Fathers and Sons
considerably more than when you first came."
"Really?"
"Yes. And have you not noticed it? You ought to be pleased at the
notion."
Arkady reflected.
"How I have contrived to win Anna Sergievna's good graces I do not
know," at length he said. "Surely it cannot be because I brought her
those letters which were written by your mother?"
"It is, though, and because of other reasons as well--reasons which I
will forbear to mention."
"Why will you?"
"Because I will."
"Oh, I know your faculty for obstinacy."
"It is one which I possess."
"Also, your faculty for observing things."
Katia glanced at him. Then she inquired:
"Why lose your temper? What are you thinking of?"
"This: that I cannot understand how you come to possess those powers
of observation which undoubtedly are yours. I understand it the less
because you are so nervous and distrustful and shy of everybody and----"
"It is because I have lived such a lonely life. A life of that kind
leads one to reflect in spite of oneself. Am I shy of _every_ one,
though?"
Arkady bestowed upon her an appreciative glance.
"Never mind," he said. "At all events it is not often that people in
your position--I mean, people of your wealth--possess such a gift. To
them, as to the Tsars, truth penetrates hardly."
"But I am _not_ wealthy."
Arkady failed at first to follow her meaning, but reflected: "Certainly
the property belongs to her sister, not to her." Nor was the thought
wholly unpleasing--so little so that presently he added:
"You said that very prettily."
"I said what?"
"That you are not wealthy. You said it so simply, so without any
false shame, so without the least _arrière pensée. Apropos_, the
consciousness of the ordinary person who both knows and confesses that
he or she is poor always seems to me to contain more than the mere
words imply--it harbours also a touch of vanity."
"I have, thanks to my sister, had no experience of poverty. And as
for my possessions, I mentioned them only because the words came of
themselves to my lips."
"Quite so. Yet confess that you too harbour a grain of the vanity to
which I have alluded."
"Give me an example of my doing so."
"An example? Well, may I ask why you have not married a rich man?"
"Were I to love such a one very much, I----But no man of that sort has
come my way: wherefore I have made no such marriage."
"There, now!" cried Arkady. "But why should you not do so in the
future?"
"Because even the poets deprecate _mésalliances._"
"You mean that you wish either to rule or----?"
"Oh no! What good would that be? On the contrary, I am prepared to be
ruled, even though I believe that inequality in any form works badly. A
union of self-respect with submission--that is what I best understand,
that is what spells true happiness. A mere subordinate existence
is--well, something which I do not fancy."
"'Something which I do not fancy,'" commented Arkady. "Yes, you are of
the same blood as Anna Sergievna: you are as independent as she, and
you are even more secretive. In fact, however deep-rooted and sacred
a stock of sentiments you might hold, you would never, of your own
accord, give them utterance."
"Of course! How could you suppose anything else?"
"Also, you are clever, and have a measure of character equal to, if not
greater than, hers."
"I dislike being compared with my sister. You seem to have forgotten
that she is both 'beautiful' and 'intellectual' and---- Moreover, you,
above all people, ought not to say anything to her disparagement, and
still less to say it seriously."
"Why '_you_, above all people'? Do you think that I am jesting?"
"I am certain of it."
"Indeed? But what if I were to say that I really mean my words? What if
I were to say that, if anything, I have under-expressed what is in my
mind?"
"I fail to follow you."
"Do you? Your quickness of perception has been overrated."
"Why has it?"
Averting his head, Arkady returned no reply, while Katia fell to
searching for the last crumbs in her basket, and throwing them to the
sparrows. Unfortunately, the throw of her arm proved too strong, and
the birds flew away without even touching the food offered them.
"Katia," said Arkady, "it may be that you look upon these things as
matters of no moment. Kindly note, therefore, that neither for your
sister nor for any other person would I exchange Mademoiselle Katerina
Sergievna."
Rising, he walked away as though in sudden alarm at having allowed the
words to escape his lips. Meanwhile Katia, with her hands resting upon
the basket and her head bent, gazed after him. Gradually there crept
into her cheeks a rosy tint; and though her lips were not smiling, and
her dark eyes contained a hint of perplexity, there lurked also in her
expression another unexpressed feeling.
"Are you alone?" said Anna Sergievna's voice from behind her. "I
thought that Arkady came with you into the garden?"
Katia slowly raised her eyes to her sister (tastefully, and even
showily, dressed, the latter was standing on the path, and engaged in
stirring Fin's ears with the point of an open parasol), and as slowly
replied:
"Yes--I am alone."
"So I see," commented Madame with a smile. "He has gone indoors, I
suppose?"
"Probably."
"And you have been reading with him?"
"I have."
Anna Sergievna took Katia under the chin, and raised her face towards
her own.
"You have not quarrelled, I hope?" she said.
"Oh no," said Katia, and quietly put away her sister's hand.
"What solemn replies! Well, I came here to propose a walk, since he is
always asking me to go one. But, to pass to another subject, some shoes
have arrived for you from the town, so _you_ had better go and try them
on. Only yesterday I was noticing how shabby your old ones are. In
general, you do not take sufficient pains in such matters, for you have
charming feet, and also not ugly hands, even though a trifle too large.
You ought to take care of your feet. When you are here you do not do so
sufficiently."
Madame passed onwards with a light rustle of her handsome gown, while
Katia rose from the bench, and, taking the volume of Heine, departed in
another direction--though _not_ to try on the boots.
"'You have charming feet,'" she repeated to herself as she tripped up
the sun-baked steps of the terrace. "'You have charming feet.' Well,
before long some one shall be at them."
Confusion then overcame her, and she took the remaining steps at a
bound.
Meanwhile Arkady made for his room. As he was passing through the hall
he was overtaken by the butler, and informed that Monsieur Bazarov was
awaiting him above.
"Evgenii Vasilitch?" exclaimed Arkady in a tone very much as of alarm.
"Has he been here long?"
"A few minutes only. He instructed me not to announce him to Madame but
to take him straight to your room."
"I hope that nothing unfortunate has occurred at home," reflected
Arkady as he ran up the stairs and opened the door of the bedroom. But
the first sight of Bazarov's face reassured him, even though a more
experienced eye might have detected in the features of the unlooked-for
guest certain signs that inward turmoil underlay their usual rigidity.
Clad in a dust cloak and a travelling cap, he was seated on the
window-sill, and did not rise even when, rushing towards him with
exclamations of astonishment, and fussing to and fro like a man who
believes himself to be overjoyed, as well as desires other people to
believe it, Arkady cried:
"What a surprise! What has brought you here? Surely everything at home
is well, and all are in good health?"
"Everything at your home is well," said Bazarov; "but all are not in
good health. However, if your brains are not hopelessly wandering,
first tell them to bring me some _kvass_, and then sit down and listen
to my few but, I hope, well-chosen words."
This quieted Arkady, and upon that Bazarov told him of the duel with
Paul Petrovitch. The recital finished, Arkady stood amazed, as well as
distressed. But this he did not think it necessary to state--he merely
inquired whether his uncle's wound were really a harmless one, and, on
receiving the reply that it was of a nature uninteresting from every
but the medical point of view, forced a smile. Yet all the while he
felt secretly hurt, and also secretly ashamed. This Bazarov seemed to
divine.
"See," he said, "what comes of consorting with feudal folk! Should
one's lot be cast among them, inevitably one gets drawn into their
knightly tourneys. Being on my way to my parents' place, I have turned
aside to But no; I will not be guilty of a foolish and useless lie. The
real reason why I have turned aside is that--oh, the devil only knows
why! Times there are when a man ought to take himself by the scruff of
the neck, and uproot himself like a radish from a garden border. That
is what _I_ did when I was last here. But, since, a longing has come
upon me to take just another peep at all that I then forsook--to view
once more the border where I used to grow."
"By the words 'all that I then forsook' I hope that you do not mean
myself as well?" cried Arkady anxiously. "Do not say that you intend to
sever me also from your friendship?"
Bazarov looked at him. He did so fixedly, almost sharply.
"Would the eventuality distress you?" he inquired. "Rather, it is you
who have forsaken me, O verdant and transparent soul. _Inter alia_, I
hope that your affair with Anna Sergievna is progressing?"
"My 'affair with Anna Sergievna'?"
"For her sake, was it not, you came hither from the town? Ah, tender
young chicken of mine, what about those Sunday Schools? Come, come!
Do not tell me that you are not in love with her. Or have you at last
learnt to be secretive?"
"Always I have been frank with you, as you know; wherefore pray believe
me when I say--I call God to witness that it is true--that your
surmises are mistaken."
"Truly a new song!" remarked Bazarov _sotto voce._
"But do not disturb yourself: it is all one to me. Certainly, a
Romanticist would have said: 'Our roads are beginning to diverge'; but
I say no more than that clearly we have no further use for one another."
"Oh, Evgenii!"
"Dear lad, it is no misfortune. At all times is something in the world
finding out that it has no use for something else. So we must say
good-bye. Ever since I arrived in this place I have been feeling as
uncomfortable as a Governor's lady when she hears a work of Gogol's
read aloud. In fact, I did not order my horses to be unharnessed."
"But you cannot act like this!"
"Why not?"
"Because, apart from my own feelings, such a speedy departure would be
the height of rudeness to Anna Sergievna. I know that she would like to
see you."
"No, she would not."
"I am positive that she would. Why pretend like this? Are you going to
say that it is not for her sake alone that you are here?"
"You have grounds for that surmise, yet I say that you are wrong."
But Arkady proved to be right, for Anna Sergievna really desired to see
Bazarov, and, through the butler, sent him word to that effect. After
tidying his costume, therefore, and tucking his new great-coat under
his arm (in readiness to depart as soon as the interview should be
concluded), he went downstairs, and was received, not in the room where
he had unexpectedly disclosed his passion, but in the drawing-room.
Anna Sergievna's manner, as she offered him the tips of her fingers,
was pleasant enough, yet her face betrayed involuntary tension.
"To begin with," Bazarov hastened to say, "allow me to reassure you.
You see before you a corpse which has long returned to its senses, and
is also not destitute of hope that others have forgotten its folly. I
am unlikely to see you again for an extended period, but, though (as