CHAPTER XVII
Time, it is well known, sometimes flies like a bird, sometimes crawlslike a worm; but man is wont to be particularly happy when he does noteven notice whether it passes quickly or slowly. It was in that wayArkady and Bazarov spent a fortnight at Madame Odintsov's. The goodorder she had established in her house and in her life partlycontributed to this result. She adhered strictly to this order herself,and forced others to submit to it. Everything during the day was doneat a fixed time. In the morning, precisely at eight o'clock, all theparty assembled for tea; from morning-tea till lunch-time every one didwhat he pleased, the hostess herself was engaged with her bailiff (theestate was on the rent-system), her steward, and her head housekeeper.Before dinner the party met again for conversation or reading; theevening was devoted to walking, cards, and music; at half-past ten AnnaSergyevna retired to her own room, gave her orders for the followingday, and went to bed. Bazarov did not like this measured, somewhatostentatious punctuality in daily life, 'like moving along rails,' hepronounced it to be; the footmen in livery, the decorous stewards,offended his democratic sentiments. He declared that if one went sofar, one might as well dine in the English style at once--in tail-coatsand white ties. He once spoke plainly upon the subject to AnnaSergyevna. Her attitude was such that no one hesitated to speak hismind freely before her. She heard him out; and then her comment was,'From your point of view, you are right--and perhaps, in that respect,I am too much of a lady; but there's no living in the country withoutorder, one would be devoured by ennui,' and she continued to go her ownway. Bazarov grumbled, but the very reason life was so easy for him andArkady at Madame Odintsov's was that everything in the house 'moved onrails.' For all that, a change had taken place in both the young mensince the first days of their stay at Nikolskoe. Bazarov, in whom AnnaSergyevna was obviously interested, though she seldom agreed with him,began to show signs of an unrest, unprecedented in him; he was easilyput out of temper, and unwilling to talk, he looked irritated, andcould not sit still in one place, just as though he were possessed bysome secret longing; while Arkady, who had made up his mindconclusively that he was in love with Madame Odintsov, had begun toyield to a gentle melancholy. This melancholy did not, however, preventhim from becoming friendly with Katya; it even impelled him to get intofriendly, affectionate terms with her. '_She_ does not appreciate me?So be it!... But here is a good creature, who does not repulse me,' hethought, and his heart again knew the sweetness of magnanimousemotions. Katya vaguely realised that he was seeking a sort ofconsolation in her company, and did not deny him or herself theinnocent pleasure of a half-shy, half-confidential friendship. They didnot talk to each other in Anna Sergyevna's presence; Katya alwaysshrank into herself under her sister's sharp eyes; while Arkady, asbefits a man in love, could pay attention to nothing else when near theobject of his passion; but he was happy with Katya alone. He wasconscious that he did not possess the power to interest MadameOdintsov; he was shy and at a loss when he was left alone with her, andshe did not know what to say to him, he was too young for her. WithKatya, on the other hand, Arkady felt at home; he treated hercondescendingly, encouraged her to express the impressions made on herby music, reading novels, verses, and other such trifles, withoutnoticing or realising that these trifles were what interested him too.Katya, on her side, did not try to drive away melancholy. Arkady was athis ease with Katya, Madame Odintsov with Bazarov, and thus it usuallycame to pass that the two couples, after being a little while together,went off on their separate ways, especially during the walks. Katyaadored nature, and Arkady loved it, though he did not dare toacknowledge it; Madame Odintsov was, like Bazarov, rather indifferentto the beauties of nature. The almost continual separation of the twofriends was not without its consequences; the relations between thembegan to change. Bazarov gave up talking to Arkady about MadameOdintsov, gave up even abusing her 'aristocratic ways'; Katya, it istrue, he praised as before, and only advised him to restrain hersentimental tendencies, but his praises were hurried, his advice dry,and in general he talked less to Arkady than before ... he seemed toavoid him, seemed ill at ease with him.
Arkady observed it all, but he kept his observations to himself.
The real cause of all this 'newness' was the feeling inspired inBazarov by Madame Odintsov, a feeling which tortured and maddened him,and which he would at once have denied, with scornful laughter andcynical abuse, if any one had ever so remotely hinted at thepossibility of what was taking place in him. Bazarov had a great lovefor women and for feminine beauty; but love in the ideal, or, as heexpressed it, romantic sense, he called lunacy, unpardonableimbecility; he regarded chivalrous sentiments as something of thenature of deformity or disease, and had more than once expressed hiswonder that Toggenburg and all the minnesingers and troubadours had notbeen put into a lunatic asylum. 'If a woman takes your fancy,' he usedto say, 'try and gain your end; but if you can't--well, turn your backon her--there are lots of good fish in the sea.' Madame Odintsov hadtaken his fancy; the rumours about her, the freedom and independence ofher ideas, her unmistakable liking for him, all seemed to be in hisfavour, but he soon saw that with her he would not 'gain his ends,' andto turn his back on her he found, to his own bewilderment, beyond hispower. His blood was on fire directly if he merely thought of her; hecould easily have mastered his blood, but something else was takingroot in him, something he had never admitted, at which he had alwaysjeered, at which all his pride revolted. In his conversations with AnnaSergyevna he expressed more strongly than ever his calm contempt foreverything idealistic; but when he was alone, with indignation herecognised idealism in himself. Then he would set off to the forest andwalk with long strides about it, smashing the twigs that came in hisway, and cursing under his breath both her and himself; or he would getinto the hay-loft in the barn, and, obstinately closing his eyes, tryto force himself to sleep, in which, of course, he did not alwayssucceed. Suddenly his fancy would bring before him those chaste handstwining one day about his neck, those proud lips responding to hiskisses, those intellectual eyes dwelling with tenderness--yes, withtenderness--on his, and his head went round, and he forgot himself foran instant, till indignation boiled up in him again. He caught himselfin all sorts of 'shameful' thoughts, as though he were driven on by adevil mocking him. Sometimes he fancied that there was a change takingplace in Madame Odintsov too; that there were signs in the expressionof her face of something special; that, perhaps ... but at that pointhe would stamp, or grind his teeth, and clench his fists.
Meanwhile Bazarov was not altogether mistaken. He had struck MadameOdintsov's imagination; he interested her, she thought a great dealabout him. In his absence, she was not dull, she was not impatient forhis coming, but she always grew more lively on his appearance; sheliked to be left alone with him, and she liked talking to him, evenwhen he irritated her or offended her taste, her refined habits. Shewas, as it were, eager at once to sound him and to analyse herself.
One day walking in the garden with her, he suddenly announced, in asurly voice, that he intended going to his father's place very soon....She turned white, as though something had given her a pang, and such apang, that she wondered and pondered long after, what could be themeaning of it. Bazarov had spoken of his departure with no idea ofputting her to the test, of seeing what would come of it; he never'fabricated.' On the morning of that day he had an interview with hisfather's bailiff, who had taken care of him when he was a child,Timofeitch. This Timofeitch, a little old man of much experience andastuteness, with faded yellow hair, a weather-beaten red face, and tinytear-drops in his shrunken eyes, unexpectedly appeared before Bazarov,in his shortish overcoat of stout greyish-blue cloth, girt with a stripof leather, and in tarred boots.
'Hullo, old man; how are you?' cried Bazarov.
'How do you do, Yevgeny Vassilyitch?' began the little old man, and hesmiled with delight, so that his whole face was all at once coveredwith wrinkles.
'What have you come for? They sent for me, eh?'
'Upon my wor
d, sir, how could we?' mumbled Timofeitch. (He rememberedthe strict injunctions he had received from his master on starting.)'We were sent to the town on business, and we'd heard news of yourhonour, so here we turned off on our way, that's to say--to have a lookat your honour ... as if we could think of disturbing you!'
'Come, don't tell lies!' Bazarov cut him short. 'Is this the road tothe town, do you mean to tell me?' Timofeitch hesitated, and made noanswer. 'Is my father well?'
'Thank God, yes.'
'And my mother?'
'Anna Vlasyevna too, glory be to God.'
'They are expecting me, I suppose?'
The little old man held his tiny head on one side.
'Ah, Yevgeny Vassilyitch, it makes one's heart ache to see them; itdoes really.'
'Come, all right, all right! shut up! Tell them I'm coming soon.'
'Yes, sir,' answered Timofeitch, with a sigh.
As he went out of the house, he pulled his cap down on his head withboth hands, clambered into a wretched-looking racing droshky, and wentoff at a trot, but not in the direction of the town.
On the evening of the same day, Madame Odintsov was sitting in her ownroom with Bazarov, while Arkady walked up and down the hall listeningto Katya's playing. The princess had gone upstairs to her own room; shecould not bear guests as a rule, and 'especially this new riff-rafflot,' as she called them. In the common rooms she only sulked; but shemade up for it in her own room by breaking out into such abuse beforeher maid that the cap danced on her head, wig and all. Madame Odintsovwas well aware of all this.
'How is it you are proposing to leave us?' she began; 'how about yourpromise?'
Bazarov started. 'What promise?'
'Have you forgotten? You meant to give me some lessons in chemistry.'
'It can't be helped! My father expects me; I can't loiter any longer.However, you can read Pelouse et Fremy, _Notions generales de Chimie_;it's a good book, and clearly written. You will find everything youneed in it.'
'But do you remember; you assured me a book cannot take the place of... I've forgotten how you put it, but you know what I mean ... do youremember?'
'It can't be helped!' repeated Bazarov.
'Why go away?' said Madame Odintsov, dropping her voice.
He glanced at her. Her head had fallen on to the back of hereasy-chair, and her arms, bare to the elbow, were folded on her bosom.She seemed paler in the light of the single lamp covered with aperforated paper shade. An ample white gown hid her completely in itssoft folds; even the tips of her feet, also crossed, were hardly seen.
'And why stay?' answered Bazarov.
Madame Odintsov turned her head slightly. 'You ask why. Have you notenjoyed yourself with me? Or do you suppose you will not be missedhere?'
'I am sure of it.'
Madame Odintsov was silent a minute. 'You are wrong in thinking that.But I don't believe you. You could not say that seriously.' Bazarovstill sat immovable. 'Yevgeny Vassilyitch, why don't you speak?'
'Why, what am I to say to you? People are not generally worth beingmissed, and I less than most.'
'Why so?'
'I'm a practical, uninteresting person. I don't know how to talk.'
'You are fishing, Yevgeny Vassilyitch.'
'That's not a habit of mine. Don't you know yourself that I've nothingin common with the elegant side of life, the side you prize so much?'
Madame Odintsov bit the corner of her handkerchief.
'You may think what you like, but I shall be dull when you go away.'
'Arkady will remain,' remarked Bazarov. Madame Odintsov shrugged hershoulders slightly. 'I shall be dull,' she repeated.
'Really? In any case you will not feel dull for long.'
'What makes you suppose that?'
'Because you told me yourself that you are only dull when your regularroutine is broken in upon. You have ordered your existence with suchunimpeachable regularity that there can be no place in it for dulnessor sadness ... for any unpleasant emotions.'
'And do you consider I am so unimpeachable ... that's to say, that Ihave ordered my life with such regularity?'
'I should think so. Here's an example; in a few minutes it will striketen, and I know beforehand that you will drive me away.'
'No; I'm not going to drive you away, Yevgeny Vassilyitch. You maystay. Open that window.... I feel half-stifled.'
Bazarov got up and gave a push to the window. It flew up with a loudcrash.... He had not expected it to open so easily; besides, his handswere shaking. The soft, dark night looked in to the room with itsalmost black sky, its faintly rustling trees, and the fresh fragranceof the pure open air.
'Draw the blind and sit down,' said Madame Odintsov; 'I want to have atalk with you before you go away. Tell me something about yourself; younever talk about yourself.'
'I try to talk to you upon improving subjects, Anna Sergyevna.'
'You are very modest.... But I should like to know something about you,about your family, about your father, for whom you are forsaking us.'
'Why is she talking like that?' thought Bazarov.
'All that's not in the least interesting,' he uttered aloud,'especially for you; we are obscure people....'
'And you regard me as an aristocrat?'
Bazarov lifted his eyes to Madame Odintsov.
'Yes,' he said, with exaggerated sharpness.
She smiled. 'I see you know me very little, though you do maintain thatall people are alike, and it's not worth while to study them. I willtell you my life some time or other ... but first you tell me yours.'
'I know you very little,' repeated Bazarov. 'Perhaps you are right;perhaps, really, every one is a riddle. You, for instance; you avoidsociety, you are oppressed by it, and you have invited two students tostay with you. What makes you, with your intellect, with your beauty,live in the country?'
'What? What was it you said?' Madame Odintsov interposed eagerly. 'Withmy ... beauty?'
Bazarov scowled. 'Never mind that,' he muttered; 'I meant to say that Idon't exactly understand why you have settled in the country?'
'You don't understand it.... But you explain it to yourself in someway?'
'Yes ... I assume that you remain continually in the same place becauseyou indulge yourself, because you are very fond of comfort and ease,and very indifferent to everything else.'
Madame Odintsov smiled again. 'You would absolutely refuse to believethat I am capable of being carried away by anything?'
Bazarov glanced at her from under his brows.
'By curiosity, perhaps; but not otherwise.'
'Really? Well, now I understand why we are such friends; you are justlike me, you see.'
'We are such friends ...' Bazarov articulated in a choked voice.
'Yes!... Why, I'd forgotten you wanted to go away.'
Bazarov got up. The lamp burnt dimly in the middle of the dark,luxurious, isolated room; from time to time the blind was shaken, andthere flowed in the freshness of the insidious night; there was heardits mysterious whisperings. Madame Odintsov did not move in a singlelimb; but she was gradually possessed by concealed emotion.
It communicated itself to Bazarov. He was suddenly conscious that hewas alone with a young and lovely woman....
'Where are you going?' she said slowly.
He answered nothing, and sank into a chair.
'And so you consider me a placid, pampered, spoiled creature,' she wenton in the same voice, never taking her eyes off the window. 'While Iknow so much about myself, that I am unhappy.'
'You unhappy? What for? Surely you can't attach any importance to idlegossip?'
Madame Odintsov frowned. It annoyed her that he had given such ameaning to her words.
'Such gossip does not affect me, Yevgeny Vassilyitch, and I am tooproud to allow it to disturb me. I am unhappy because ... I have nodesires, no passion for life. You look at me incredulously; you thinkthat's said by an "aristocrat," who is all in lace, and sitting in avelvet armchair. I don't conceal the fact:
I love what you callcomfort, and at the same time I have little desire to live. Explainthat contradiction as best you can. But all that's romanticism in youreyes.'
Bazarov shook his head. 'You are in good health, independent, rich;what more would you have? What do you want?'
'What do I want,' echoed Madame Odintsov, and she sighed, 'I am verytired, I am old, I feel as if I have had a very long life. Yes, I amold,' she added, softly drawing the ends of her lace over her barearms. Her eyes met Bazarov's eyes, and she faintly blushed. 'Behind meI have already so many memories: my life in Petersburg, wealth, thenpoverty, then my father's death, marriage, then the inevitable tour indue order.... So many memories, and nothing to remember, and before me,before me--a long, long road, and no goal.... I have no wish to go on.'
'Are you so disillusioned?' queried Bazarov.
'No, but I am dissatisfied,' Madame Odintsov replied, dwelling on eachsyllable. 'I think if I could interest myself strongly insomething....'
'You want to fall in love,' Bazarov interrupted her, 'and you can'tlove; that's where your unhappiness lies.'
Madame Odintsov began to examine the sleeve of her lace.
'Is it true I can't love?' she said.
'I should say not! Only I was wrong in calling that an unhappiness. Onthe contrary, any one's more to be pitied when such a mischance befallshim.'
'Mischance, what?'
'Falling in love.'
'And how do you come to know that?'
'By hearsay,' answered Bazarov angrily.
'You're flirting,' he thought; 'you're bored, and teasing me for wantof something to do, while I ...' His heart really seemed as though itwere being torn to pieces.
'Besides, you are perhaps too exacting,' he said, bending his wholeframe forward and playing with the fringe of the chair.
'Perhaps. My idea is everything or nothing. A life for a life. Takemine, give up thine, and that without regret or turning back. Or elsebetter have nothing.'
'Well?' observed Bazarov; 'that's fair terms, and I'm surprised that sofar you ... have not found what you wanted.'
'And do you think it would be easy to give oneself up wholly toanything whatever?'
'Not easy, if you begin reflecting, waiting and attaching value toyourself, prizing yourself, I mean; but to give oneself up withoutreflection is very easy.'
'How can one help prizing oneself? If I am of no value, who could needmy devotion?'
'That's not my affair; that's the other's business to discover what ismy value. The chief thing is to be able to devote oneself.'
Madame Odintsov bent forward from the back of her chair. 'You speak,'she began, 'as though you had experienced all that.'
'It happened to come up, Anna Sergyevna; all that, as you know, is notin my line.'
'But you could devote yourself?'
'I don't know. I shouldn't like to boast.'
Madame Odintsov said nothing, and Bazarov was mute. The sounds of thepiano floated up to them from the drawing-room.
'How is it Katya is playing so late?' observed Madame Odintsov.
Bazarov got up. 'Yes, it is really late now; it's time for you to go tobed.'
'Wait a little; why are you in a hurry?... I want to say one word toyou.'
'What is it?'
'Wait a little,' whispered Madame Odintsov. Her eyes rested on Bazarov;it seemed as though she were examining him attentively.
He walked across the room, then suddenly went up to her, hurriedly said'Good-bye,' squeezed her hand so that she almost screamed, and wasgone. She raised her crushed fingers to her lips, breathed on them, andsuddenly, impulsively getting up from her low chair, she moved withrapid steps towards the door, as though she wished to bring Bazarovback.... A maid came into the room with a decanter on a silver tray.Madame Odintsov stood still, told her she could go, and sat down again,and again sank into thought. Her hair slipped loose and fell in a darkcoil down her shoulders. Long after the lamp was still burning in AnnaSergyevna's room, and for long she stayed without moving, only fromtime to time chafing her hands, which ached a little from the cold ofthe night.
Bazarov went back two hours later to his bed-room with his boots wetwith dew, dishevelled and ill-humoured. He found Arkady at thewriting-table with a book in his hands, his coat buttoned up to thethroat.
'You're not in bed yet?' he said, in a tone, it seemed, of annoyance.
'You stopped a long while with Anna Sergyevna this evening,' remarkedArkady, not answering him.
'Yes, I stopped with her all the while you were playing the piano withKatya Sergyevna.'
'I did not play ...' Arkady began, and he stopped. He felt the tearswere coming into his eyes, and he did not like to cry before hissarcastic friend.