Fathers and Sons
"I hope that I have not bound your leg too tightly?" said Bazarov at
last.
"Oh no," replied Paul Petrovitch. "As a matter of fact, it is doing
splendidly." After a pause he added: "But we cannot deceive my brother.
How would it be if we were to tell him that we fell out over politics?"
"Capital!" agreed Bazarov. "Tell him, for instance, that I started
cursing Anglomaniacs."
"A good idea! But what can that man be thinking of us? I cannot
imagine." The speaker pointed to the same peasant who, shortly before
the duel, had driven a pair of loose horses past Bazarov, and was
now shuffling homewards, while doffing his cap at the sight of the
gentlemen.
"Who can say?" replied Bazarov. "Probably he is thinking of nothing at
all. As Madame Radcliffe[1] frequently reminds us, the Russian _muzhik_
is an unknown quantity. Does _any_ one understand him? He does not even
understand himself."
"There you go again!" began Paul Petrovitch, but suddenly broke off to
say in a still louder tone: "See what that fool Peter has done! Here
comes my brother himself!"
Sure enough, on turning his head, Bazarov saw Nikolai Petrovitch's pale
face peering from the _drozhki._ Nor had the vehicle come to a halt
before Nikolai had sprung from the step, and rushed towards his brother.
"What is this?" he cried in agitated accents. "Evgenii Vasilitch, I beg
of you to tell me what has happened."
"Nothing has happened," replied Paul Petrovitch in Bazarov's stead.
"You are disturbing yourself to no purpose. I had a small quarrel with
Monsieur Bazarov, and have paid a penalty as small."
"But whence did it arise? For God's sake tell me!"
"What is there to say? It arose from the fact that Monsieur Bazarov
spoke in disrespectful terms of Sir Robert Peel. I would hasten to add
that, throughout, I alone was at fault, and that Monsieur Bazarov bore
himself admirably--I being the challenger."
"But look at the blood!"
"Pshaw! Did you suppose my veins to run with water? As a matter of
fact, the blood-letting will do me good. Is not that so, doctor? Help
me to mount the _drozhki_, and away with melancholy! By to-morrow I
shall be recovered. Splendid! That is the way to do it. Right away,
coachman!"
When on the point of starting homewards in the wake of the _drozhki_,
Nikolai Petrovitch perceived Bazarov to be for remaining behind.
"Evgenii Vasilitch," he said, "I would beg of you to attend my brother
until a doctor can be procured from the town."
Bazarov nodded in silence.
An hour later Paul Petrovitch was reposing in bed with his leg neatly
and artistically bandaged. The whole house was in a turmoil, Thenichka
greatly upset, and Nikolai able to do nothing but wring his hands. The
sick man, on the contrary, laughed and jested, especially with Bazarov,
and, to meet the occasion, had donned a fine linen shirt, an elegant
morning jacket, and a Turkish fez. Lastly, he forbade any one to close
the shutters, and kept venting humorous protests against the necessity
of abstaining from food.
Towards nightfall, however, fever supervened, and his head began to
ache; with the result that when the doctor arrived from the town
(Nikolai Petrovitch had disobeyed his brother in this respect, and
Bazarov also had consented to his doing so, in that, after paying the
patient a single visit, and that a very brief one, and being put to
the mortification of having to avoid Thenichka on two occasions when
he met her, he had felt that he preferred to spend the rest of the day
in loneliness, bitterness, and rancour)--when the doctor arrived from
the town he advised a cooling draught, but at the same time confirmed
Bazarov's opinion that no danger was to be apprehended. In passing, it
may also be mentioned that, on being informed by Nikolai Petrovitch
that Paul Petrovitch's wound had been self-inflicted through an
accident, the said doctor replied "H'm!"; to which, on receiving into
his hand a fee of twenty-five roubles, he added that of course things
of the kind often occurred.
No one in the house, that night, retired to bed, or even undressed,
but at intervals Nikolai Petrovitch would tiptoe into his brother's
room, and as silently withdraw. At intervals, too, Paul Petrovitch
would awake from a doze, sigh faintly, and say to Nikolai either
"_Couchez-vous_" or "Please give me a drink." But once it happened that
Nikolai sent the invalid a glass of lemonade by the hand of Thenichka;
and this time Paul Petrovitch scanned her long and searchingly before
draining the tumbler to the dregs. Towards morning the fever increased
a little, and a trace of lightheadedness made its appearance which
for a while caused the patient only to utter disconnected words.
But suddenly he opened his eyes, and, on seeing his brother bending
solicitously over the bed, murmured:
"Nikolai, do not you think that Thenichka slightly resembles Nelly?"
"What Nelly, Paul? Who is Nelly?"
"How can you ask? The Princess R., of course. In the upper portion of
the face especially Thenichka resembles her. _C'est de la même famille_."
Nikolai Petrovitch made no reply. He could only remain lost in wonder
that bygone fancies could so survive in the human consciousness.
"That _this_ should have cropped up again!" he reflected.
On another occasion Paul Petrovitch muttered as he clasped his hands
behind his head: "How I love this idle existence!" And again, a few
minutes later, he whispered: "I will not allow a single rascal to touch
me!"
Nikolai Petrovitch sighed. To whom the words referred he had not a
notion.
At eight o'clock next morning Bazarov entered Nikolai's room. His stock
of insects, birds, and frogs had either been packed up or liberated.
Rising to meet him, Nikolai said:
"So you have come to say good-bye?"
"I have."
"I understand your feelings, and I commend them. I know that my poor
brother alone was to blame, and is now paying the penalty. Also, I
gather from what he says that your position was such that you could not
possibly have acted otherwise than as you did--that for you to have
avoided this duel would have been impossible. That being so, we must
attribute the mischance to the--er--standing antagonism of your views"
(here Nikolai Petrovitch tripped over his words a little). "My brother
is one of the old school, a man of hot temper and great persistency.
Consequently we have God to thank that things have turned out no worse.
Finally I may say that every possible precaution against publicity has
been taken."
"Quite so," said Bazarov carelessly. "But I will leave my address with
you, in case of anything occurring."
"I hope that nothing _will_ occur. Indeed, my one regret is that your
stay in my house should have--should have terminated in such a fashion.
And I am the more grieved in that Arkady---"
"I expect to be seeing him very soon," interrupted Bazarov, whom
"explanations" or "speeches" of any kind always roused to fever pitch.
"On the other hand, should I _not_ do so, pray convey to him my
greetings and my regrets."
"I will," said Nikolai Petrovitch with a bow; but even before he had
finished Bazarov had left the room.
Paul Petrovitch, too, as soon as he heard that Bazarov was on the point
of departing, expressed a desire to see him, and to shake hands with
him. Yet Bazarov remained as cold as ice, for well he knew that Paul
Petrovitch's only aim was to make a show of "magnanimity," while to
Thenichka he did not say good-bye at all--he merely exchanged with her
a glance as she peeped from one of the windows. Her face looked to him
careworn.
"Before long she will either trip or elope," he reflected.
On the other hand, Peter was so moved at the prospect of parting
with his patron that he wept on the latter's shoulder until his
transports were cooled with the question: "Surely your eyes are not
made of water?" while Duniasha's emotion was such that she had to take
refuge in a thicket. Meanwhile the cause of all this grief mounted
the travelling-cart, and lit a cigar; and even when he had travelled
four versts, and reached a spot where a turn in the road brought
the Kirsanov farm into line with the new manor-house, he merely
expectorated some tobacco juice, and muttered, as he wrapped himself
closer in his cloak: "The cursed tomnoddies!"
Thenceforth Paul Petrovitch began to mend, but still was ordered to
keep his bed for another week. What he called his "imprisonment"
he bore with very fair patience, although he remained fussy in the
matter of his toilet, and constantly had himself sprinkled with
eau-de-Cologne. Meanwhile Nikolai Petrovitch read aloud to him the
newspapers, and Thenichka served him with soup, lemonade, scrambled
eggs, and tea. Yet she never entered the room without feeling a
mysterious nervousness come over her. Paul Petrovitch's unexpected
behaviour had frightened every one in the house, but her it had
frightened most of all. Only old Prokofitch seemed undismayed at the
occurrence, and kept asserting that, in his day, "the gentry used to
bore holes in one another right enough, but only the gentry. Jackanapes
like that Bazarov would have been ducked in the gutter for their pains."
Thenichka felt little pricking of conscience, but there were times when
the thought of the true cause of the quarrel rendered her at least
uneasy, and the more so because Paul Petrovitch's way of looking at
her was now so strange that, even when she turned her back to him, she
could still feel his eyes upon her. In combination, therefore, her
worries led to her growing thinner, and also (as often happens in such
circumstances) to her adding to her beauty.
At length, one morning, Paul Petrovitch felt so much better that he
left his bed, and removed to the sofa; while Nikolai Petrovitch, after
seeing that he had all he wanted, betook himself to the farm. Also,
it fell to Thenichka's lot to take the invalid a cup of tea; and when
she had placed it on the table, she was about to withdraw, when Paul
Petrovitch requested her to remain.
"Why should you hurry away?" he said. "Is it that you have other things
to do?"
"No--yes. That is to say, I have to go and pour out tea for the
servants."
"Duniasha can do that. Surely you will stay awhile with a sick man who
has something of great importance to say to you?"
Silently she seated herself on the edge of a chair.
"Listen," he continued, as he tugged at his moustache.
"For some time past I have been wanting to ask you why you are so
afraid of me?"
"Afraid of you?"
"Yes; for you never look at me. In fact, one would think that your
conscience was uneasy."
Her face reddened, but she looked Paul Petrovitch straight in the eyes.
Somehow his aspect struck her as peculiar, and her heart began to throb.
"Is your conscience clear?" he asked.
"Yes, Why should it not be?" she responded in a whisper.
"I do not know. Certainly I can recall no one against whom you can have
committed a fault. Against me? It is scarcely probable. Against others
in this house? That is as improbable. Against my brother? But him you
love, do you not?"
"I do."
"With your whole heart and soul?"
"With my whole heart and soul."
"Really and truly, Thenichka?" (never before had he addressed her
thus). "Look me in the eyes. To lie is a terrible sin. You know that,
of course?"
"But I am _not_ lying, Paul Petrovitch. Did I not love Nikolai
Petrovitch, I should not want to live."
"And you would exchange him for no one else?"
"_Whom_ should I exchange him for?"
"I do not know. Surely not for the gentlemen who has just left us?"
Thenichka rose to her feet.
"Why should you torment me in this way?" she cried. "What have I done
that you should speak to me so?"
"Thenichka," came the mournful reply, "I speak to you in this manner
for the reason that I saw----"