Fathers and Sons
and an icy-cold drawing-room; and thence, again, they migrated to the
country, where they settled for good, and where, in due time, they
had born to them a son Arkady. The existence of husband and wife
was one of perfect comfort and tranquillity. Almost never were they
parted from one another, they read together, they played the piano
together, and they sang duets. Also, she would garden or superintend
the poultry-yard, and he would set forth a-hunting, or see to the
management of the estate. Meanwhile Arkady led an existence of equal
calm and comfort, and grew, and waxed fat; until, in 1847, when ten
years had been passed in this idyllic fashion, Kirsanov's wife breathed
her last. The blow proved almost more than the husband could bear--so
much so that his head turned grey in a few weeks. Yet, though he sought
distraction for his thoughts by going abroad, he felt constrained, in
the following year, to return home, where, after a prolonged period of
inaction, he took up the subject of Industrial Reform. Next, in 1855,
he sent his son to the University of St. Petersburg, and, for the same
reason, spent the following three winters in the capital, where he
seldom went out, but spent the greater part of his time in endeavouring
to fraternise with his son's youthful acquaintances. The fourth winter,
however, he was prevented by various circumstances from spending in St.
Petersburg; and thus in the May of 1859 we see him--grey-headed, dusty,
a trifle bent, and wholly middle-aged--awaiting his son's home-coming
after the elevation of the latter (in Nikolai's own footsteps) to the
dignity of a graduate.
Presently either a sense of decency or (more probably) a certain
disinclination to remain immediately under his master's eye led the
servant to withdraw to the entrance gates, and there to light a pipe.
Nikolai Petrovitch, however, continued sitting with head bent, and his
eyes contemplating the ancient steps of the verandah, up which a stout
speckled hen was tap-tapping its way on a pair of splayed yellow legs,
and thereby causing an untidy, but fastidious-looking, cat to regard
it from the balustrade with marked disapproval. Meanwhile the sun
beat fiercely down, and from the darkened interior of a neighbouring
granary came a smell as of hot rye straw. Nikolai Petrovitch sank
into a reverie. "My son Arkady a graduate!"--the words kept passing
and repassing through his mind. Again and again he tried to think of
something else, but always the same thought returned to him. Until
eventually he reverted to the memory of his dead wife. "Would that she
were still with me!" was his yearning reflection. Presently a fat blue
pigeon alighted upon the roadway, and fell to taking a hasty drink from
a pool beside the well. And almost at the instant that the spectacle of
the bird caught Nikolai Petrovitch's eye, his ear caught the sound of
approaching wheels.
"They are coming, I think," hazarded the servant as he stepped forward
through the gates.
Nikolai Petrovitch sprang to his feet, and strained his eyes along the
road. Yes, coming into view there was a _tarantass_,[4] drawn by three
stagehorses; and in the _tarantass_ there could be seen the band of a
student's cap and the outlines of a familiar, well-beloved face.
"Arkasha, Arkasha!" was Kirsanov's cry as, running forward, he
waved his arms. A few moments later he was pressing his lips to the
sun-tanned, dusty, hairless cheek of the newly-fledged graduate.
[1] Gentleman or squire.
[2] The _desiatin_ = 2.86 acres.
[3] Civil servant.
[4] A species of four-wheeled carriage.
II
"Yes, but first give me a rub down, dearest Papa," said Arkady in a
voice which, though a little hoarsened with travelling, was yet clear
and youthful. "See! I am covering you with dust!" he added as joyously
he returned his father's caresses.
"Oh, but that will not matter," said Nikolai Petrovitch with a loving,
reassuring smile as he gave the collar of his son's blue cloak a
couple of pats, and then did the same by his own jacket. Thereafter,
gently withdrawing from his son's embrace, and beginning to lead the
way towards the inn yard, he added: "Come this way, come this way. The
horses will soon be ready."
His excitement seemed even to outdo his son's, so much did he stammer
and stutter, and, at times, find himself at a loss for a word. Arkady
stopped him.
"Papa," he said, "first let me introduce my good friend Bazarov, who is
the comrade whom I have so often mentioned in letters to you, and who
has been kind enough to come to us for a visit."
At once Nikolai Petrovitch wheeled round, and, approaching a tall man
who, clad in a long coat with a tasselled belt, had just alighted from
the _tarantass_, pressed the bare red hand which, after a pause, the
stranger offered him.
"I am indeed glad to see you!" was Nikolai Petrovitch's greeting, "I am
indeed grateful to you for your kindness in paying us this visit! Alas,
I hope that, that----But first might I inquire your name?"
"Evgenii Vasiliev," replied the other in slow, but virile, accents
as, turning down the collar of his coat, he revealed his face more
clearly. Long and thin, with a high forehead which looked flattened
at the top and became sharpened towards the nose, the face had large,
greenish eyes and long, sandy whiskers. The instant that the features
brightened into a smile, however, they betokened self-assurance and
intellect.
"My dearest Evgenii Vasiliev", Nikolai Petrovitch continued, "I trust
that whilst you are with us you will not find time hang heavy upon your
hands."
Bazarov gave his lips a slight twitch, but vouchsafed no reply
beyond raising his cap--a movement which revealed the fact that the
prominent convolutions of the skull were by no means concealed by the
superincumbent mass of indeterminate-coloured hair.
"Now, Arkady," went on Nikolai Petrovitch as he turned to his son,
"shall we have the horses harnessed at once, or should you prefer to
rest a little?"
"Let us rest at home, Papa. So pray have the horses put to."
"I will," his father agreed. "Peter! Bestir yourself, my good fellow!"
Being what is known as a "perfectly trained servant," Peter had neither
approached nor shaken hands with the young _barin_, but contented
himself with a distant bow. He now vanished through the yard gates.
"Though I have come in the _koliaska_," said Nikolai Petrovitch, "I
have brought three fresh horses for the _tarantass_."
Arkady then drank some water from a yellow bowl proffered by the
landlord, while Bazarov lighted a pipe, and approached the ostler, who
was engaged in unharnessing the stagehorses.
"Only two can ride in the _koliaska_," continued Nikolai Petrovitch;
"wherefore I am rather in a difficulty to know how your friend will----"
"Oh, he can travel in the _tarantass_," interrupted Arkady. "Moreover,
do not stand on any ceremony with him, for, wonderful though he is, he
is also quite simple, as you will find for yourself."
Nikolai Petrovitch's coachman brought out the horses, and Bazarov
remarked to the ostler:
"Come, bestir yourself, fat-beard!"
"Did you hear that, Mitiusha?" added another ostler who was standing
with his hands thrust into the back slits of his blouse. "The _barin_
has just called you a fat-beard. And a fat-beard you are."
For answer Mitiusha merely cocked his cap to one side and drew the
reins from the back of the sweating shafts-horse.
"Quick now, my good fellows!" cried Nikolai Petrovitch. "Bear a hand,
all of you, and for each there will be a glassful of _vodka_."
Naturally, it was not long before the horses were harnessed, and then
father and son seated themselves in the _koliaska_, Peter mounted the
box of that vehicle, and Bazarov stepped into the _tarantass_, and
lolled his head against the leather cushion at the back. Finally the
cortège moved away.
III
"To think that you are now a graduate and home again!" said Nikolai
Petrovitch as he tapped Arkady on the knee, and then on the shoulder.
"There now, there now!"
"And how is Uncle? Is he quite well?" asked Arkady--the reason for the
question being that though he felt filled with a genuine, an almost
childish delight at his return, he also felt conscious of an instinct
that the conversation were best diverted from the emotional to the
prosaic.
"Yes, your uncle is quite well. As a matter of fact, he also had
arranged to come and meet you, but at the last moment changed his mind."
"Did you have very long to wait?" continued Arkady.
"About five hours."
"Dearest Papa!" cried Arkady as, leaning over towards his father, he
imprinted upon his cheek a fervent kiss. Nikolai Petrovitch smiled
quietly.
"I have got a splendid horse for you," he next remarked. "Presently you
shall see him. Also, your room has been entirely repapered."
"And have you a room for Bazarov as well?"
"One shall be found for him."
"Oh--and pray humour him in every way you can. I could not express to
you how much I value his friendship."
"But you have not known him very long, have you?"
"No--not very long."
"I thought not, for I do not remember to have seen him in St.
Petersburg last winter. In what does he most interest himself?"
"Principally in natural science. But, to tell the truth, he knows
practically _everything_, and is to become a doctor next year."
"Oh! So he is in the Medical Faculty?" Nikolai Petrovitch remarked;
after which there was silence for a moment.
"Peter," went on Nikolai, pointing with his hand, "are not those
peasants there some of our own?"
Peter glanced in the direction indicated, and saw a few waggons
proceeding along a narrow by-road. The teams were bridleless, and in
each waggon were seated some two or three _muzhiks_ with their blouses
unbuttoned.
"Yes, they are some of our own," Peter responded.
"Then whither can they be going? To the town?"
"Yes--or to the tavern." This last was added contemptuously, and with
a wink to the coachman that was designed to enlist that functionary's
sympathy: but as the functionary in question was one of the old school
which takes no share in the modern movement, he stirred not a muscle of
his face.
"This year my peasants have been giving me a good deal of trouble,"
Nikolai Petrovitch continued to his son. "Persistently do they refuse
to pay their tithes. What ought to be done with them?"
"And do you find your hired workmen satisfactory?"
"Not altogether," muttered Nikolai Petrovitch. "You see, they have
become spoilt, more's the pity! Any real energy seems quite to have
left them, and they not only ruin my implements, but also leave the
land untilled. Does estate-management interest you?"
"The thing we most lack here is shade," remarked Arkady in evasion of
the question.
"Ah, but I have had an awning added to the north balcony, so that we
can take our meals in the open air."
"But that will give the place rather the look of a villa, will it not?
Things of that sort never prove effectual. But oh, the air here! How
good it smells! Yes, in my opinion, things never smell elsewhere as
they do here. And oh, the sky!"
Suddenly Arkady stopped, threw a glance of apprehension in the
direction of the _tarantass_, and relapsed into silence.
"I quite agree with you," replied Nikolai Petrovitch. "You see, the
reason is that you were born here, and that therefore the place is
bound to have for you a special significance."
"But no significance can attach to the place of a man's birth, Papa."
"Indeed?"
"Oh no. None whatsoever."
Nikolai Petrovitch glanced at the speaker, and for fully half a verst
let the vehicle proceed without the conversation between them being
renewed. At length Nikolai Petrovitch observed:
"I cannot remember whether I wrote to tell you that your old nurse,