Fathers and Sons
Vasili Ivanitch to pluck up courage, and to exclaim:
"Thank God, the crisis has both come and gone!"
"Do not be too sure of that," rejoined Bazarov. "For what does the
term 'crisis' signify? Some one once invented it, shouted 'Crisis!'
and congratulated himself ever after. Extraordinary how the human
race continues to attach credence to mere words! For example, tell a
man that he is a fool, yet refrain from assaulting him, and he will
be downcast; but tell him that he is a man of wisdom, yet give him no
money, and he will be overjoyed."
So reminiscent of Bazarov's former sallies was this little speech that
Vasili Ivanitch's heart fairly overflowed.
"Bravo!" he cried, clapping his hands in dumb show. "Well said!"
Bazarov smiled a sad smile.
"Then you think," said he, "that the 'crisis' is either approaching or
retiring?"
"I know that you are better. That I can see for myself. And the fact
rejoices me."
"Well, it is not always a bad thing to rejoice. But have you sent word
to, to--to _her_? You know whom I mean?"
"Of course I have, Evgenii."
The improvement did not long continue, for to it there succeeded
attacks of pain. Vasili Ivanitch sat by the bed: and as he did so it
seemed as though something in particular were worrying the old man.
Several times he tried to speak, and each time he failed. But at length
he contrived to gasp out:
"Evgenii! Son! My dearest son! My own beloved son!"
Even Bazarov could not remain wholly indifferent to such an unwonted
appeal. Turning his head a little, and making an evident effort to
shake off the unconsciousness that was weighing him down, he murmured:
"What is it, my father?"
"This, Evgenii." And all of a sudden the old man fell upon his knees
beside the bed. "Evgenii, you are better now, and with God's help will
recover; but do, in any case, seize this hour to comfort me and your
mother by fulfilling all the duties of a Christian. Yes, though to say
this is painful for me, how much more terribly would it hurt me if--if
this chance were to pass for ever, Evgenii! Think, oh think of what----"
The old man could say no more, while over the son's face and closed
eyes there passed a curious expression. A pause followed. Then Bazarov
said:
"To comfort you, I will not altogether refuse your request; but, since
you yourself have said that I am better, surely there can be no need
for hurry?"
"Yes, you _are_ better, Evgenii--you _are_ better; but who can say what
may lie in the dispensation of God? Whereas, once this duty shall have
been fulfilled----"
"Yet I will wait a little," interrupted Bazarov. "This much, however, I
will concede: that, should you prove to be wrong in your surmise as to
my recovery, I will allow the Last Sacrament to be administered."
"And, Evgenii, I beg of you to----"
"I will wait a little, I repeat. And now let me go to sleep. Do not
disturb me."
And he replaced his head in its former position, while the old man rose
from his knees, reseated himself in the chair, rested his chin upon his
hands, and fell to biting his fingers.
Presently Vasili's ear caught the rumble of a light carriage--the sound
which is always so distinguishable in a quiet country spot. Nearer and
nearer came the sound of the wheels; nearer and nearer came the hard
breathing of horses. Springing from his chair, he rushed to the window.
Into the courtyard of the mansion there was turning a two-seated,
four-horsed buggy! Without stopping to think what this could mean, he
darted forward to the front door, where, transported with joy, he was
just in time to see a liveried footman open the door of the vehicle,
and assist thence a lady in a black cloak, with a veil of the same hue.
"I am Madame Odintsov," she said. "Is Evgenii Vasilitch still alive? I
presume you are his father? I have brought with me a doctor."
Even as she spoke the doctor in question--a German-looking little
individual in spectacles--descended in a slow and dignified manner from
the buggy.
"O angel of mercy!" cried Vasili Ivanitch as, seizing her hand, he
pressed it convulsively to his lips. "Yes, our Evgenii is still alive!
And now he will be saved! Wife! Wife! There is an angel come to us from
Heaven!"
"What?" responded the old woman with a gasp as she came running out
of the hall. So lost in bewilderment was she that, falling at Anna
Sergievna's feet, she actually began madly to kiss the hem of the
visitor's cloak.
"Come, come!" Madame exclaimed. "What does all this mean?"
But Arina Vlasievna was deaf to everything, and Vasili Ivanitch too
could only continue repeating:
"There is an angel come to us from Heaven! There is an angel come to us
from Heaven! There is an angel come to us from Heaven!"
"_Wo ist der Kranke_? (Where is the patient)?" asked the doctor with a
touch of impatience.
This restored Vasili Ivanitch to his senses.
"Come this way, come this way," he said. "Yes, pray follow me,
_Werthester Herr Kollega_" (titles based upon the strength of bygone
memories).
For answer the German exclaimed "Eh?", and pulled a not very gracious
smirk.
Vasili Ivanitch led the way to the study.
"Here is the doctor brought by Madame Anna Sergievna Odintsov," he said
as he bent over his son.
"She herself too is here."
Bazarov opened his eyes with a start.
"What do you say?" he asked.
"I say that Madame Anna Sergievna Odintsov is here, and that she has
brought with her this good doctor."
Bazarov peered around.
"Where is Anna Sergievna?" he murmured. "Do you say that she is here?
Then I wish to see her."
"You shall see her, Evgenii; but first of all I must have a chat with
this gentleman, and tell him the story of your illness: for Sidor
Sidorovitch" (that was the name of the district physician) "has gone
home, and a short consultation must be held."
Bazarov eyed the German.
"All right," he said. "Hold your consultation as soon as you like.
Only, do not speak in Latin, for I know the meaning of the words _Jam
moritur."_
"_Der Herr scheint des Deutschen mächtig zu sein_," the newly-arrived
disciple of Æsculapius remarked to Vasili Ivanitch.
"_Ich habe_----" the old man began; then added: "But perhaps we had
better speak in Russian, my dear sir?"
And the consultation followed.
Half an hour later Vasili Ivanitch conducted Anna Sergievna into the
study. As the doctor passed out he whispered to her that recovery was
hopeless.
She glanced at Bazarov, and halted as though petrified, so striking was
the bloodshot, deathlike face, with the dim eyes turned so yearningly
in her direction. Nevertheless her feeling was one merely of chill,
oppressive terror, while at the same moment there flashed through her
brain the thought that, if she had loved him, no such feeling could now
have been present.
"I thank you," he said with an effort. "I had not expected this, and
you have done a kind act in coming. So we meet once more, even as you
foretold!"
"Has not Madame Anna Sergievna indeed been kind?" put in Vasili
Ivanitch.
"Father, pray leave us," said Bazarov. "I know, Anna Sergievna, that
you will excuse him. For at such a time as this----" And he nodded
towards his weak, prostrate form.
Vasili Ivanitch left the room.
"A second time I thank you," continued Bazarov. "To have acted so is
worthy of the Tsars. For they say that even the Sovereign visits a
deathbed when requested."
"Evgenii Vasilitch, I hope that----"
"Let us speak plainly. My course is run. I am under the wheel, and
we need not think of the future. Yet how curious it is that to each
individual human being death, old though it is as an institution,
comes as a novelty!... Nevertheless, it shall not make me quail: and
then there will fall the curtain, and then--well, then they will write
_Fuit_." There followed a feeble gesture. "But what did I want to
say to you? That I have loved you? There was a time when the phrase
'I love' had for me no meaning; and now it will have less than ever,
seeing that love is a form, and that my particular embodiment of it is
fast lapsing towards dissolution. It Ah, how perfect you are! You stand
there as beautiful as---"
There passed over Anna Sergievna an involuntary shudder.
"Nay," he said. You need not be afraid. "But will you not sit down?
Seat yourself near me, but not too near, for my malady is infectious."
She crossed the room with a rapid step, and seated herself beside the
sofa on which he was lying.
"O woman of kind heart!" he whispered. "And to think that you are
beside me once more! To think that you, so pure and fresh and young,
are in this sorry room! Well, good-bye, and may you live long, and
enjoy your time while you may. Of all things in this world long life is
the most desirable: yet you can see for yourself what an ugly spectacle
I, a half-crushed, but still wriggling, worm, am now become. There was
a time when I used to say: 'I will do many things in life, and refuse
to die before I have completed those tasks, for I am a giant': but now
I have indeed a giant's task in hand--the task of dying as though death
were nothing to me.... No matter. I am not going to put my tail between
my legs."
He broke off, and groped for his tumbler. She handed it him without
drawing off her glove. Her breath was coming in jerks.
"It will not be long before you will have forgotten me," he went on.
"For a dead mortal is no companion for a living one. I daresay that my
father will tell you what a man is being lost to Russia; but that is
all rubbish. Nevertheless, do not undeceive him, for he is old, old.
Rather, comfort him as you would comfort a child, and also be kind to
my mother. Two such mortals as them you will not find in all _your_
great world--no, not though you search for them with a candle by
daylight.... Russia needs me, indeed! Evidently she does _not_ need me.
Whom, then, does she need? She needs shoemakers, tailors, butchers....
What does a butcher sell? He sells meat, does he not?... I think that I
am wandering--I seem to see before me a forest...."
He pressed his hand to his forehead, and Anna Sergievna bent over him.
"Evgenii Vasilitch," she said, "I am here."
With a combined movement he took her hand and raised himself a little.
"Good-bye," he said with a sudden spasm of energy and a last flash
of his eyes. "Good-bye.... I kissed you that time, did I not, when,
when----?... Ah, breathe now upon the expiring lamp, that it may go out
in peace."
She pressed her lips gently to his forehead.
"Enough," he murmured as he sank back upon the pillow. "Now let there
come--darkness."
She left the room quietly.
"Well?" whispered Vasili Ivanitch.
"He has gone to sleep," she replied in a voice that was scarcely
audible.
But Bazarov was not fated to go to sleep. Rather, as night approached
he sank into a state of coma, and, on the following day, expired.
Father Alexis performed over him the last rites of religion, and at
the moment when Extreme Unction was being administered, and the holy
oil touched his breast, one of the dying man's eyelids raised itself,
and over the face there seemed to flit something like an expression
of distaste at the sight of the priest in his vestments, the smoking
censer, and the candles before the _ikon._
Finally, when Bazarov's last breath had been drawn, and there had
arisen in the house the sound of "the general lamentation," something
akin to frenzy came upon Vasili Ivanitch.
"I declare that I protest!" he cried with his face blazing and
quivering with fury, and his fist beating the air as in menace of some
one. "I declare that I protest, that I protest, that I protest!"
Upon that old Arina Vlasievna, suffused in tears, laid her arms around
his neck, and the two sank forward upon the floor. Said Anfisushka