Fathers and Sons
washed. Though he was breathing stertorously, and wriggling his whole
body about, and twitching his tiny arms after the manner of all healthy
children, the dainty robe had had its effect, and his face was puckered
with delight. Also, Thenichka had tidied her own hair, and rearranged
her bodice--well enough though she would have done as she was. For,
in all the world, is there a more entrancing spectacle than that of a
young, handsome mother with, in her arms, a healthy child?
"What a little beauty!" Paul Petrovitch exclaimed indulgently as he
tickled Mitia's double chin with the tip of his forefinger. The baby
fixed its eyes upon the siskin, and smiled.
"This is Uncle," said Thenichka as she bent over the boy and gave him
a gentle shake. For fumigating purposes Duniasha deposited upon the
window-sill a lighted candle, and, beneath it, a two-kopeck piece.
"How old is he?" asked Paul Petrovitch.
"Six months. On the eleventh of this month he will be seven."
"No, eight, will he not, Theodosia Nikolaievna?" timidly corrected
Duniasha.
"No, seven."
Here the infant crowed, fixed his eyes upon the chest in the corner,
and suddenly closed his five tiny fingers upon his mother's mouth and
nose.
"The little rascal!" she said, without, however, freeing her features
from his grasp.
"He is very like my brother," commented Paul Petrovitch.
"Whom else should he be like?" she thought.
"Yes," he continued, half to himself. "Undoubtedly I see the likeness."
He gazed pensively, almost mournfully, at the young mother.
"This is Uncle," again she said to the child: but this time she said it
under her breath.
"Oh, here you are, Paul!" cried Nikolai Petrovitch from behind them.
Paul Petrovitch faced about and knit his brows. But so joyously, and
with such a grateful expression, was his brother regarding the trio
that Paul could only respond with a smile.
"He is a fine little fellow, this baby of yours," the elder brother
observed. Then, glancing at his watch, he added: "I came here merely to
arrange about the purchase of some tea." With which he assumed an air
of indifference, and left the room.
"He came here of his own accord, did he?" was Nikolai Petrovitch's
first inquiry.
"Yes, of his own accord," the girl replied. "He just knocked at the
door and entered."
"And what of Arkasha? Has he too been to see you?"
"No, Nikolai Petrovitch. By the way, might I return to the rooms in the
wing of the house?"
"Why do you want to?"
"Because they suit me better than these."
"I think not," said Nikolai Petrovitch, rubbing his forehead with an
air of indecision. "Before there was a reason for your being there, but
that reason no longer exists."
"Good morning, little rascal!" was his next remark as, with a sudden
access of animation, he approached and kissed the baby's cheek. Then,
bending a little, he pressed his lips to Thenichka's hand--a hand,
against the red of Mitia's robe, as white as milk.
"Why have you done that, Nikolai Petrovitch?" she murmured with
downcast eyes. Yet when she raised them, their expression, as she
glanced from under her brows and smiled her caressing, but slightly
vacant, smile, was charming indeed!
Of the circumstances of Nikolai Petrovitch's first meeting with
Thenichka the following may be related. Three years ago it had fallen
to his lot to spend a night at an inn in a remote country town; and,
while doing so, he had been struck with the cleanliness of the room
assigned him, and also with the freshness of the bed-linen. "Clearly,"
he had thought to himself, "the landlady must be a German." But, as it
had turned out, she was not a German, but a Russian of about fifty,
well-dressed, and possessed both of a comely, intelligent countenance
and of a refined manner of speaking. When breakfast was over, he had
had a long conversation with her, and conceived for her a great liking.
Now, as fate would have it, he had just removed to his new house, and,
owing to a reluctance to continue keeping bonded serfs, was on the
look-out for hired domestics; while she, for her part, was in despair
over the question of the hard times, which caused only a limited
number of visitors to resort to the town. In the end, therefore,
Nikolai Petrovitch proposed to her to come to his house as housekeeper;
and to this proposal, (since her husband was dead, and her family
consisted only of a young daughter named Thenichka) she eventually
agreed. Accordingly, within two weeks Arina Savishna (such was the
new housekeeper's name) arrived at Marino with her child, and took up
her abode in the wing of the new manor-house; nor was it long before
she had put the place to rights. To Thenichka, however, then a girl
of sixteen, she never referred; and few people even caught a glimpse
of the maiden, since she lived a life so modest and retired that only
on Sundays could Nikolai Petrovitch contemplate the delicate profile
of her face in an aisle of the parish church. More than a year thus
elapsed.
But one morning Arina entered his study, bowed to him as usual, and
requested him to be so good as to come and help her with her daughter,
one of whose eyes had been injured with a spark from the stove. It so
happened that, like most men of sedentary habit, Nikolai Petrovitch had
picked up a smattering of medicine--nay, he had even compiled a list
of homoeopathic remedies for one and another emergency; wherefore he
hastened to order Arina to produce the sufferer. As soon as she heard
that the _barin_ had sent for her, Thenichka turned very nervous, but
followed her mother as in duty bound; whereupon Nikolai Petrovitch
led her to the window, took her head in his hands, and, after an
inspection of the red, inflamed eye, wrote out a prescription for a
lotion, compounded the stuff himself, and, lastly, tore off a portion
of his handkerchief, and showed her how best the eye could be bathed.
Meanwhile Thenichka listened attentively, and then tried to leave the
room. "But the idea of going away without kissing the _barin's_ hand,
foolish one!" cried Arina; whereupon, in lieu of offering the girl
his hand, Nikolai Petrovitch felt so embarrassed that in the end he
himself kissed her bent head at the spot where the hair lay parted.
Soon Thenichka's eye healed, but the impression produced upon Nikolai
Petrovitch did not pass away so quickly. Continually there flitted
before him a pure, tender, timidly upturned face; continually he could
feel between the palms of his hands soft coils of hair; continually
appearing to his vision there would be a pair of innocent, half-parted
lips between which a set of pearl-like teeth flashed back the sunlight.
Consequently he began to observe the girl more in church, and to try
to engage her in conversation. But shyness always overcame her, and,
on one occasion when she happened to meet him on a narrow path through
a rye field, she turned aside, and plunged into the mass of tall
grain and undergrowth of cornflowers and wormwood. Yet, despite her
endeavours to escape, his eye discerned her head amid the golden mesh
of cornblades, and he called to her, as she gazed at him with wild eyes:
"Good morning, Thenichka! I shall not hurt you."
"Good morning, _barin_!" she whispered in reply, but did not leave her
retreat.
As time went on, however, she grew more accustomed to his presence; and
by the time that she was beginning really to get over her bashfulness,
her mother died of cholera. Here was a dilemma indeed! For what was
to be done with the young Thenichka, who had inherited her mother's
love of orderliness, and also her mother's good sense and natural
refinement? In the end, she was so young and lonely, and Nikolai
Petrovitch was so good-hearted and modest, that the inevitable came
about. The rest need not be related.
"So my brother has been to you?" he inquired again. "You say that he
just knocked at the door and entered?"
"Yes, he just knocked at the door and entered."
"Good! Now, hand me Mitia."
And Nikolai Petrovitch fell to tossing the baby up and down towards the
ceiling--a proceeding which greatly delighted the little one, but as
greatly disquieted the mother, who, at each upward flight, stretched
her hands in the direction of the infant's naked toes.
Meanwhile Paul Petrovitch returned to his study, of which the walls
were lined with a paper of red wild roses, and hung with weapons; the
floor was covered with a striped Persian carpet; and the furniture,
consisting of a Renaissance bookcase in old black oak, a handsome
writing-table, a few bronze statuettes, and a stove, was constructed,
for the most part, of hazelwood, and upholstered in dark-green velvet.
Stretching himself upon a sofa, he clasped his hands behind his head,
and remained staring at the ceiling. Did presently the thoughts which
were passing through his mind need to be concealed even from the walls,
seeing that he rose, unhooked the heavy curtains from before the
windows, and replaced himself upon the sofa?
[1] Used, as in French, in formal speech or that of a person addressing
a social superior.
IX
The same day also saw Bazarov make Thenichka's acquaintance. This was
when he was walking in the garden with Arkady, and discussing the
question of why certain trees in the garden, especially oaks, had not
prospered as they might have done. Said he:
"You ought to plant the place with as many silver poplars as you can,
and also with Norwegian firs--limes too, if loam should first be added.
For instance, the reason why this clump has done so well is that it is
made up of lilacs and acacias, of which neither require much room. But
hullo! There is some one sitting there!"
The persons seated in the arbour were Thenichka, Duniasha, and little
Mitia. Bazarov halted, and Arkady nodded to Thenichka as to an old
acquaintance. Then the pair passed on again, and Bazarov inquired of
his companion:
"Who was she?"
"To whom are you referring?"
"You know to whom. My word, she _is_ good-looking!"
Arkady explained, with a touch of embarrassment, the identity of
Thenichka.
"Ah!" Bazarov remarked. "Then your father has not at all bad taste.
Indeed, I commend it. But what a young dog he is! I too must be
introduced."
And he turned back in the direction of the arbour.
"Evgenii!" exclaimed Arkady nervously as he followed his friend. "For
God's sake be careful what you do!"
"You need not be alarmed. I know what is what. I am no rustic."
And, approaching Thenichka, he doffed his cap.
"Allow me to introduce myself," he said with a polite bow. "I am a
friend of Arkady's, and a perfectly harmless individual."
Rising from her seat, Thenichka gazed at him in silence.
"Oh, and what a fine baby!" he continued. "Pray do not disturb
yourself. Never yet have I cast upon a child an evil spell. But why are
his cheeks so red? Is he cutting teeth?"
"Yes," replied Thenichka. "He has now cut four of them, and the gums
are a little swelled."
"Then let me see them. Do not be afraid. I am a doctor."
With that he took the baby into his arms, and both Thenichka and
Duniasha were astonished at the fact that it made no resistance, showed
no fear.
"I see," he continued. "Well, everything is going right with him, and
he will have plenty of teeth. Nevertheless, should he in any way ail,
please let me know. Are you yourself well?"
"Yes, thank God!"
"'Thank God,' say I too, for health on the part of the mother is
the chief point of all. And you?" he added, turning to Duniasha.
The latter, ultra-prim of demeanour in the drawing-room, and
ultra-frivolous of behaviour in the kitchen, answered with a giggle.
"Well, you _look_ all right. Here! Take your hero back again."
He replaced the baby in Thenichka's arms.