in myself.'
'Let me ask you, Pavel Petrovitch,' commented Bazarov; 'you respectyourself, and sit with your hands folded; what sort of benefit doesthat do to the _bien public_? If you didn't respect yourself, you'd dojust the same.'
Pavel Petrovitch turned white. 'That's a different question. It'sabsolutely unnecessary for me to explain to you now why I sit withfolded hands, as you are pleased to express yourself. I wish only totell you that aristocracy is a principle, and in our days none butimmoral or silly people can live without principles. I said that toArkady the day after he came home, and I repeat it now. Isn't it so,Nikolai?'
Nikolai Petrovitch nodded his head.
'Aristocracy, Liberalism, progress, principles,' Bazarov was sayingmeanwhile; 'if you think of it, what a lot of foreign ... and uselesswords! To a Russian they're good for nothing.'
'What is good for something according to you? If we listen to you, weshall find ourselves outside humanity, outside its laws. Come--thelogic of history demands ...'
'But what's that logic to us? We call get on without that too.'
'How do you mean?'
'Why, this. You don't need logic, I hope, to put a bit of bread in yourmouth when you're hungry. What's the object of these abstractions tous?'
Pavel Petrovitch raised his hands in horror.
'I don't understand you, after that. You insult the Russian people. Idon't understand how it's possible not to acknowledge principles,rules! By virtue of what do you act then?'
'I've told you already, uncle, that we don't accept any authorities,'put in Arkady.
'We act by virtue of what we recognise as beneficial,' observedBazarov. 'At the present time, negation is the most beneficial ofall--and we deny----'
'Everything?'
'Everything!'
'What? not only art and poetry ... but even ... horrible to say ...'
'Everything,' repeated Bazarov, with indescribable composure.
Pavel Petrovitch stared at him. He had not expected this; while Arkadyfairly blushed with delight.
'Allow me, though,' began Nikolai Petrovitch. 'You deny everything; or,speaking more precisely, you destroy everything.... But one mustconstruct too, you know.'
'That's not our business now.... The ground wants clearing first.'
'The present condition of the people requires it,' added Arkady, withdignity; 'we are bound to carry out these requirements, we have noright to yield to the satisfaction of our personal egoism.'
This last phrase obviously displeased Bazarov; there was a flavour ofphilosophy, that is to say, romanticism about it, for Bazarov calledphilosophy, too, romanticism, but he did not think it necessary tocorrect his young disciple.
'No, no!' cried Pavel Petrovitch, with sudden energy. 'I'm not willingto believe that you, young men, know the Russian people really, thatyou are the representatives of their requirements, their efforts! No;the Russian people is not what you imagine it. Tradition it holdssacred; it is a patriarchal people; it cannot live without faith ...'
'I'm not going to dispute that,' Bazarov interrupted. 'I'm even readyto agree that in that you're right.'
'But if I am right ...'
'And, all the same, that proves nothing.'
'It just proves nothing,' repeated Arkady, with the confidence of apractised chess-player, who has foreseen an apparently dangerous moveon the part of his adversary, and so is not at all taken aback by it.
'How does it prove nothing?' muttered Pavel Petrovitch, astounded. 'Youmust be going against the people then?'
'And what if we are?' shouted Bazarov. 'The people imagine that, whenit thunders, the prophet Ilya's riding across the sky in his chariot.What then? Are we to agree with them? Besides, the people's Russian;but am I not Russian too?'
'No, you are not Russian, after all you have just been saying! I can'tacknowledge you as Russian.'
'My grandfather ploughed the land,' answered Bazarov with haughtypride. 'Ask any one of your peasants which of us--you or me--he'd morereadily acknowledge as a fellow-countryman. You don't even know how totalk to them.'
'While you talk to him and despise him at the same time.'
'Well, suppose he deserves contempt. You find fault with my attitude,but how do you know that I have got it by chance, that it's not aproduct of that very national spirit, in the name of which you wage waron it?'
'What an idea! Much use in nihilists!'
'Whether they're of use or not, is not for us to decide. Why, even yousuppose you're not a useless person.'
'Gentlemen, gentlemen, no personalities, please!' cried NikolaiPetrovitch, getting up.
Pavel Petrovitch smiled, and laying his hand on his brother's shoulder,forced him to sit down again.
'Don't be uneasy,' he said; 'I shall not forget myself, just throughthat sense of dignity which is made fun of so mercilessly by ourfriend--our friend, the doctor. Let me ask,' he resumed, turning againto Bazarov; 'you suppose, possibly, that your doctrine is a novelty?That is quite a mistake. The materialism you advocate has been morethan once in vogue already, and has always proved insufficient ...'
'A foreign word again!' broke in Bazarov. He was beginning to feelvicious, and his face assumed a peculiar coarse coppery hue. 'In thefirst place, we advocate nothing; that's not our way.'
'What do you do, then?'
'I'll tell you what we do. Not long ago we used to say that ourofficials took bribes, that we had no roads, no commerce, no realjustice ...'
'Oh, I see, you are reformers--that's what that's called, I fancy. Itoo should agree to many of your reforms, but ...'
'Then we suspected that talk, perpetual talk, and nothing but talk,about our social diseases, was not worth while, that it all led tonothing but superficiality and pedantry; we saw that our leading men,so-called advanced people and reformers, are no good; that we busyourselves over foolery, talk rubbish about art, unconsciouscreativeness, parliamentarism, trial by jury, and the deuce knows whatall; while, all the while, it's a question of getting bread to eat,while we're stifling under the grossest superstition, while all ourenterprises come to grief, simply because there aren't honest menenough to carry them on
, while the very emancipation our Government'sbusy upon will hardly come to any good, because peasants are glad torob even themselves to get drunk at the gin-shop.'
'Yes,' interposed Pavel Petrovitch, 'yes; you were convinced of allthis, and decided not to undertake anything seriously, yourselves.'
'We decided not to undertake anything,' repeated Bazarov grimly. Hesuddenly felt vexed with himself for having, without reason, been soexpansive before this gentleman.
'But to confine yourselves to abuse?'
'To confine ourselves to abuse.'
'And that is called nihilism?'
'And that's called nihilism,' Bazarov repeated again, this time withpeculiar rudeness.
Pavel Petrovitch puckered up his face a little. 'So that's it!' heobserved in a strangely composed voice. 'Nihilism is to cure all ourwoes, and you, you are our heroes and saviours. But why do you abuseothers, those reformers even? Don't you do as much talking as every oneelse?'
'Whatever faults we have, we do not err in that way,' Bazarov mutteredbetween his teeth.
'What, then? Do you act, or what? Are you preparing for action?'
Bazarov made no answer. Something like a tremor passed over PavelPetrovitch, but he at once regained control of himself.
'Hm! ... Action, destruction ...' he went on. 'But how destroy withouteven knowing why?'
'We shall destroy, because we are a force,' observed Arkady.
Pavel Petrovitch looked at his nephew and laughed.
'Yes, a force is not to be called to account,' said Arkady, drawinghimself up.
'Unhappy boy!' wailed Pavel Petrovitch, he was positively incapable ofmaintaining his firm demeanour any longer. 'If you could only realisewhat it is you are doing for your country. No; it's enough to try thepatience of an angel! Force! There's force in the savage Kalmuck, inthe Mongolian; but what is it to us? What is precious to us iscivilisation; yes, yes, sir, its fruits are precious to us. And don'ttell me those fruits are worthless; the poorest dauber, _unbarbouilleur_, the man who plays dance music for five farthings anevening, is of more use than you, because they are the representativesof civilisation, and not of brute Mongolian force! You fancy yourselvesadvanced people, and all the while you are only fit for the Kalmuck'shovel! Force! And recollect, you forcible gentlemen, that you're onlyfour men and a half, and the others are millions, who won't let youtrample their sacred traditions under foot, who will crush you and walkover you!'
'If we're crushed, serve us right,' observed Bazarov. 'But that's anopen question. We are not so few as you suppose.'
'What? You seriously suppose you will come to terms with a wholepeople?'
'All Moscow was burnt down, you know, by a farthing dip,' answeredBazarov.
'Yes, yes. First a pride almost Satanic, then ridicule--that, that'swhat it is attracts the young, that's what gains an ascendancy over theinexperienced hearts of boys! Here's one of them sitting beside you,ready to worship the ground under your feet. Look at him! (Arkadyturned away and frowned.) And this plague has spread far already. Ihave been told that in Rome our artists never set foot in the Vatican.Raphael they regard as almost a fool, because, if you please, he's anauthority; while they're all the while most disgustingly sterile andunsuccessful, men whose imagination does not soar beyond 'Girls at aFountain,' however they try! And the girls even out of drawing. Theyare fine fellows to your mind, are they not?'
'To my mind,' retorted Bazarov, 'Raphael's not worth a brass farthing;and they're no better than he.'
'Bravo! bravo! Listen, Arkady ... that's how young men of to-day oughtto express themselves! And if you come to think of it, how could theyfail to follow you! In old days, young men had to study; they didn'twant to be called dunces, so they had to work hard whether they likedit or not. But now, they need only say, "Everything in the world isfoolery!" and the trick's done. Young men are delighted. And, to besure, they were simply geese before, and now they have suddenly turnednihilists.'
'Your praiseworthy sense of personal dignity has given way,' remarkedBazarov phlegmatically, while Arkady was hot all over, and his eyeswere flashing. 'Our argument has gone too far; it's better to cut itshort, I think. I shall be quite ready to agree with you,' he added,getting up, 'when you bring forward a single institution in our presentmode of life, in family or in social life, which does not call forcomplete and unqualified destruction.'
'I will bring forward millions of such institutions,' cried PavelPetrovitch--'millions! Well--the Mir, for instance.'
A cold smile curved Bazarov's lips. 'Well, as regards the Mir,' hecommented; 'you had better talk to your brother. He has seen by now, Ishould fancy, what sort of thing the Mir is in fact--its commonguarantee, its sobriety, and other features of the kind.'
'The family, then, the family as it exists among our peasants!' criedPavel Petrovitch.
'And that subject, too, I imagine, it will be better for yourselves notto go into in detail. Don't you realise all the advantages of the headof the family choosing his daughters-in-law? Take my advice, PavelPetrovitch, allow yourself two days to think about it; you're notlikely to find anything on the spot. Go through all our classes, andthink well over each, while I and Arkady will ...'
'Will go on turning everything into ridicule,' broke in PavelPetrovitch.
'No, will go on dissecting frogs. Come, Arkady; good-bye for thepresent, gentlemen!'
The two friends walked off. The brothers were left alone, and at firstthey only looked at one another.
'So that,' began Pavel Petrovitch, 'so that's what our young men ofthis generation are! They are like that--our successors!'
'Our successors!' repeated Nikolai Petrovitch, with a dejected smile.He had been sitting on thorns, all through the argument, and had donenothing but glance stealthily, with a sore heart, at Arkady. 'Do youknow what I was reminded of, brother? I once had a dispute with ourpoor mother; she stormed, and wouldn't listen to me. At last I said toher, "Of course, you can't understand me; we belong," I said, "to twodifferent generations." She was dreadfully offended, while I thought,"There's no help for it. It's a bitter pill, but she has to swallowit." You see, now, our turn has come, and our successors can say to us,"You are not of our generation; swallow your pill."'
'You are beyond everything in your generosity and modesty,' repliedPavel Petrovitch. 'I'm convinced, on the contrary, that you and I arefar more in the right than these young gentlemen, though we do perhapsexpress ourselves in old-fashioned language, _vieilli_, and have notthe same insolent conceit.... And the swagger of the young mennowadays! You ask one, "Do you take red wine or white?" "It is mycustom to prefer red!" he answers in a deep bass, with a face as solemnas if the whole universe had its eyes on him at that instant....'
'Do you care for any more tea?' asked Fenitchka, putting her head in atthe door; she had not been able to make up her mind to come into thedrawing-room while there was the sound of voices in dispute there.
'No, you can tell them to take the samovar,' answered NikolaiPetrovitch, and he got up to meet her. Pavel Petrovitch said '_bonsoir_' to him abruptly, and went away to his study.