CHAPTER XXVII
Bazarov's old parents were all the more overjoyed by their son'sarrival, as it was quite unexpected. Arina Vlasyevna was greatlyexcited, and kept running backwards and forwards in the house, so thatVassily Ivanovitch compared her to a 'hen partridge'; the short tail ofher abbreviated jacket did, in fact, give her something of a birdlikeappearance. He himself merely growled and gnawed the amber mouthpieceof his pipe, or, clutching his neck with his fingers, turned his headround, as though he were trying whether it were properly screwed on,then all at once he opened his wide mouth and went off into a perfectlynoiseless chuckle.
'I've come to you for six whole weeks, governor,' Bazarov said to him.'I want to work, so please don't hinder me now.'
'You shall forget my face completely, if you call that hindering you!'answered Vassily Ivanovitch.
He kept his promise. After installing his son as before in his study,he almost hid himself away from him, and he kept his wife from allsuperfluous demonstrations of tenderness. 'On Enyusha's first visit, mydear soul,' he said to her, 'we bothered him a little; we must be wiserthis time.' Arina Vlasyevna agreed with her husband, but that was smallcompensation since she saw her son only at meals, and was nowabsolutely afraid to address him. 'Enyushenka,' she would saysometimes--and before he had time to look round, she was nervouslyfingering the tassels of her reticule and faltering, 'Never mind, nevermind, I only----' and afterwards she would go to Vassily Ivanovitchand, her cheek in her hand, would consult him: 'If you could only findout, darling, which Enyusha would like for dinner to-day--cabbage-brothor beetroot-soup?'--'But why didn't you ask him yourself?'--'Oh, hewill get sick of me!' Bazarov, however, soon ceased to shut himself up;the fever of work fell away, and was replaced by dreary boredom orvague restlessness. A strange weariness began to show itself in all hismovements; even his walk, firm, bold and strenuous, was changed. Hegave up walking in solitude, and began to seek society; he drank tea inthe drawing-room, strolled about the kitchen-garden with VassilyIvanovitch, and smoked with him in silence; once even asked afterFather Alexey. Vassily Ivanovitch at first rejoiced at this change, buthis joy was not long-lived. 'Enyusha's breaking my heart,' hecomplained in secret to his wife; 'it's not that he's discontented orangry--that would be nothing; he's sad, he's sorrowful--that's what'sso terrible. He's always silent. If he'd only abuse us; he's growingthin, he's lost his colour.'--'Mercy on us, mercy on us!' whispered theold woman; 'I would put an amulet on his neck, but, of course, he won'tallow it.' Vassily Ivanovitch several times attempted in the mostcircumspect manner to question Bazarov about his work, about hishealth, and about Arkady.... But Bazarov's replies were reluctant andcasual; and, once noticing that his father was trying gradually to leadup to something in conversation, he said to him in a tone of vexation:'Why do you always seem to be walking round me on tiptoe? That way'sworse than the old one.'--'There, there, I meant nothing!' poor VassilyIvanovitch answered hurriedly. So his diplomatic hints remainedfruitless. He hoped to awaken his son's sympathy one day by beginning_a propos_ of the approaching emancipation of the peasantry, to talkabout progress; but the latter responded indifferently: 'Yesterday Iwas walking under the fence, and I heard the peasant boys here, insteadof some old ballad, bawling a street song. That's what progress is.'
Sometimes Bazarov went into the village, and in his usual banteringtone entered into conversation with some peasant: 'Come,' he would sayto him, 'expound your views on life to me, brother; you see, they sayall the strength and future of Russia lies in your hands, a new epochin history will be started by you--you give us our real language andour laws.'
The peasant either made no reply, or articulated a few words of thissort, 'Well, we'll try ... because, you see, to be sure....'
'You explain to me what your _mir_ is,' Bazarov interrupted; 'and is itthe same _mir_ that is said to rest on three fishes?'
'That, little father, is the earth that rests on three fishes,' thepeasant would declare soothingly, in a kind of patriarchal,simple-hearted sing-song; 'and over against ours, that's to say, the_mir_, we know there's the master's will; wherefore you are ourfathers. And the stricter the master's rule, the better for thepeasant.'
After listening to such a reply one day, Bazarov shrugged his shoulderscontemptuously and turned away, while the peasant sauntered slowlyhomewards.
'What was he talking about?' inquired another peasant of middle age andsurly aspect, who at a distance from the door of his hut had beenfollowing his conversation with Bazarov.--'Arrears? eh?'
'Arrears, no indeed, mate!' answered the first peasant, and now therewas no trace of patriarchal singsong in his voice; on the contrary,there was a certain scornful gruffness to be heard in it: 'Oh, heclacked away about something or other; wanted to stretch his tongue abit. Of course, he's a gentleman; what does he understand?'
'What should he understand!' answered the other peasant, and jerkingback their caps and pushing down their belts, they proceeded todeliberate upon their work and their wants. Alas! Bazarov, shrugginghis shoulders contemptuously, Bazarov, who knew how to talk to peasants(as he had boasted in his dispute with Pavel Petrovitch), did not inhis self-confidence even suspect that in their eyes he was all thewhile something of the nature of a buffooning clown.
He found employment for himself at last, however. One day VassilyIvanovitch bound up a peasant's wounded leg before him, but the oldman's hands trembled, and he could not manage the bandages; his sonhelped him, and from time to time began to take a share in hispractice, though at the same time he was constantly sneering both atthe remedies he himself advised and at his father, who hastened to makeuse of them. But Bazarov's jeers did not in the least perturb VassilyIvanovitch; they were positively a comfort to him. Holding his greasydressing-gown across his stomach with two fingers, and smoking hispipe, he used to listen with enjoyment to Bazarov; and the moremalicious his sallies, the more good-humouredly did his delightedfather chuckle, showing every one of his black teeth. He used even torepeat these sometimes flat or pointless retorts, and would, forinstance, for several days constantly without rhyme or reason,reiterate, 'Not a matter of the first importance!' simply because hisson, on hearing he was going to matins, had made use of thatexpression. 'Thank God! he has got over his melancholy!' he whisperedto his wife; 'how he gave it to me to-day, it was splendid!' Moreover,the idea of having such an assistant excited him to ecstasy, filled himwith pride. 'Yes, yes,' he would say to some peasant woman in a man'scloak, and a cap shaped like a horn, as he handed her a bottle ofGoulard's extract or a box of white ointment, 'you ought to be thankingGod, my good woman, every minute that my son is staying with me; youwill be treated now by the most scientific, most modern method. Do youknow what that means? The Emperor of the French, Napoleon, even, has nobetter doctor.' And the peasant woman, who had come to complain thatshe felt so sort of queer all over (the exact meaning of these wordsshe was not able, however, herself to explain), merely bowed low andrummaged in her bosom, where four eggs lay tied up in the corner of atowel.
Bazarov once even pulled out a tooth for a passing pedlar of cloth; andthough this tooth was an average specimen, Vassily Ivanovitch preservedit as a curiosity, and incessantly repeated, as he showed it to FatherAlexey, 'Just look, what a fang! The force Yevgeny has! The pedlarseemed to leap into the air. If it had been an oak, he'd have rooted itup!'
'Most promising!' Father Alexey would comment at last, not knowing whatanswer to make, and how to get rid of the ecstatic old man.
One day a peasant from a neighbouring village brought his brother toVassily Ivanovitch, ill with typhus. The unhappy man, lying flat on atruss of straw, was dying; his body was covered with dark patches, hehad long ago lost consciousness. Vassily Ivanovitch expressed hisregret that no one had taken steps to procure medical aid sooner, anddeclared there was no hope. And, in fact, the peasant did not get hisbrother home again; he died in the cart.
Three days later Bazarov came into his father's room and asked him ifhe had any caustic.
'Yes; what do you want it for?'
'I must have some ... to burn a cut.'
'For whom?'
'For myself.'
'What, yourself? Why is that? What sort of a cut? Where is it?'
'Look here, on my finger. I went to-day to the village, you know, wherethey brought that peasant with typhus fever. They were just going toopen the body for some reason or other, and I've had no practice ofthat sort for a long while.'
'Well?'
'Well, so I asked the district doctor about it; and so I dissected it.'
Vassily Ivanovitch all at once turned quite white, and, withoututtering a word, rushed to his study, from which he returned at oncewith a bit of caustic in his hand. Bazarov was about to take it and goaway.
'For mercy's sake,' said Vassily Ivanovitch, 'let me do it myself.'
Bazarov smiled. 'What a devoted practitioner!'
'Don't laugh, please. Show me your finger. The cut is not a large one.Do I hurt?'
'Press harder; don't be afraid.'
Vassily Ivanovitch stopped. 'What do you think, Yevgeny; wouldn't it bebetter to burn it with hot iron?'
'That ought to have been done sooner; the caustic even is useless,really, now. If I've taken the infection, it's too late now.'
'How ... too late ...' Vassily Ivanovitch could scarcely articulate thewords.
'I should think so! It's more than four hours ago.'
Vassily Ivanovitch burnt the cut a little more. 'But had the districtdoctor no caustic?'
'No.'
'How was that, good Heavens? A doctor not have such an indispensablething as that!'
'You should have seen his lancets,' observed Bazarov as he walked away.
Up till late that evening, and all the following day, VassilyIvanovitch kept catching at every possible excuse to go into his son'sroom; and though far from referring to the cut--he even tried to talkabout the most irrelevant subjects--he looked so persistently into hisface, and watched him in such trepidation, that Bazarov lost patienceand threatened to go away. Vassily Ivanovitch gave him a promise not tobother him, the more readily as Arina Vlasyevna, from whom, of course,he kept it all secret, was beginning to worry him as to why he did notsleep, and what had come over him. For two whole days he held himselfin, though he did not at all like the look of his son, whom he keptwatching stealthily, ... but on the third day, at dinner, he could bearit no longer. Bazarov sat with downcast looks, and had not touched asingle dish.
'Why don't you eat, Yevgeny?' he inquired, putting on an expression ofthe most perfect carelessness. 'The food, I think, is very nicelycooked.'
'I don't want anything, so I don't eat.'
'Have you no appetite? And your head?' he added timidly; 'does itache?'
'Yes. Of course, it aches.'
Arina Vlasyevna sat up and was all alert.
'Don't be angry, please, Yevgeny,' continued Vassily Ivanovitch; 'won'tyou let me feel your pulse?'
Bazarov got up. 'I can tell you without feeling my pulse; I'mfeverish.'
'Has there been any shivering?'
'Yes, there has been shivering too. I'll go and lie down, and you cansend me some lime-flower tea. I must have caught cold.'
'To be sure, I heard you coughing last night,' observed ArinaVlasyevna.
'I've caught cold,' repeated Bazarov, and he went away.
Arina Vlasyevna busied herself about the preparation of the decoctionof lime-flowers, while Vassily Ivanovitch went into the next room andclutched at his hair in silent desperation.
Bazarov did not get up again that day, and passed the whole night inheavy, half-unconscious torpor. At one o'clock in the morning, openinghis eyes with an effort, he saw by the light of a lamp his father'spale face bending over him, and told him to go away. The old man beggedhis pardon, but he quickly came back on tiptoe, and half-hidden by thecupboard door, he gazed persistently at his son. Arina Vlasyevna didnot go to bed either, and leaving the study door just open a verylittle, she kept coming up to it to listen 'how Enyusha was breathing,'and to look at Vassily Ivanovitch. She could see nothing but hismotionless bent back, but even that afforded her some faintconsolation. In the morning Bazarov tried to get up; he was seized withgiddiness, his nose began to bleed; he lay down again. VassilyIvanovitch waited on him in silence; Arina Vlasyevna went in to him andasked him how he was feeling. He answered, 'Better,' and turned to thewall. Vassily Ivanovitch gesticulated at his wife with both hands; shebit her lips so as not to cry, and went away. The whole house seemedsuddenly darkened; every one looked gloomy; there was a strange hush; ashrill cock was carried away from the yard to the village, unable tocomprehend why he should be treated so. Bazarov still lay, turned tothe wall. Vassily Ivanovitch tried to address him with variousquestions, but they fatigued Bazarov, and the old man sank into hisarmchair, motionless, only cracking his finger-joints now and then. Hewent for a few minutes into the garden, stood there like a statue, asthough overwhelmed with unutterable bewilderment (the expression ofamazement never left his face all through), and went back again to hisson, trying to avoid his wife's questions. She caught him by the arm atlast and passionately, almost menacingly, said, 'What is wrong withhim?' Then he came to himself, and forced himself to smile at her inreply; but to his own horror, instead of a smile, he found himselftaken somehow by a fit of laughter. He had sent at daybreak for adoctor. He thought it necessary to inform his son of this, for fear heshould be angry. Bazarov suddenly turned over on the sofa, bent a fixeddull look on his father, and asked for drink.
Vassily Ivanovitch gave him some water, and as he did so felt hisforehead. It seemed on fire.
'Governor,' began Bazarov, in a slow, drowsy voice; 'I'm in a bad way;I've got the infection, and in a few days you'll have to bury me.'
Vassily Ivanovitch staggered back, as though some one had aimed a blowat his legs.
'Yevgeny!' he faltered; 'what do you mean!... God have mercy on you!You've caught cold!'
'Hush!' Bazarov interposed deliberately. 'A doctor can't be allowed totalk like that. There's every symptom of infection; you know yourself.'
'Where are the symptoms ... of infection Yevgeny?... Good Heavens!'
'What's this?' said Bazarov, and, pulling up his shirtsleeve, he showedhis father the ominous red patches coming out on his arm.
Vassily Ivanovitch was shaking and chill with terror.
'Supposing,' he said at last, 'even supposing ... if even there'ssomething like ... infection ...'
'Pyaemia,' put in his son.
'Well, well ... something of the epidemic ...'
'Pyaemia,' Bazarov repeated sharply and distinctly; 'have you forgottenyour text-books?'
'Well, well--as you like.... Anyway, we will cure you!'
'Come, that's humbug. But that's not the point. I didn't expect to dieso soon; it's a most unpleasant incident, to tell the truth. You andmother ought to make the most of your strong religious belief; now'sthe time to put it to the test.' He drank off a little water. 'I wantto ask you about one thing ... while my head is still under my control.To-morrow or next day my brain, you know, will send in its resignation.I'm not quite certain even now whether I'm expressing myself clearly.While I've been lying here, I've kept fancying red dogs were runninground me, while you were making them point at me, as if I were awoodcock. Just as if I were drunk. Do you understand me all right?'
'I assure you, Yevgeny, you are talking perfectly correctly.'
'All the better. You told me you'd sent for the doctor. You did that tocomfort yourself ... comfort me too; send a messenger ...'
'To Arkady Nikolaitch?' put in the old man.
'Who's Arkady Nikolaitch?' said Bazarov, as though in doubt.... 'Oh,yes! that chicken! No, let him alone; he's turned jackdaw now. Don't besurprised; that's not delirium yet. You send a messenger to MadameOdintsov, Anna Sergyevna; she's a lady with an estate.... Do you know?'(Vassily Ivanovitch nodded.) 'Yevgeny Bazarov, say, sends hisgreetings, and sends word he is dying. Will you do that?'
'Yes, I wi
ll do it.... But is it a possible thing for you to die,Yevgeny?... Think only! Where would divine justice be after that?'
'I know nothing about that; only you send the messenger.'
'I'll send this minute, and I'll write a letter myself.'
'No, why? Say I sent greetings; nothing more is necessary. And now I'llgo back to my dogs. Strange! I want to fix my thoughts on death, andnothing comes of it. I see a kind of blur ... and nothing more.'
He turned painfully back to the wall again; while Vassily Ivanovitchwent out of the study, and struggling as far as his wife's bedroom,simply dropped down on to his knees before the holy pictures.
'Pray, Arina, pray for us!' he moaned; 'our son is dying.'
The doctor, the same district doctor who had had no caustic, arrived,and after looking at the patient, advised them to persevere with acooling treatment, and at that point said a few words of the chance ofrecovery.
'Have you ever chanced to see people in my state _not_ set off forElysium?' asked Bazarov, and suddenly snatching the leg of a heavytable that stood near his sofa, he swung it round, and pushed it away.'There's strength, there's strength,' he murmured; 'everything's herestill, and I must die!... An old man at least has time to be weanedfrom life, but I ... Well, go and try to disprove death. Death willdisprove you, and that's all! Who's crying there?' he added, after ashort pause--'Mother? Poor thing! Whom will she feed now with herexquisite beetroot-soup? You, Vassily Ivanovitch, whimpering too, I dobelieve! Why, if Christianity's no help to you, be a philosopher, aStoic, or what not! Why, didn't you boast you were a philosopher?'
'Me a philosopher!' wailed Vassily Ivanovitch, while the tears fairlystreamed down his cheeks.
Bazarov got worse every hour; the progress of the disease was rapid, asis usually the way in cases of surgical poisoning. He still had notlost consciousness, and understood what was said to him; he was stillstruggling. 'I don't want to lose my wits,' he muttered, clenching hisfists; 'what rot it all is!' And at once he would say, 'Come, take tenfrom eight, what remains?' Vassily Ivanovitch wandered about like onepossessed, proposed first one remedy, then another, and ended by doingnothing but cover up his son's feet. 'Try cold pack ... emetic ...mustard plasters on the stomach ... bleeding,' he would murmur with aneffort. The doctor, whom he had entreated to remain, agreed with him,ordered the patient lemonade to drink, and for himself asked for a pipeand something 'warming and strengthening'--that's to say, brandy. ArinaVlasyevna sat on a low stool near the door, and only went out from timeto time to pray. A few days before, a looking-glass had slipped out ofher hands and been broken, and this she had always considered an omenof evil; even Anfisushka could say nothing to her. Timofeitch had goneoff to Madame Odintsov's.
The night passed badly for Bazarov.... He was in the agonies of highfever. Towards morning he was a little easier. He asked for ArinaVlasyevna to comb his hair, kissed her hand, and swallowed two gulps oftea. Vassily Ivanovitch revived a little.
'Thank God!' he kept declaring; 'the crisis is coming, the crisis is athand!'
'There, to think now!' murmured Bazarov; 'what a word can do! He'sfound it; he's said "crisis," and is comforted. It's an astoundingthing how man believes in words. If he's told he's a fool, forinstance, though he's not thrashed, he'll be wretched; call him aclever fellow, and he'll be delighted if you go off without payinghim.'
This little speech of Bazarov's, recalling his old retorts, movedVassily Ivanovitch greatly.
'Bravo! well said, very good!' he cried, making as though he wereclapping his hands.
Bazarov smiled mournfully.
'So what do you think,' he said; 'is the crisis over, or coming?'
'You are better, that's what I see, that's what rejoices me,' answeredVassily Ivanovitch.
'Well, that's good; rejoicings never come amiss. And to her, do youremember? did you send?'
'To be sure I did.'
The change for the better did not last long. The disease resumed itsonslaughts. Vassily Ivanovitch was sitting by Bazarov. It seemed asthough the old man were tormented by some special anguish. He wasseveral times on the point of speaking--and could not.
'Yevgeny!' he brought out at last; 'my son, my one, dear son!'
This unfamiliar mode of address produced an effect on Bazarov. Heturned his head a little, and, obviously trying to fight against theload of oblivion weighing upon him, he articulated: 'What is it,father?'
'Yevgeny,' Vassily Ivanovitch went on, and he fell on his knees beforeBazarov, though the latter had closed his eyes and could not see him.'Yevgeny, you are better now; please God, you will get well, but makeuse of this time, comfort your mother and me, perform the duty of aChristian! What it means for me to say this to you, it's awful; butstill more awful ... for ever and ever, Yevgeny ... think a little,what ...'
The old man's voice broke, and a strange look passed over his son'sface, though he still lay with closed eyes.
'I won't refuse, if that can be any comfort to you,' he brought out atlast; 'but it seems to me there's no need to be in a hurry. You sayyourself I am better.'
'Oh, yes, Yevgeny, better certainly; but who knows, it is all in God'shands, and in doing the duty ...'
'No, I will wait a bit,' broke in Bazarov. 'I agree with you that thecrisis has come. And if we're mistaken, well! they give the sacramentto men who're unconscious, you know.'
'Yevgeny, I beg.'
'I'll wait a little. And now I want to go to sleep. Don't disturb me.'And he laid his head back on the pillow.
The old man rose from his knees, sat down in the armchair, and,clutching his beard, began biting his own fingers ...
The sound of a light carriage on springs, that sound which ispeculiarly impressive in the wilds of the country, suddenly struck uponhis hearing. Nearer and nearer rolled the light wheels; now even theneighing of the horses could be heard.... Vassily Ivanovitch jumped upand ran to the little window. There drove into the courtyard of hislittle house a carriage with seats for two, with four horses harnessedabreast. Without stopping to consider what it could mean, with a rushof a sort of senseless joy, he ran out on to the steps.... A groom inlivery was opening the carriage doors; a lady in a black veil and ablack mantle was getting out of it ...
'I am Madame Odintsov,' she said. 'Yevgeny Vassilvitch is still living?You are his father? I have a doctor with me.'
'Benefactress!' cried Vassily Ivanovitch, and snatching her hand, hepressed it convulsively to his lips, while the doctor brought by AnnaSergyevna, a little man in spectacles, of German physiognomy, steppedvery deliberately out of the carriage. 'Still living, my Yevgeny isliving, and now he will be saved! Wife! wife!... An angel from heavenhas come to us....'
'What does it mean, good Lord!' faltered the old woman, running out ofthe drawing-room; and, comprehending nothing, she fell on the spot inthe passage at Anna Sergyevna's feet, and began kissing her garmentslike a mad woman.
'What are you doing!' protested Anna Sergyevna; but Arina Vlasyevna didnot heed her, while Vassily Ivanovitch could only repeat, 'An angel! anangel!'
'_Wo ist der Kranke?_ and where is the patient?' said the doctor atlast, with some impatience.
Vassily Ivanovitch recovered himself. 'Here, here, follow me,wurdigster Herr Collega,' he added through old associations.
'Ah!' articulated the German, grinning sourly.
Vassily Ivanovitch led him into the study. 'The doctor from AnnaSergyevna Odintsov,' he said, bending down quite to his son's ear, 'andshe herself is here.'
Bazarov suddenly opened his eyes. 'What did you say?'
'I say that Anna Sergyevna is here, and has brought this gentleman, adoctor, to you.'
Bazarov moved his eyes about him. 'She is here.... I want to see her.'
'You shall see her, Yevgeny; but first we must have a little talk withthe doctor. I will tell him the whole history of your illness sinceSidor Sidoritch' (this was the name of the district doctor) 'has gone,and we will have a little consultation.'
Bazarov glanced at the
German. 'Well, talk away quickly, only not inLatin; you see, I know the meaning of _jam moritur_.'
'_Der Herr scheint des Deutschen maechtig zu sein_,' began the newfollower of Aesculapius, turning to Vassily Ivanovitch.
'_Ich_ ... _gabe_ ... We had better speak Russian,' said the old man.
'Ah, ah! so that's how it is.... To be sure ...' And the consultationbegan.
Half-an-hour later Anna Sergyevna, conducted by Vassily Ivanovitch,came into the study. The doctor had had time to whisper to her that itwas hopeless even to think of the patient's recovery.
She looked at Bazarov ... and stood still in the doorway, so greatlywas she impressed by the inflamed, and at the same time deathly face,with its dim eyes fastened upon her. She felt simply dismayed, with asort of cold and suffocating dismay; the thought that she would nothave felt like that if she had really loved him flashed instantaneouslythrough her brain.
'Thanks,' he said painfully, 'I did not expect this. It's a deed ofmercy. So we have seen each other again, as you promised.'
'Anna Sergyevna has been so kind,' began Vassily Ivanovitch ...
'Father, leave us alone. Anna Sergyevna, you will allow it, I fancy,now?'
With a motion of his head, he indicated his prostrate helpless frame.
Vassily Ivanovitch went out.
'Well, thanks,' repeated Bazarov. 'This is royally done. Monarchs, theysay, visit the dying too.'
'Yevgeny Vassilyitch, I hope----'
'Ah, Anna Sergyevna, let us speak the truth. It's all over with me. I'munder the wheel. So it turns out that it was useless to think of thefuture. Death's an old joke, but it comes fresh to every one. So farI'm not afraid ... but there, senselessness is coming, and then it'sall up!----' he waved his hand feebly. 'Well, what had I to say toyou ... I loved you! there was no sense in that even before, and lessthan ever now. Love is a form, and my own form is already breakingup. Better say how lovely you are! And now here you stand, sobeautiful ...'
Anna Sergyevna gave an involuntary shudder.
'Never mind, don't be uneasy.... Sit down there.... Don't come close tome; you know, my illness is catching.'
Anna Sergyevna swiftly crossed the room, and sat down in the armchairnear the sofa on which Bazarov was lying.
'Noble-hearted!' he whispered. 'Oh, how near, and how young, and fresh,and pure ... in this loathsome room!... Well, good-bye! live long,that's the best of all, and make the most of it while there is time.You see what a hideous spectacle; the worm half-crushed, but writhingstill. And, you see, I thought too: I'd break down so many things, Iwouldn't die, why should I! there were problems to solve, and I was agiant! And now all the problem for the giant is how to die decently,though that makes no difference to any one either.... Never mind; I'mnot going to turn tail.'
Bazarov was silent, and began feeling with his hand for the glass. AnnaSergyevna gave him some drink, not taking off her glove, and drawingher breath timorously.
'You will forget me,' he began again; 'the dead's no companion for theliving. My father will tell you what a man Russia is losing.... That'snonsense, but don't contradict the old man. Whatever toy will comfortthe child ... you know. And be kind to mother. People like them aren'tto be found in your great world if you look by daylight with acandle.... I was needed by Russia.... No, it's clear, I wasn't needed.And who is needed? The shoemaker's needed, the tailor's needed, thebutcher ... gives us meat ... the butcher ... wait a little, I'mgetting mixed.... There's a forest here ...'
Bazarov put his hand to his brow.
Anna Sergyevna bent down to him. 'Yevgeny Vassilyitch, I am here ...'
He at once took his hand away, and raised himself.
'Good-bye,' he said with sudden force, and his eyes gleamed with theirlast light. 'Good-bye.... Listen ... you know I didn't kiss youthen.... Breathe on the dying lamp, and let it go out ...'
Anna Sergyevna put her lips to his forehead.
'Enough!' he murmured, and dropped back on to the pillow. 'Now ...darkness ...'
Anna Sergyevna went softly out. 'Well?' Vassily Ivanovitch asked her ina whisper.
'He has fallen asleep,' she answered, hardly audibly. Bazarov was notfated to awaken. Towards evening he sank into complete unconsciousness,and the following day he died. Father Alexey performed the last ritesof religion over him. When they anointed him with the last unction,when the holy oil touched his breast, one eye opened, and it seemed asthough at the sight of the priest in his vestments, the smokingcensers, the light before the image, something like a shudder of horrorpassed over the death-stricken face. When at last he had breathed hislast, and there arose a universal lamentation in the house, VassilyIvanovitch was seized by a sudden frenzy. 'I said I should rebel,' heshrieked hoarsely, with his face inflamed and distorted, shaking hisfist in the air, as though threatening some one; 'and I rebel, Irebel!' But Arina Vlasyevna, all in tears, hung upon his neck, and bothfell on their faces together. 'Side by side,' Anfisushka relatedafterwards in the servants' room, 'they dropped their poor heads likelambs at noonday ...'
But the heat of noonday passes, and evening comes and night, and then,too, the return to the kindly refuge, where sleep is sweet for theweary and heavy laden....