Fathers and Sons
huge velvet armchair which no one but herself was allowed to use. And
even when Katia hastened to place for her a footstool, the old woman
did not thank her, nor even look at her, but chafed her hands under the
yellow shawl which covered the whole of her frail figure. Beyond all
things was she fond of yellow; wherefore she had had her cap trimmed
with ribands of the same hue.
"Have you slept well, Auntie?" Madame Odintsov inquired with a raising
of her voice.
"That dog is here again!" the old woman muttered on noticing that Fifi
was taking an irresolute step or two in her direction. "Turn the beast
out, I say! Out with it!"
Calling Fifi, Katia opened the door for the animal to leave the room;
whereupon, though it bounded out in joyous mood (under the impression
that it was about to be taken for a walk), it no sooner found itself
marooned outside than it fell to whining and scratching at the panels;
which caused the Princess to frown, and necessitated Katia's exit to
rectify matters.
"Tea is ready, I believe," Madame Odintsov continued. "Gentlemen, pray
come. Will you have some tea, Auntie?"
The Princess rose from her chair in silence, and headed a procession
to the dining-room, where a Cossack footman pulled a padded armchair
from under the table (like the last, it was reserved for the Princess
alone), and she subsided into its depths. Katia poured out tea, and
handed her aunt the first cup--a cup adorned with a coat-of-arms;
whereafter the old woman added some honey to the beverage (she looked
upon tea-drinking with sugar as a sin of extravagance, and the more
so since never at any time would she consent to spend an unnecessary
kopeck), and then asked hoarsely:
"What has Prince Ivan to say in his letter?"
No one answered, and in time Bazarov and Arkady apprised the fact that,
though treated, certainly, with respect, the old woman attracted no
one's serious attention.
"They keep her here for show," Bazarov reflected. "She is kept because
she comes of a princely house."
Tea over, Anna Sergievna proposed a walk; but since at that moment a
drop of rain came pattering down, the company (with the exception of
the Princess) returned to the drawing-room. Presently the neighbour
addicted to a game of cards came in, and proved to be one Porphyri
Platonitch--a stout, grey-headed, affable, diverting individual who,
in addition, could boast of a pair of legs as shapely as though turned
with a lathe. Anna Sergievna then inquired of Bazarov (with whom she
had again been in conversation) whether he would care to join them in
the old-fashioned game of "Preferences"; and he consented on the ground
that he could not too soon prepare himself for the post of a district
physician.
"But take care," remarked his hostess. "Porphyri Platonitch and I
are not unlikely to beat you. Meanwhile, do you, Katia, go and play
something on the piano for the benefit of Arkady Nikolaievitch. I know
that he loves music, and we too shall be glad to listen to you."
Reluctantly Katia approached the piano; nor, in spite of Arkady's
fondness for music, did he follow her any more eagerly.
The truth of it was that he felt himself to be being "got rid of" by
Madame Odintsov, and already there was simmering in his heart, as in
the heart of any young man of his age, that vague, oppressive feeling
which is the harbinger of love.
Raising the lid of the piano, Katia murmured under her breath, and
without looking at Arkady:
"What shall I play?"
"Anything you wish," he replied with indifference.
"But what sort of music do you _prefer_?" she persisted with unchanged
attitude.
"Classical music," was the reply delivered with equal nonchalance.
"Mozart?"
"Certainly--Mozart."
So Katia produced the Viennese master's Sonata-Fantasia in C minor.
She played it well, but coldly, and not with any excess of precision.
Likewise, she kept her lips compressed, her eyes upon the keys, and
her form erect and motionless. Only towards the close of the piece did
her face kindle at all, while at the same moment a tiny curl detached
itself from her loosely-bound hair, and fell over her dusky forehead.
Arkady also felt moved by the closing portion of the Sonata--the
portion where the charming, careless gaiety of the melody gives place
to sudden bursts of mournful, almost tragic lamentation. Yet the
thoughts which Mozart's strains aroused in him bore no relation to
Katia. He merely looked at her now and then, and reflected:
"She plays well; nor is she bad-looking."
The Sonata over, Katia inquired, without removing her hands from the
keyboard: "Is that enough?" and Arkady replied that he would not think
of troubling her further. Then he went on to talk of Mozart, and to
ask her whether she herself had selected the Sonata, or whether it had
been selected for her by some one. Katia answered in monosyllables, and
from time to time went into hiding, retired into herself; and on each
occasion of this sort she made her reappearance but reluctantly, and
with a face composed to a stubborn, almost a stupid, air. Yet she was
not timid so much as diffident and a trifle overawed by the presence of
the sister who had brought her up (not that the sister in question ever
suspected it). Finally, she returned to her flowers, and Arkady found
himself reduced to calling Fifi to his side, and stroking the dog's
head with a kindly smile.
As for Bazarov, he had to pay forfeit after forfeit, for Anna Sergievna
was fairly clever at cards, and Porphyri Platonitch was a player
fully able to look after himself. Consequently the young doctor rose
a loser, not by a considerable sum, but by one which, at all events,
was sufficient to be scarcely agreeable. After supper Anna Sergievna
started a discussion on botany.
"I wish you would take me for a walk to-morrow morning," she said. "I
want you to teach me the Latin names of our field flowers, and also
their characteristics."
"But how could the Latin names benefit you?" he inquired.
"System is in all things necessary," she replied.
"A truly wonderful woman!" Arkady commented the same evening, on
finding himself alone with his friend in the bedroom.
"Yes," replied Bazarov. "She certainly possesses brains. Also, she has
dreamed dreams."
"In what sense?"
"In the best sense, my friend--in the very best sense, O Arkady
Nikolaievitch. Certain also am I that she manages her property well.
But the marvellous phenomenon is not she, but her sister."
"What? That hoyden?"
"Yes, that hoyden. The hoyden contains an element of freshness and
virginity and timidity and reticence and anything else you like which
makes her really an object worthy of interest. Of the one you could
make whatsoever you might desire, whereas of the other there is
nothing to be said save that she represents a yesterday's loaf."
Arkady made no reply, and soon the two men were asleep and dreaming
their own dreams.
The same night Anna Sergievna devoted much thought to her two guests.
Bazarov she liked both for his total lack of affectation and for
the piquancy of his criticisms; so that she seemed to divine in him
something new, something which had hitherto remained unknown to her
experience. All of which excited her curiosity.
And she too was a strange being. Free from all prejudice, and devoid
of all strong beliefs, she rendered obeisance to nothing, and had
in view no goal. Again, though much was open to her sight, and much
interested her, nothing really satisfied her, and she had no wish
for such satisfaction, since her intellect was at once inquiring
and indifferent, and harboured doubts which never merged into
insensibility, and aspirations which never swelled into unrest. True,
if she had been dowered with less wealth and independence, she might
have plunged into the fray, and learnt the nature of passion; but, as
things stood, she took life unhastingly, and, though often finding
it tedious, spent her days in a deliberate, rarely agitated manner.
True, at times rainbow colours gleamed even before _her_ eyes; yet
no sooner had they faded than she would draw her breath as before,
and in no way regret their disappearance. Again, though, at times,
her imagination exceeded the bounds of what is considered permissible
by conventional morality, her blood still coursed tranquilly through
her lethargic and bewitchingly shaped frame; and only when she was
issuing in a warm and tender glow from her comfortable bathroom would
she fall to pondering upon the futility of life, its sorrow and toil
and cruelty, and feel her soul swell to sudden temerity, and begin to
seethe with noble aspirations. Yet even then, let but a draught happen
to blow in her direction from an open window, and at once she would
shrug her shoulders, commiserate herself, come very near to losing her
temper, and become conscious of nothing but the thought that the one
thing necessary was to ensure that by hook or by crook that abominable
draught should be averted.
Again, like all women who have never known what it is to fall in
love, she was sensible of a persistent yearning for something wholly
undefined. There was nothing that she actually lacked, yet she seemed
to lack everything. The late Odintsov she had merely tolerated (the
marriage having been one _de convenance_ only--though she would never
have consented to become his wife had he not also been kindly of
heart), and from the experience she had derived a certain aversion to
the male sex in general, which she conceived to be composed exclusively
of creatures slovenly, idle, wearisome, and weakly exacting in their
habits. In fact, only once had she met (it was somewhere abroad) a
man who had in any way attracted her. He had been a young Swede of a
knightly countenance, honest blue eyes, and an open brow; but, for all
the impression that he had made upon her, the impression in question
had not prevented her from shortly afterwards returning to Russia.
"A strange man, that Bazarov," she thought to herself as she reposed
in her magnificent bed with its lace-embroidered pillows and its light
silken coverlet. It may be said, that, in addition to having inherited
her late father's fastidious and luxurious tastes, she still cherished
for that wayward, but kindhearted, parent a considerable affection,
since during his lifetime he had not only adored her and cracked jokes
with her on equal terms, but also accorded her his whole confidence,
and made it his invariable custom to seek her advice. Of her mother she
had but the scantiest of remembrance.
"Yes, a strange man is that Bazarov," she repeated; after which she
stretched her limbs, smiled, clasped her hands behind her head, ran an
eye over the pages of two foolish French novels, let fall the second
of these volumes from her hands, and relapsed into slumber--a cold,
spotless figure in spotless, fragrant white.
When breakfast was over next morning, she set forth upon the botanising
expedition with Bazarov; to return home just before luncheon time.
Meanwhile Arkady did not leave the house, but spent an hour with Katia,
nor found the time wearisome, seeing that of her own accord Katia
volunteered to repeat the Sonata. Yet the instant that his eyes beheld
Madame Odintsov returning his heart leapt within him. She was crossing
the garden with a slightly tired step, but with her cheeks rosy of hue,
her eyes shining under her round straw hat with even greater brilliancy
than usual, and her fingers twirling between them the stalk of some
field flower. Also, her light mantilla had slipped to her shoulders,
and the broad ribands of her hat were floating over her bosom.
Behind her walked Bazarov with his usual air of superciliousness and
self-assurance, while on his face there was an expression cheerful, and