Fathers and Sons
even good-humoured. Yet somehow, Arkady did not like that expression.
Muttering "Good-morning," Bazarov passed towards his room, while Madame
Odintsov accorded the young man a negligent handshake--then similarly
continued her way.
"'Good morning!'" thought Arkady to himself. "One would think that she
and I had made one another's acquaintance only to-day!"
[1] Robert Wilhelm Bunsen (1811-1899), chemist and physicist; inventor
of Bunsen's burner and magnesium light; and originator (with Kirchhov)
of spectrum analysis.
XVII
As we know, time either flies like a bird or crawls like a snail. Thus
a man is in best case when he fails to notice either the rapidity or
the slowness of its flight. Similarly did Bazarov and Arkady spend
their fortnight at Madame Odintsov's. Of this another contributory
cause was the fact that alike in her household and in her daily life
she maintained a _régime_ to which she herself strictly adhered, and
to which she constrained others to adhere; so that the daily domestic
round accomplished itself according to a fixed programme. At eight
o'clock the company would assemble for breakfast; whereafter, until
luncheon time, individuals could do whatsoever they chose (the hostess
herself devoting her attention to her steward--she administered her
estate on the _obrok_ or tithes system--her household servants, and her
head housekeeper). Next, before dinner, the company would reassemble
for conversation or for reading aloud; and the rest of the evening
would be devoted to a walk, to cards, or to music. Lastly, at half-past
ten Anna Sergievna would withdraw to her room, issue her orders for the
following day, and retire to bed.
But to Bazarov this measured, slightly formal regularity was not wholly
agreeable. "Somehow it reminds one of running on a pair of rails," he
used to declare; while so much did the sight of liveried lacqueys and
graded serfs offend his democratic instincts that once he averred that
one might as well dine in the English fashion outright, and wear white
ties and black tail-coats. These views he expressed to Anna Sergievna
(something in her always led men to lay bare their opinions in her
presence); and, after she had heard him out, she said: "From your
point of view, the matter is as you say, and perhaps I play the fine
lady too much; but in the country one cannot live anyhow; such a course
always leads one to grow slovenly."
So she continued her _régime_ as before. Yet, though Bazarov grumbled,
he and Arkady found that to that very formality they owed the fact that
everything in the establishment "ran as on rails." In passing it may be
mentioned that between the two young men there had taken place a change
which dated from the day of their arrival at Nikolsköe, and manifested
itself, as regards Bazarov (for whom Anna Sergievna evidently
entertained a liking, though seldom did she agree with his _dicta_), in
the form of an unwonted captiousness which led him easily to lose his
temper, to speak always with reluctance, to glare about him, and to be
as unable to sit still as though mines had been exploding beneath his
seat. As for Arkady (now come finally to the conclusion that he was in
love with Madame Odintsov), the change manifested itself, rather, in
his falling a prey to a melancholy which in no way prevented him from
making friends with Katia, and even helped him to maintain with her
kindly and cordial relations.
"Whereas Madame cares nothing for me," he would reflect, "_this_
good-hearted creature does not give me the cold shoulder."
And these reflections would cause his heart to taste once more the
sensuous joy of "magnanimity." Dimly Katia herself divined that
her society afforded him a sort of comfort; wherefore she saw no
reason to deny either him or herself the pleasure of this innocent,
half-diffident, half-trustful _camaraderie_. True, in the presence,
and under the keen eye, of the elder sister (who always caused Katia
to retire precipitately into her shell) the pair never exchanged a
single word (indeed, as a man in love, Arkady could not well have
paid attention to any one but the object of his adoration while in
the latter's vicinity); but as soon as he found himself alone with
Katia he began, to a certain degree, really to enjoy himself. That is
to say, whereas he knew himself to be incompetent to interest Madame
(seeing that whenever he found himself alone with her he blushed and
lost his head, while she, on her side, did not know what to say to him,
so jejune was his mind as compared with her own), in Katia's presence
he felt perfectly at home, and could treat her with condescension,
and let her expound to him the impressions which she derived from
music and the reading of tales, poems, and other "trifles." Nor did
he notice, nor would he have consented to recognise had he noticed,
the fact that those same "trifles" interested him as much as they did
Katia. At the same time, the latter in no way acted as a clog upon his
melancholy; wherefore, just as Madame was at her ease with Bazarov,
so the young man was at his with Katia, and, after a short period of
joint converse, the two couples would usually diverge. This happened
especially during walks, and the more readily in that, whereas Katia
adored nature, and Arkady too loved it (though he would never have
admitted the fact), to Madame and Bazarov the charms of the natural
world represented more or less a matter of indifference. Hardly need I
add that from this constant separation between Arkady and Bazarov there
flowed inevitable results which brought about in the relations of the
pair a gradual change. That is to say, Bazarov ceased to discourse on
Madame Odintsov--he ceased even to censure her for her "aristocratic
manners"; and while, with regard to Katia, he sang her praises as usual
(at the same time advising the placing of a check upon her sentimental
tendencies), he took to uttering these encomiums only in a half-hearted
and a perfunctory way, and, in general, to lecturing his pupil less
than he had formerly done. Rather, he seemed to avoid him, to feel in
some way uncomfortable in his presence.
These things Arkady duly noted, but kept his observations to himself.
The real cause of the innovation was the feeling which Madame Odintsov
inspired in Bazarov's breast, and which he found to be a torture and
a madness to him. Yet, had any one hinted to him, ever so distantly,
that what was taking place in his soul could ever have been possible,
he would have denied it with a contemptuous laugh and a cynical
imprecation, seeing that, though a great devotee of feminine society
and feminine beauty, he looked upon love in the ideal, the "romantic"
(to use his own term) aspect as unpardonable folly, and upon the
sentiment of chivalry as a sort of aberration or malady which moved
him frequently to express his astonishment that Toggenburg and his
Minnesingers and troubadours never ended by being clapped in a madhouse.
"Should a woman please you," he would say, "strive to attain your goal;
but if you cannot attain that goal, waste no further trouble--just turn
away. For the world does not rest upon a single keystone."
In similar fashion Madame Odintsov "pleased" Bazarov: yet, though the
widespread reports in circulation about her might, with the freedom
and independence of her views and the undoubted _penchant_ which she
entertained for himself, have been reckoned to tell in his favour, he
soon discovered that, in her case, the "goal" was _not_ to be attained.
Also, he found to his surprise that he could not "turn away"--rather,
that the mere thought of her made his blood boil. True, that symptom,
if it had been the only one, might have been dealt with; but there
became implanted in him something else--something which he had hitherto
refused to admit, something of which he had hitherto made sport,
but something which now aroused his pride. Therefore, although, when
conversing with Anna Sergievna, he poured added scorn upon everything
"romantic," he recognised, during his hours of solitude, that even
in his own personality there lurked an element of "Romanticism." And
at such times there was nothing for it but to rush out of doors into
the woods, and to stride along at a pace which snapped off chance-met
boughs, and found vent in curses at both them and himself. Or he would
seek a hayloft or stable, and, stubbornly closing his eyes, strive to
woo sleep, and almost invariably fail. Yet, as he sat there, there
would come to him delusions that those proud lips _had_ once responded
to his kisses, that those chaste arms _had_ embraced his neck, that
those soulful eyes _had_ gazed tenderly--yes, tenderly--into his: and
at such times his head would whirl, and for a second or two, and until
his discontent returned, he would relapse into a state of trance, and,
as though urged by a demon, think thoughts of unavowable import. Again,
there were times when he would conceive a change similar to his own to
have taken place in _her_, and the expression of her face already to
be charged with a special significance. Yet, this point reached, he
would end merely by stamping his feet, grinding his teeth, and mentally
shaking his fist at himself.
Once, when walking with her in the garden, he announced to her in curt,
gruff tones that he intended soon to depart for his father's place;
whereupon Anna Sergievna turned pale, as though something had pricked
her heart, and pricked it in such a manner as to surprise even herself,
and to leave her wondering what it could portend. Yet not for the sake
of testing her, nor of seeing what might possibly come of it, had he
mentioned his purposed departure (never at any time did he indulge
in "scheming"). Rather, the reason was that, earlier that morning,
he had had an interview with his father's steward, Timotheitch, a
rough, but quick-witted, old fellow who, in past days, had acted as
his nurse, and had now presented himself--with tousled, flaxen hair,
red, weather-beaten face, watery, sunken eyes, short, stout jacket of
grey-blue cloth, leathern girdle, and tarred boots--at Nikolsköe.
"Good-day to you, ancient!" had been Bazarov's greeting.
"Good-day to _you, batiushka_!" had responded the old man with a
gleeful smile which had covered his face with wrinkles.
"And how is it that I see you here?" Bazarov had continued. "Is it that
they have sent you to fetch me?"
"By no means, pardon me, _batiushka_!" Timotheitch had stammered out
this denial for the reason that he had suddenly recollected certain
strict injunctions imposed upon him before starting. "No, it is merely
that I am on my way to the town on affairs connected with the estate,
and turned aside a little to pay my respects to your honour. No, not to
disturb you at all--oh dear no!"
"Do not lie," Bazarov had said. "Is _this_ the way to the town?"
Timotheitch, cringing, had returned no reply.
"And how is my father?" Bazarov had continued.
"Quite well, thank God!"
"And my mother?"
"Your mother is the same, thank God!"
"And they are, I suppose, expecting me?"
The old man had cocked his head with a knowing air.
"Evgenii Vasilitch, why should they _not_ be expecting you? Yes, as God
is my trust, I know that their hearts are simply aching for a sight of
you."
"Well, well! Do not make too long a stay of it, but tell them that I
will come presently."
"I will, _batiushka_."
Yet it had been with a sigh that Timotheitch had replaced his cap
on his head with both hands, left the house, remounted the shabby
_drozhki_ which he had left waiting at the gates, and disappeared at a
trot--though _not_ in the direction of the town.
The same evening saw Madame sitting in her boudoir with Bazarov, and
Arkady pacing the salon, and listening to Katia's music. As for the