‘Your present abode, gentlemen, reminds me of my army camp life, of dressing stations – they too were somewhere like this, by a haystack – and we were thankful to have that.’ He sighed. ‘What a lot I’ve been through in my time. For example, if you’ll allow me, I’ll tell you a curious story about the plague in Bessarabia.’
‘For which you got your Vladimir,’11 Bazarov interrupted. ‘We know, we know… By the by, why aren’t you wearing it?’
‘I told you, I don’t go for conventions,’ Vasily Ivanovich muttered (he had had the red ribbon cut off his coat only the day before) and began to tell the story about the plague. ‘Look, he’s gone to sleep,’ he whispered suddenly to Arkady with a friendly wink, pointing at Bazarov. ‘Yevgeny, get up!’ he added. ‘Let’s go and have dinner…’
Father Aleksey, a handsome large figure of a man, with thick, carefully combed hair, wearing an embroidered belt over a lilac silk cassock, turned out to be very clever and quick-witted. He was quick to take the initiative and give Arkady and Bazarov a handshake12 as if he already understood that they didn’t need his blessing, and in general he was completely at ease. He didn’t let himself down, nor did he offend others. He laughed at seminarian Latin and stood up for his bishop. He drank two small glasses of wine and refused a third. He accepted a cigar from Arkady but didn’t start smoking it, saying he would take it home. The only not quite pleasant thing about him was that from time to time he would slowly and carefully bring up his hand to catch flies on his face and sometimes would actually squash them. He sat down at the green baize card table with a mild expression of pleasure and eventually beat Bazarov soundly, winning off him two and a half roubles in paper money: in Arina Vlasyevna’s house they wouldn’t dream of keeping a tally in silver13… She sat by her son as before, leaning her chin on her hand, and only got up to tell them to serve some new delicacy. She was nervous of showing affection to Bazarov, and he didn’t give her any encouragement, he didn’t invite her caresses. And Vasily Ivanovich had warned her not to ‘bother’ him too much. ‘Young men don’t like it,’ he repeated to her.
(There’s no need to say what kind of dinner was served that day: Timofeich in person had trotted off at daybreak to fetch some special Circassian beef; the bailiff had driven in another direction in quest of burbot, ruff and crayfish; for the mushrooms alone the peasant women were paid 42 copper copecks.)
But Arina Vlasyevna’s eyes, which were fixed on Bazarov without moving, didn’t just show devotion and tenderness, they showed sorrow too, mixed with curiosity and fear, and also meek reproach.
However, Bazarov didn’t bother with working out exactly what lay in the expression of his mother’s eyes. He seldom turned towards her, and then only to put a brief question. Once he asked her to give him her hand ‘for luck’. She quietly placed her soft hand on his hard, broad palm.
‘Well,’ she asked after a pause, ‘did it help?’
‘It was even worse,’ he answered with a casual smile.
‘He’s taking big risks,’ Father Aleksey stated, almost with sympathy, stroking his fine beard.
‘Napoleon’s first rule, Father, Napoleon’s first rule,’ said Vasily Ivanovich and led an ace.
‘That took him to the island of St Helena,’ said Father Aleksey and took his ace with a trump.
‘Yenyushechka, would you like some blackcurrant drink?’ said Arina Vlasyevna.
Bazarov shrugged his shoulders.
‘No,’ he said the next day to Arkady, ‘I’m leaving here tomorrow. It’s so dull. I want to work but here I can’t. I’ll go again to your place. I’ve left all my experimental stuff there. At least in your house I can shut my door, whereas here my father keeps on saying to me, “My study is at your service – no one is going to bother you,” but he himself sticks to me like glue. And I feel a bit ashamed of shutting the door on him. My mother’s the same. I can hear her sighing on the other side of the wall, but if I go out to her, I haven’t anything to say to her.’
‘She’ll be very sad,’ said Arkady, ‘and he will too.’
‘I’ll come back to them.’
‘When?’ ‘When I go to St Petersburg.’
‘I feel especially sorry for your mother.’
‘Why? Did she give you some nice berries or something?’
Arkady lowered his eyes.
‘You don’t know your mother, Yevgeny. She’s not just an excellent woman, she’s really very intelligent. This morning she chatted to me for half an hour, and was so sensible and interesting.’
‘I suppose she went on about me.’
‘We didn’t only talk about you.’
‘Maybe you’re right. You’re an outsider and can see more. If a woman can keep a conversation going for half an hour, that’s a really good sign. But I’m still leaving.’
‘It won’t be easy for you to break that news to them. They’re busy discussing what we’re going to be doing in two weeks’ time.’
‘Yes, it won’t be easy. Today the devil tempted me to tease my father. The other day he had one of his quit-rent muzhiks flogged – and he was absolutely right. Don’t look at me with such horror, he was absolutely right, because the man was a terrible thief and drunk. Only my father was certainly not expecting me to be “apprised” of this, as they say. He was very embarrassed, and now on top of that I’m going to hurt him… It doesn’t matter! He’ll get over it.’
Bazarov had said, ‘It doesn’t matter!’ – but the whole day went by before he could bring himself to tell Vasily Ivanovich of his plans. Eventually, having already said goodnight to him in the study, he said with a forced yawn:
‘Yes… I almost forgot to tell you…Can you have them send a change of horses over to Fedot’s?’
Vasily Ivanovich showed his shock.
‘Is Mr Kirsanov leaving us?’
‘Yes. And I’m going with him.’
Vasily Ivanovich staggered on his feet.
‘You’re leaving?’
‘Yes… I have to. Please tell them about the horses.’
‘Very well,’ the old man stammered. ‘A change of horses… very well… only… only… Why are you leaving?’
‘I have to go and stay with him a short time. Then I’ll come back here.’
‘Right! A short time… Very well.’ Vasily Ivanovich took out his handkerchief and blew his nose, bending down almost to the ground. ‘So. That… that’ll be it. I thought you’d be with us… a bit longer. Three days… After three years. That’s… that’s not very long. Not very long, Yevgeny!’
‘But I’ve told you I’m coming back soon. I absolutely have to go.’
‘You absolutely have to… Well then. Duty comes first. So you want me to send the horses? Very well. Of course that’s not what Arina and I were expecting. She’s just gone and asked our neighbour for flowers to decorate your room.’ (Vasily Ivanovich didn’t mention that every morning, at first light, standing barefoot in his slippers, he conferred with Timofeich and, pulling out one torn banknote after another, gave him various commissions, with special emphasis on provisions and on red wine, which, as far as he could see, the young men very much liked.) ‘The most important thing is liberty. That’s my rule… no constraints… no…’
He suddenly stopped and went to the door.
‘Father, we’ll see each other again soon, we will.’
But Vasily Ivanovich just waved his hand without turning round and went out. Returning to his bedroom, he found his wife in bed and began to pray in a whisper so as not to wake her. But she woke up.
‘Is that you, Vasily Ivanych?’ she asked.
‘Yes, Mother, it is!’
‘Have you come from Yenyusha? Do you know, I worry whether he’s comfortable sleeping on the couch. I told Anfisushka to give him your army mattress and new pillows. I’d have given him our feather mattress but I remember he doesn’t like his bed to be too soft.’
‘It doesn’t matter, Mother, don’t worry. He’s fine. Lord, have mercy on us sinners,’ he con
tinued, praying in a low voice. Vasily Ivanovich felt sorry for his old woman. He didn’t want to tell her of the sorrow that awaited her last thing at night.
Bazarov and Arkady left the next day. From the morning on a gloom came over everyone. Anfisushka dropped dishes. Even Fedka was thrown by events and ended up by taking off his boots. Vasily Ivanovich fussed about more than ever. He was clearly trying to be brave, talking in a loud voice and stamping his feet, but he had a long face and kept avoiding his son’s eyes. Arina Vlasyevna cried gently. She would have completely gone to pieces and lost control if early in the morning her husband hadn’t lectured her for a whole two hours. When Bazarov, after repeated promises to come back no later than in a month’s time, finally tore himself from her clinging embraces and got into the tarantas; when the horses started and the harness bell rang and the wheels began to turn; when there was no longer any point in looking after them, and the dust had settled, and Timofeich had scuttled back into his little room, all hunched and stumbling as he went; when the old people were alone in their house which also seemed suddenly to have become shrunken and dilapidated – Vasily Ivanovich, who a few moments before had been bravely waving his handkerchief on the porch, fell into a chair and dropped his head.
‘He’s, he’s deserted us,’ he stammered, ‘deserted us. He got bored here with us. I’m all alone in the world, like this finger, all alone!’ he repeated several times and each time held out his hand in front of him, sticking out his index finger. Then Arina Vlasyevna came next to him and, laying her grey head by his, said, ‘What can we do, Vasya! Our son has left the nest. Like a falcon he came to us when he wanted to, and when he wanted to he flew off. And you and I sit side by side and can’t move, like mushrooms on a hollow tree. Only I’ll be your true one for ever and you’ll be mine.’
Vasily Ivanovich took his hands from his face and put his arms round his wife, his helpmeet, in a firm embrace – he hadn’t embraced her like that when they were young. She brought him comfort in his grief.
XXII
Our friends travelled to Fedot’s in silence, only occasionally exchanging some words of no consequence. Bazarov wasn’t altogether pleased with himself. Arkady certainly was not pleased with him. Also he felt in his heart that melancholy which comes on for no reason and which is only known to the very young. The coachman changed the horses, got up on the box and asked, ‘Right or left?’
Arkady shivered. The road to the right led to the town, and from there to home, the road to the left led to Odintsova’s.
He gave Bazarov a look.
‘Yevgeny,’ he asked, ‘shall we go to the left?’
Bazarov turned away.
‘What kind of folly is this?’ he mumbled.
‘I know it’s folly,’ Arkady answered. ‘But what’s the harm? It’s not our first time, is it?’
Bazarov pulled his cap down over his forehead.
‘You know best,’ he said eventually.
‘Left!’ cried Arkady.
The tarantas rolled off in the direction of Nikolskoye. But, having decided on ‘folly’, the friends maintained a yet more stubborn silence and even seemed angry.
From the very way the butler greeted them on the porch of Anna Sergeyevna’s house the friends could have guessed that they had acted stupidly in giving in to a passing whim. They obviously weren’t expected. For a longish time they sat in the drawing room, looking quite silly. Finally Anna Sergeyevna came out to them. She greeted them in her normal amiable way but expressed her surprise at their return after such a short time and, in so far as one could judge by the languidness of her speech and movements, was none too pleased by it. They hastened to make it plain that they had only dropped in on their way and after four hours or so would be leaving for town. She confined herself to a mild protest, asked Arkady to give his father her regards, and sent for her aunt. The princess appeared looking very sleepy, which made her wrinkled old face look even crosser than usual. Katya wasn’t feeling well and didn’t come out of her room. Arkady suddenly felt that he at any rate wanted to see Katya as much as Anna Sergeyevna herself. The four hours went by in trivial talk about this and that; Anna Sergeyevna both talked and listened without a smile. It was only when she actually said goodbye that her earlier friendliness seemed to stir within her.
‘I’m feeling out of sorts at present,’ she said, ‘but pay no attention to that and come again soon – I’m saying that to both of you.’
Both Bazarov and Arkady responded to her with a silent bow, got into the carriage and set off for home without making any further stops. They successfully reached Marino on the evening of the next day. During the whole journey neither one of them as much as mentioned Odintsova’s name. Bazarov in particular didn’t open his mouth and kept looking sideways, away from the road, with a kind of furious concentration.
Everyone at Marino was overjoyed to see them. His son’s prolonged absence was beginning to worry Nikolay Petrovich. He shouted, stamped his feet and bounced up and down on the sofa when Fenechka ran into his room with shining eyes and announced the arrival of the ‘young gentlemen’. Pavel Petrovich himself felt some pleasurable excitement and gave a condescending smile as he shook the hands of the returning wanderers. The talk and questions began. Arkady spoke most, especially over dinner, which went on long past midnight. Nikolay Petrovich had served several bottles of porter, which had just been brought from Moscow, and drank quite a bit himself so that his cheeks turned the colour of raspberries and he went on laughing with a kind of half-childish, half-nervous laugh. The general animation infected the servants as well. Dunyasha ran to and fro like a madwoman and kept slamming doors, while even after two in the morning Pyotr was still trying to play a Cossack waltz on the guitar. The strings made a pleasant plaintive sound in the still air, but the cultured valet couldn’t produce anything beyond a brief opening trill. Nature had denied him musical talent, like all others.
But meanwhile life at Marino wasn’t going too well, and poor Nikolay Petrovich was having a hard time.1 Troubles with the farm – depressing, stupid troubles – grew daily. Problems with the hired labourers were becoming intolerable. Some were demanding settlements or increases, others left after getting an advance on their wages. Horses went sick and harnesses fell to pieces. Work was carried out sloppily. A threshing machine that had been ordered from Moscow turned out to be useless because of its weight. Another one broke the first time it was used. Half of the cattle byre burnt down because a blind old woman, one of the house serfs, tried to fumigate her cow with a live coal… it’s true the old woman averred the whole trouble had come about because the master had had the idea of making some extraordinary cheeses and dairy products. The steward became lazy and even started to become fat, as every Russian man does when he starts getting ‘free rations’. When he saw Nikolay Petrovich in the distance, to demonstrate his keenness he would throw a stick at a passing piglet or swear at a half-naked urchin, but otherwise he spent most of his time asleep. Peasants who had been put on quit-rent didn’t pay on time and stole wood. Almost every night the watchmen caught peasants’ horses on the meadows of the ‘farm’ and sometimes impounded them forcibly. Nikolay Petrovich would impose a fine for the damage to his crops, but matters usually ended with the horses being returned to their owners after a day or two on the master’s fodder.
To crown everything the peasants were beginning to quarrel among themselves: brothers demanded a division of property; their wives couldn’t get on together in one house. A fight would flare up, and everyone would suddenly be on their feet as if at an order and rush to the porch of the estate office and get at the master – often with black eyes and drunk – demanding justice and punishment. There was noise and screaming, the snivelling wails of women alternating with the curses of men. Nikolay Petrovich had to sort out the warring parties and shout himself hoarse, knowing in advance that it was still impossible to reach a fair settlement. There weren’t enough hands for the harvest. A neighbouring smallholder, looking ever so rea
sonable, bargained to provide reapers for two roubles a desyatina2 and cheated in the most shameless way. Nikolay Petrovich’s own women were asking absurd rates and meanwhile the corn went to seed. One day the mowing wasn’t being done, another day the Council of Trustees3 was threatening and demanding immediate payment of interest in full…
‘I’m at the end of my tether!’ Nikolay Petrovich several times cried out in despair. ‘I can’t fight myself, my principles don’t allow me to send for the local constable, and without the fear of punishment one won’t achieve anything!’
‘Du calme, du calme,’4 was Pavel Petrovich’s comment on this while he himself hummed, frowned and pulled at his moustache.
Bazarov held himself apart from these petty problems, and indeed as a guest it wasn’t his role to get involved in other people’s business. The day after their arrival at Marino he applied himself to his frogs, his infusoria microscopic specimens and his chemical compounds and kept himself busy with them. Arkady, on the contrary, thought it his duty, if not to help his father, at least to look as if he was prepared to help him. He patiently heard him out and on one occasion gave him some advice, not for it to be followed but to demonstrate his involvement. He felt no antipathy to estate management; he even used to dream about farming activity with pleasure, but then other thoughts began to swarm in his head. To his own surprise Arkady kept constantly thinking of Nikolskoye. Previously he would only have shrugged his shoulders if anyone had said to him that he could get bored under the same roof as Bazarov – and his father’s roof at that! – but he actually was bored and longed to be somewhere else. He had the notion of walking till he was exhausted, but even that didn’t help.
Talking to his father one day, he learnt that Nikolay Petrovich had a number of quite interesting letters which Odintsova’s mother had written some time previously to his late wife, and he gave him no peace until he had got those letters, looking for which Nikolay Petrovich had to rummage in twenty different boxes and trunks. Once he had these semi-decayed papers in his possession, Arkady seemed to calm down, as if he had seen in front of him the goal to which he must go. ‘I am saying this to both of you,’ he kept whispering – ‘she said that herself at the end. I’ll go, I’ll go, what the devil!’ But he remembered the last visit, the cold welcome and his former awkwardness, and shyness overcame him. The ‘why not’ of youth, the secret desire to know his luck, to try his strength all on his own without the support of another, eventually won through. Ten days hadn’t passed since his return to Marino before he was again galloping off to town on the pretext of studying the organization of Sunday schools5 and from there to Nikolskoye. He nagged the driver continuously and drove there like a young officer into battle: he was both scared and full of cheer, breathless with impatience. ‘The main thing is not to think,’ he kept repeating to himself. He had got a driver who was quite a lad – he stopped at every tavern, saying, ‘I need a quick one’ or ‘Time for a quick one?’; but, having had his quick one, he didn’t spare the horses.