Fathers and Sons
continued. "Nor is there a single one of them upon whom the attention
of a serious-minded man would be anything but thrown away."
"Scarcely need they _desire_ to have anything conveyed to them by our
conversation," remarked Bazarov.
"Of whom are you speaking?" interposed Evdoksia.
"Of the smart women of the day."
"What? I suppose you agree with Proudhon's[2] opinion on the subject?"
Bazarov drew himself up.
"I agree with no man's opinions," he remarked. "I have some of my own."
"_A bas les autorités!_" cried Sitnikov, delighted at this unlooked-for
opportunity of showing off in the presence of the man whom he
worshipped.
"But even Macaulay----" began Madame Kukshin.
"_A bas_ Macaulay!" roared Sitnikov. "How can you defend those dolls of
ours?"
"I am not defending them at all," said Madame Kukshin. "I am merely
standing up for the rights of women--rights which I have sworn to
defend to the last drop of my blood."
"_A bas_----" began Sitnikov--then paused. "I do not reject them," he
added in a lower tone.
"But you _do_ reject them, for you are a Slavophil, as I can see very
clearly."
"On the contrary, I am _not_ a Slavophil; although, of course, I----"
"But you _are_ a Slavophil: you believe in the principles of the
_Domostroi_,[3] and would like always to be holding over women a
scourge."
"A scourge is not a bad thing in its proper place," observed Bazarov.
"But, seeing that we have reached the last drop of, of----"
"Of what?" said Evdoksia.
"Of champagne, most respected Avdotia Nikitishna--not of your blood."
"Never when I hear my sex abused can I listen with indifference,"
resumed Evdoksia. "It is all too horrible, too horrible! Instead of
attacking us, people ought to read Michel's[4] _De l'Amour_. What a
wonderful work it is! Let us talk of love."
She posed her arm gracefully upon the tumbled cushions of the sofa.
There fell a sudden silence.
"What is there to say concerning love?" at length said Bazarov. "In
passing, you mentioned a certain Madame Odintsov (I think that was the
name?). Who is she?"
"A very charming woman," squeaked Sitnikov, "as well as clever, rich,
and a widow. Unfortunately, she is not sufficiently _developed_, and
a closer acquaintance with our Evdoksia would do her a world of good.
Evdoksia, I drink to your health! Let us sing the honours. 'Et toc, et
toc, et tin, tin, tin! Et toc, et toc, et tin, tin, tin!'"
"You scamp, Victor!"
The luncheon proved a lengthy affair, for to the first bottle of
champagne there succeeded a second, and to the latter a third, and to
that a fourth. Meanwhile Evdoksia kept up an unceasing flow of chatter,
and received effective assistance from Sitnikov. In particular did
the pair discuss the nature of marriage ("the outcome of prejudice
and vice"), the question whether people are born "single," and the
consistency of "individuality." Then Evdoksia seated herself at the
piano, and, red in the face with wine which she had drunk, clattered
her flat finger-nails upon the keys, and essayed hoarsely to sing,
first of all some gipsy ditties, and then the ballad, "Dreaming Granada
lies asleep"; while, throwing a scarf over his head to represent the
dying lover, Sitnikov joined her at the words "Your lips meet mine in a
burning kiss."
At length Arkady could stand it no longer.
"Gentlemen," he exclaimed, "this is sheer Bedlam!"
As for Bazarov, he yawned, for he had done little more than interject
a satirical word or two--his attention had been devoted, rather, to
the champagne. At length he rose, and, accompanied by Arkady, left the
house without so much as a word of farewell to the hostess. Sitnikov
pursued the pair.
"Ah, ha!" he exclaimed as he skipped about the roadway. "Did I not tell
you that she would prove a most remarkable personality? Would that more
of our women were like her! In her way, she is a moral phenomenon."
"And your father's establishment?" remarked Bazarov as he pointed
to a tavern which they happened to be passing. "Is that also a moral
phenomenon?"
Sitnikov vented another of his shrill giggles. But, being also ashamed
of his origin, he felt at a loss whether to plume himself upon, or to
take offence at, Bazarov's unexpected pleasantry.
[1] Robert Wilhelm Bunsen (1811-1899), chemist and physicist; inventor
of Bunsen's burner and magnesium light; and originator (with Kirchhov)
of spectrum analysis.
[2] Pierre Joseph Proudhon (1809-1865), a French doctrinaire who taught
that anarchy is the culmination of all social progress.
[3] A curious old sixteenth-century work which, usually attributed to
the monk Sylvester, purports to be a "guide to household management,"
and, incidentally, gives a terrible picture of the power of the Russian
husband over his wife.
[4] Louise Michel (1830-1906), a French anarchist long resident in
London.
XIV
A few days later, the ball was held at the Governor's, and Matvei
Ilyitch figured thereat as the guest of honour. For his part, the
President of the Provincial Council (who was at loggerheads with the
Governor) explained at large that only out of respect for Matvei had
he deigned to be present, while the Governor continued, even when
stationary, his usual process of orders-giving. With Matvei's suavity
of demeanour nothing could be compared save his pomposity. Upon every
man he smiled--upon some with a hint of superciliousness, upon others
with a shade of deference; whilst to the ladies he bowed and scraped
_en vrai chevalier français_, and laughed, throughout, the great,
resonant, conspicuous laugh which a bigwig ought to do. Again, he
clapped Arkady upon the back, addressed him loudly as "young nephew,"
and honoured Bazarov (who had been with difficulty coaxed into an
ancient tail-coat) both with a distant, yet faintly condescending,
glance which skimmed that individual's cheek, and with a vague,
but affable, murmur in which there could be distinguished only the
fragments "I," "Yes," and "'xtremely." Lastly, he accorded Sitnikov
a finger and a smile (in the very act, turning his head away), and
bestowed upon Madame Kukshin (who had appeared minus a crinoline and
in dirty gloves, but with a bird of paradise stuck in her hair) an
"_Enchanté_!" The throng present was immense; nor was a sufficiency
of cavaliers lacking. True, most of the civilian element crowded
against the walls, but the military section danced with enthusiasm,
especially an officer who, being fresh from six weeks in Paris, where
he had become acquainted with daring cries of the type of "Zut!"
"Ah, fichtrrre!" "Pst, pst, mon bibi!" and so forth, pronounced these
quips to perfection, with true Parisian _chic_; while also he said
"_Si j'aurais_" for "_Si j'avais_," and "_absolument_" in the sense of
"certainly." In short, he employed that Franco-Russian jargon which
affords the French such intense amusement whenever they do not think it
more prudent to assure their Russian friends that the latter speak the
tongue of France _comme des anges_.
As we know, Arkady was a poor dancer, and Bazarov did not dance at all;
wherefore the pair sought a corner, and were there joined by Sitnikov.
Summoning to his visage his accustomed smile of contempt, and emitting
remarks mordantly sarcastic in their nature, the great Sitnikov glanced
haughtily about him, and appeared to derive some genuine pleasure from
thus striking an attitude. But suddenly his face underwent a change.
Turning to Arkady, he said in a self-conscious way: "Here is Madame
Odintsov just entering."
Looking up, Arkady beheld, halted in the doorway, a tall woman in
a black gown. In particular was he struck with the dignity of her
carriage, and with the manner in which her bare arms hung beside
her upright figure. From her gleaming hair to her sloping shoulders
trailed sprays of fuchsia flowers, while quietly, intelligently--I say
_quietly_, not dreamily--there gazed, with a barely perceptible smile,
from under a white and slightly prominent forehead a pair of brilliant
eyes. In general, the countenance suggested latent, but gentle, kindly
force.
"Do you know her?" Arkady inquired.
"I do--intimately," replied Sitnikov. "Shall I introduce you?"
"If you please; but only when this quadrille has come to an end."
Bazarov's attention also had been caught by this Madame Odintsov.
"What a face!" he exclaimed. "No other woman in the room has one
anything like it."
As soon, therefore, as the quadrille was over, Sitnikov conducted
Arkady to Madame Odintsov; and though at first--whether through the
excessive "intimacy" of Sitnikov's acquaintance, or whether through the
fact that he happened to stumble over his words--she gazed at him with
a shade of astonishment, she no sooner heard Arkady's family name than
her face brightened, and she inquired whether he was the son of Nikolai
Petrovitch.
"I am," replied Arkady.
"Then I have twice had the pleasure of meeting your father. Also, I
have heard much about him, and shall be most glad to know you."
At this point an aide-de-camp sidled up, and requested the honour of a
quadrille: which request she granted.
"Then you dance?" exclaimed Arkady, but with great deference.
"I do. What made you think that I do not? Is it that I look too old?"
"Oh no, pardon me! By no means! Then perhaps I too might ask for a
mazurka?"
Smiling indulgently, she replied, "If you wish," and then looked at him
not so much in a "superior" manner as in that of a married sister who
is regarding a very, very young brother. Though she was not greatly
older than Arkady (she had just attained her twenty-ninth year), her
presence made him feel the veriest schoolboy, and caused the difference
of years to seem infinitely greater than it was. Next, Matvei Ilyitch
approached her with a majestic air and a few obsequious words;
whereupon Arkady moved away a little, while continuing to observe her.
In fact, not until the quadrille was over did he find himself able
to withdraw his eyes from her bewitching person. Throughout, her
conversation with her partner and the guest of honour was accompanied
with small movements of the head and eyes, and twice she uttered a
low laugh. True, her nose erred a little on the side of thickness
(as do those of most Russian women), nor was the colour of her skin
unimpeachable; yet Arkady came to the conclusion that never in his life
had he encountered a woman so charming of personality. Continuously
the sound of her voice murmured in his ears, and the very folds of her
dress looked different from those of other women--they seemed to hang
straighter and more symmetrically, and her every movement was smooth
and natural.
Nevertheless, when the strains of the mazurka struck up, and, reseating
himself beside his partner, he prepared to enter into conversation
with her, he felt a distinct touch of diffidence. Nor, though he kept
passing his hand over his hair, could he find a word to say. However,
this timidity, this state of agitation, did not last long, for soon her
calmness infected him, and within a quarter of an hour he was talking
to her of his father, his uncle, and life in St. Petersburg and the
country. For her part, she listened with kindly interest, while gently
opening and closing her fan. Thus only at moments when other cavaliers
came to ask her for dances (Sitnikov did this twice) did Arkady's
chatter become interrupted; and whenever she returned to her place,
to reseat herself with her bosom heaving not a whit more rapidly than
it had done before, he would plunge into renewed conversation, so
delighted was he at the fact that he had found some one to sympathise
with him, to whom he could talk, at whose beautiful eyes and forehead
and gentle, refined, intellectual features he could gaze at leisure.