Fathers and Sons
"You saw what?"
"I saw _you_--in the lilac arbour."
She blushed to her ears, to the very roots of her hair.
"But how was I to blame?" at length she contrived to say.
Paul Petrovitch raised himself on the sofa.
"You swear, do you, that you were _not_ to blame?" he said. "That you
were not in the slightest degree to blame? Not at all?"
"I love Nikolai Petrovitch," came the reply, delivered with sudden
energy and a rising sob, "and never shall I love any other man. As
for what you saw, before the Throne of Judgment I swear that I am
innocent, that I have always been so, and that I would rather die than
be suspected of having deceived Nikolai Petrovitch, my benefactor."
Her voice failed her. Then, behold! she felt Paul seize and press
her hand! Turning her head, she looked down at him--and stood almost
petrified. For his face was even paler than usual, his eyes were
glistening, and--most surprising thing of all!--a great tear was
trickling down his cheek!
"Thenichka," he whispered in a voice which hardly seemed his own, "I
beg of you always to love, and never to cease loving, my brother. He
is such a good, kind fellow as has not his equal in the world. Never
desert him for another; never listen to any tales which you may hear of
him, but reflect how terrible it would be for him to love and not to be
loved! Yes, think well, Thenichka, before ever you forsake him."
Thenichka's amazement caused her eyes almost to start from her
head, and her nervousness completely to vanish. Judge, also, of her
surprise when, though he did not draw her to himself, nor kiss her,
Paul Petrovitch raised her hand to his lips, and then burst into a
convulsive fit of sobbing!
"God in Heaven!" she thought to herself. "What if this should make him
have another fainting fit?"
Meanwhile, in that one moment Paul Petrovitch was living over again a
past phase of his ruined life.
Presently hurried footsteps were heard causing the staircase to creak;
and just as Paul pushed Thenichka away from him and replaced his head
upon the pillow, the door opened, and Nikolai Petrovitch--fresh, ruddy,
and smiling--entered with little Mitia. The latter, equally fresh and
ruddy, was leaping in Nikolai's arms, and pressing his tiny, naked feet
against the buttons of his father's rural smock.
Running to father and child, Thenichka threw her arms around both
alike, and sank her head upon the former's shoulder. This caused him to
halt in amazement, for never before had the bashful, reserved Thenichka
shown him any endearment in the presence of a third person.
"What is the matter?" he exclaimed. Then he glanced at Paul, handed
Mitia to Thenichka, and, approaching the bedside, inquired if his
brother were worse.
Paul's face was buried in his handkerchief, but he replied:
"Oh dear no. Not at all. If anything, I am better--yes, very much
better."
"Nevertheless you have been over-hasty in removing to the sofa," said
Nikolai Petrovitch; after which he turned to ask Thenichka why she was
leaving the room, but she departed abruptly, and closed the door behind
her.
"I had come to show you my little rascal," Nikolai continued. "He had
been pining for a sight of his uncle. But she has carried him away for
some reason. What is the matter? Has something occurred?"
"My brother," replied Paul Petrovitch--and as he uttered the words
Nikolai Petrovitch gave a start, and felt ill at ease, he knew not why.
"My brother, pray give me your word of honour that you will fulfil the
request which I am going to make."
"What request, Paul? I beg of you to continue."
"A request of the first importance. Upon it, I believe, your entire
happiness depends. Also, what I am going to say represents the fruit of
much thought. My brother, the request is that you will do your duty,
the duty of a good and honourable man. In other words, I beseech you to
put an end to this scandal and bad example, which is unworthy of you,
unworthy of a man who is the best of souls."
"To what do you refer, Paul?"
"To this. You ought to _marry_ Thenichka. She loves you, and is the
mother of your child."
Stepping back, Nikolai Petrovitch clasped his hands together.
"Do _you_ say this?" he exclaimed. "Do _you_ say this--_you_ whom I
have always understood to be opposed to such unions? Do _you_ say this?
Surely you know that solely out of respect for yourself have I hitherto
refrained from doing what rightfully you call my duty?"
"Wrongfully, then, have you respected me," said Paul Petrovitch with a
sad smile. "In fact, almost I am beginning to think that Bazarov was
right when he accused me of only feigning the aristocratic instinct.
For it is not enough for you and me to trouble ourselves about worldly
matters alone. We are old men past our prime, who ought to lay aside
all pettinesses, and to fulfil strictly our obligations. Nor forget
that, should we thus act, we shall receive an added measure of
happiness as our reward."
Nikolai Petrovitch flung himself upon his brother, and embraced him
again and again.
"You have opened my eyes," he cried. "When I described you as the best
man in the world I was not wrong: and now I perceive your wisdom to be
equal to your magnanimity."
"Quieter, quieter!" advised Paul. "Do not further inflame the leg of an
old fool who, at fifty, has fought a duel like a young ensign. Then the
matter is settled, and Thenichka is to become my _belle-soeur_?"
"Yes, my dearest Paul. But what will Arkady say?"
"Arkady? He will be delighted. True, marriage does not come within his
purview or principles, but at least his sense of social equality will
be tickled. And, in the nineteenth century, what does caste matter?"
"Paul, Paul, let me embrace you once more. You need not be afraid.
I will do it very carefully." And the two brothers flung their arms
around one another.
"Well?" continued Paul Petrovitch. "What think you? Shall we tell her
at once?"
"No, we need not be in too much of a hurry," replied Nikolai
Petrovitch. "As a matter of fact, you have been having a talk with her,
have you not?"
"I have been having a talk with her? _Quelle idée!_"
"However, your first business is to recover. Thenichka will not run
away, and in the meanwhile the affair must be carefully considered."
"Then you have decided upon it?"
"Certainly I have! And I thank you with all my heart. But I must
leave you for a while now, for you ought to have some rest, and any
excitement is bad for you. Matters can be discussed later. Go to sleep,
dearest of brothers, and may God restore you to health!"
"Why did he thank _me_?" thought Paul Petrovitch to himself after
Nikolai had gone." Does not the affair depend upon him alone, seeing
that, after the marriage, I myself shall have to depart elsewhere--to
Dresden or to Florence, and to abide there until I die?"
He bathed his forehead with eau-de-Cologne, and then closed his eyes.
As he lay with his handsome, refined head resting on the pillow, he
looked, in the clear light of the sun, like a corpse.
[1] Ann Radcliffe, _née_ Ward (1764-1823), an English novelist who
wrote _The Mysteries of Udolpho_ and other tales, and travelled
extensively.
XXV
In the shade of a tall ash tree in the garden at Nikolsköe Katia
and Arkady were seated on a bench. Beside them, on the ground, lay
Fifi--his lengthy body twisted into the curve known to sporting folk
as "the hare's crouch." Neither from Arkady nor from Katia was a word
proceeding. Arkady was holding in his hands a half-opened book, and she
was picking a few crumbs from a basket, and throwing them to a small
family of sparrows which, with the timid temerity of their tribe, were
chirping and hopping at her very feet. A faint breeze was stirring
the leaves of the ash tree, and dappling Fifi's tawny back and the
dark line of the pathway with a number of wavering circles of pale
golden light; but Arkady and Katia were wholly in shade, save that an
occasional streak glanced upon, and gleamed in, her hair. Just for the
reason that the pair were silent and side by side was there present
to their consciousness a _camaraderie_ which, while causing neither
to have the other definitely in mind, pleased each with the sense of
the other's propinquity. The expression of both is changed since last
we saw them. Arkady's face wears a staider air, and Katia looks more
animated and less retiring.
At length, however, Arkady spoke.
"Do you not think," he said, "that our Russian term _yasen_ is
particularly suitable to the ash tree? For no other tree cleaves the
air with such airy brightness."(1) Katia looked up.
"I agree," she replied, while Arkady proudly reflected: "At all events
_she_ does not reprove me for talking in 'beautiful language.'"
"By the way," Katia continued with a glance at the book in his hands,
"I cannot say that I always approve of Heine. I like him neither when
he is laughing nor when he is in tears--I like him only when he is
meditative and languid."
"Well, I like him when he is laughing," Arkady remarked.
"Then still there survives in you a trace of your old satirical
tendency. Still your reformation needs to be completed."
"Indeed?" thought Arkady. "My satirical tendency? Oh, that Bazarov
could have heard that!"
While aloud he said:
"Who is 'we'? Yourself?"
"Oh dear no! My sister, and Porfiri Platonitch, with whom you no longer
quarrel, and my aunt, whom, three days ago, you escorted to church."
"I did so only because I could not refuse. And as regards Anna
Sergievna, kindly remember that, in many things, she agrees with
Bazarov."
"Yes, she used to be greatly under his influence, and so did you."
"And so did I? Then am I now emancipated from that influence?"
Katia returned no reply.
"I know that you never liked him," Arkady continued.
"Did I not? It was not for me to judge him."
"Never do I hear that reply without declining to believe it. There is
not a person living whom _all_ of us have not the right to judge. A
disclaimer of that kind always represents an excuse."
"To tell the truth, I disliked him less than I felt him to be a
stranger to me--as complete a one as I to him--or you either, for that
matter."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that--well, how can I express it? That, whereas he was a wild
bird, you and I are tame ones."
"_I_ am a tame one?"
Katia nodded assent. Arkady scratched his ear.
"Look here," he said. "I may tell you that that constitutes, in
essence, an insult."
"Why so? Do you _want_ to be a wild bird?"
"Not necessarily a wild one, but at least one strong and energetic."
"You need wish no such thing. Your friend was both, yet he would rather
have been otherwise.
"H'm! You believe that he used to exercise a considerable influence
over Anna Sergievna?"
"Yes. But no one can hold a rein over her for long." Katia added this
last _sotto voce._
"What makes you think that?"
"The fact that she is very proud--rather, that she values her
independence."
"Who does not?" queried Arkady, while there flashed through his mind
the thought: "Why this mention of her?" Curiously enough, the same
thought occurred to Katia too. But this was not so curious as might
have been supposed, seeing that when young people meet in frequent and
amicable converse, identical thoughts are apt to enter their brains.
Arkady smiled, edged nearer to Katia, and said in a whisper: "Confess
that you are a little afraid of her."
"Of whom?"
"Of _her_" repeated Arkady meaningly.
"_Are you_ afraid of her?" countered Katia.
"I am. Please note that I believe you to be the same."
Katia raised a menacing finger.
"I am surprised at you!" she exclaimed. "Never at any time has my
sister been better disposed towards you than she is now. She likes you