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 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OE CALIEORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 THE WORKS 
 
 OF 
 
 IVAN TURGENIEFF 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE RUSSIAN BY 
 
 ISABEL F. HAPGOOD 
 
 THE DIARY OF A SUPERFLUOUS MAN 
 
 AND OTHER STORIES 
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 ,V *^' ^"•''"'^''«^«A> 
 
 
 THE JEFFERSON PRESS 
 BOSTON NEW YORK
 
 Copyright, 1904, by 
 (HARLKS SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 
 Copyrii^'ht, 1903, by 
 Charles .Sckiunek's Sons
 
 / ) / 
 
 THE DIARY 
 OF A SUPERFLUOUS MAN 
 
 (1850) 
 
 ^'' ',
 
 THE DIARY 
 OF A SUPERFLUOUS MAN 
 
 Hamlet of Ovetchi-Vody,^ 
 March 20, 18 . 
 
 THE doctor has just left me. At last I 
 have obtained a categorical answer ! Dodge 
 as he might, he could not help saying what he 
 thought, at last. Yes, I shall die soon, very soon. 
 The streams are opening, and I shall float away, 
 ])robably with the last snows .... whither? 
 God knows! To the sea also. Well, all right! 
 If I must die, then 't is better to die in the spring. 
 But is it not ridiculous to begin one's diary per- 
 haps a fortnight before one's death? Where 's 
 the harm? And in what way are fourteen days 
 less than fourteen years, fourteen centuries? In 
 the presence of eternity, they say, everj^thing is 
 of no account — yes; but, in that case, eternity 
 also is of no account. I am falling into specu- 
 lation, I think: that is a bad sign — am not I be- 
 ginning to turn coward? — It will be better if I 
 narrate something. It is raw and windy out of 
 doors, — I am forbidden to go out. But what 
 shall I narrate? A well-bred man does not talk 
 
 ^ Sheep's- Waters or Springs. —Translator. 
 
 3
 
 THE DIARY OF 
 
 about his maladies; composing a novel, or some- 
 thing of that sort, is not in my line; reflections 
 about exalted themes are beyond my powers; 
 descriptions of life round about me do not even 
 interest me; and to do nothing is tiresome; to 
 read — is idleness. Eh! I will narrate to myself 
 the story of my own life. A capital idea ! When 
 death is approaching it is proper, and can of- 
 fend no one. I begin. 
 
 I \\'as born thirty years ago, the son of a 
 fairly wealthy landed proprietor. ]My father 
 was a j^assionate gambler; my mother w^as a lady 
 with character .... a very virtuous lady. 
 Only, I have never known a woman whose virtue 
 afforded less satisfaction. She succumbed under 
 the burden of her merits, and tortured everybody, 
 l>eginning witli herself. During the whole fifty 
 years of her life, she never once rested, never 
 folded her hands; she M'as eternally bustling and 
 fussing about, like an ant — and without any re- 
 sult whatever, which cannot be said of the ant. 
 An implacable worm gnawed her day and night. 
 Only once did I behold her perfectly quiet,— 
 namely, on the first day after her death, in her 
 coffin. As I gazed at her, it really seemed to me 
 that her face expressed mild surprise; the half- 
 open lips, the sunken cheeks, and the gently-mo- 
 tionless eyes seemed to bi-eathe forth the words: 
 " How good it is not to stir! " Yes, 't is good, 
 't is good to part at last from the fatiguing con- 
 
 4
 
 A SUPERFI.UOUS INIAN 
 
 sciousness of life, from the importunate and un- 
 easy sense of existence! But that is not the 
 point. 
 
 I grew up badly, and not cheerfully. Both 
 my father and my mother loved me; but that did 
 not make things any the easier for me. My 
 father had no power whatever in his own house, 
 and no importance, in his quality of a man 
 iiiven over to a shameful and ruinous vice. He 
 admitted his fall, and, without having the 
 strength to renounce liis favourite ])assion, he 
 endeavoured, at least, by his constantly affec- 
 tionate and discreet mien, by his submissive hu- 
 mility, to win the indulgence of his exemplary 
 wife. My mamma, in fact, bore her misfortune 
 with that magnificent and ostentatious long-suf- 
 fering of virtue which contains so much of self- 
 satisfied pride. She never reproached my fa- 
 ther for anything, she silently surrendered to 
 liim her last penny, and paid his debts ; he lauded 
 her to her face and behind her back, but was not 
 fond of staying at home, and petted me on the 
 sly, as though he were himself afraid of con- 
 taminating me by his presence. But his ruffled 
 features exhaled such kindness at those times, 
 the feverish smirk on his lips was replaced by 
 such a touching smile, his brown eyes, surrounded 
 by fine wrinkles, beamed with so much love, that I 
 involuntarily pressed my cheek to his cheek, moist 
 and warm with tears. I wiped away those tears 
 
 5
 
 THE DIARY OF 
 
 with my handkerchief, and they flowed again, 
 
 without effoi-t, hke the water in an o\erfilled 
 
 glass. 1 set to crying myself, and he soothed me, 
 
 patted my hack with his hand, kissed me all over 
 
 my face with his quivering lips. Even now, 
 
 more than twentv vears after his death, when I 
 
 ' • ... 
 
 recall my poor father, dumb sobs rise in my 
 throat, and my heart beats — beats as hotly and 
 bitterly, it languishes with as much sorrow^ful 
 compassion, as thougli it still had a long time to 
 beat and as though there were anything to feel 
 compassion about ! 
 
 My mother, on the contrary, alwaj'^s treated 
 me in one way, affectionately, but coldly. Such 
 mothers, moral and just, are frequenth^ to be met 
 with in children's books. She loved me, but I 
 did not love her. Yes! I shunned mv virtuous 
 mother, and passionately loved my vicious father. 
 
 But enough for to-day. I have made a begin- 
 ning, and there is no cause for me to feel anxious 
 about the end, w hatever it may be. My malady 
 \v\\\ attend to that. 
 
 March 21. 
 
 The weather is wonderful to-day. It is warm 
 and bright; the sun is playing gaily on the slushy 
 snow; everything is glittering, smoking, drij)- 
 ])ing; the s])arrows are screaming like mad crea- 
 tures around tlie dark, sweating hedges; the 
 damp air irritates my chest sweetly but fright- 
 
 6
 
 A SUPERFI.UOUS MAN 
 
 fully. The spring, the spring is coming! I am 
 sitting by the window, and looking out across 
 the little river to the fields. O Nature! Nature! 
 I love thee so, but I came forth from thy womb 
 unfitted even for life. Yonder is a male sparrow- 
 hopping about \vitl] outspread wings; he i- 
 screaming — and every sound of his voice, ever}- 
 ruffled feather on his tiny body breathes fortli 
 health and strength. 
 
 What is to be concluded from tliat? Nothing. 
 He is healthy and has a right to scream and ruf- 
 fle up his feathers; but I am ill and must die — 
 that is all. It is not worth while to say any more 
 about that. And tearful appeals to nature are 
 comically absurd. Let us return to my story. 
 
 I grew up, as I have already said, badly and 
 not cheerfully. I had no brothers or sisters. I 
 was educated at home. And, indeed, what would 
 my mother have had to occupy her if I had been 
 sent off to boarding-school or to a government 
 institute? That 's what children are for — to 
 keep their parents from being bored. We lived 
 chiefly in the country, and sometimes v/ent to 
 Moscow. I had governors and teachers, as is 
 the custom. A cadaverous and tearful German, 
 Riechmann, has remained particularly memorable 
 to me, — a remarkably melancholy being, crip- 
 pled by fate, who was fruitlessly consumed by an 
 anguished longing for his native land. My man- 
 nurse, Vasily, nicknamed " The Goose," would 
 
 7
 
 THE DIAKV OF 
 
 sit, unshaved, in liis everlasting- old coat of blue 
 frieze, beside tlie stove in the friohtlnlly sti- 
 tiing atmosphere of the elose anteroom, impreg- 
 nated throngh and throngh with the sonr odour 
 of old kvas, — would sit and 2^1ay cards with the 
 coachman, Potap, who had just got a new sheep- 
 skin coat, white as snow, and invincible tarred 
 boots, — while Riechmann would be singing on the 
 other side of the partition: 
 
 "Ileiz, niein Her/, warum so traurig? 
 Was bekiimniert dich so sehr? 
 'S ist ja schon iin fremden Lande — 
 Her/, mein Herz, was willst du mehr?"" 
 
 After my father's death, we definitively re- 
 moved to Moscow. I Mas then twehe years of 
 age. ;My father died during the night of a stroke 
 of apoplexy. I shall never forget that night. 
 I was sleeping soundly, as all children are in 
 the habit of sleeping; but I remember, that even 
 athwart my slumber I thought I heard a heavy, 
 laboured breathing. Sudderdy I felt some one 
 seize me by the shoulder and shake me. I open 
 my eyes: in front of me stands my man-nurse. 
 — " What 's the mattei? '^" Come along, come 
 along, Alexyei Mikhailiteh is dying. ..." I fly 
 out of the })ed like a mad creature, and into the 
 bedroom. T look: mv father is lying with his 
 head thrown back, all red in the faee and rat- 
 tling in his throat most painfully. The servants, 
 
 8
 
 A SUPERFLUOUS MAN 
 
 with frightened faces, throng the doors; in the 
 anteroom some one inqnires in a hoarse voice: 
 " Has the doctor been sent for? " In the court- 
 yard, a horse is being led out of the stable, the 
 gate is creaking, a tallow candle is burning in 
 the room on the floor; mamma is there also, over- 
 whelmed, but without losing either her decorum 
 or the consciousness of her own dignity. I flung 
 myself on my father's breast, embraced him, 
 and stammered out: " Papa, papa! "... He la}^ 
 motionless and puckered up his eyes in a strange 
 sort of way. I looked him in the face — unbear- 
 able horror stopjDcd my breath; I squeaked with 
 terror, like a roughly-grasped bird. They 
 dragged me from him and carried me away. 
 Only the night before, as though with a fore- 
 boding of his approaching death, he had caressed 
 me so fervently and so sadly. 
 
 They brought a dishevelled and sleepy doctor, 
 with a strong smell of lovage ^'odka. My father 
 died under his lancet, and on the following- 
 day, thoroughly stupefled with grief, I stood 
 with a candle in my hand in front of the table on 
 which lay the corpse, and listened unheeding to 
 the thick-voiced intoning of the chanter, occa- 
 sionally broken by the feeble voice of the priest; 
 tears kept streaming down m}^ cheeks, over my 
 lips, and my collar and my cuffs; I w^as consumed 
 with tears, I stared flxedly at the motionless face 
 of my father, as though I were expecting him to 
 
 9
 
 y 
 
 TIIK DIARY OF 
 
 do something; and my mother, meanwhile, slowly 
 made reverences to the floor, slowly raised her- 
 self and, as she crossed herself, pressed her fin- 
 gers strongly to her brow, her shoulders, and her 
 body. Tliere was not a single thought in my 
 head ; I had grown heavy all over, but I felt that 
 something dreadful was taking place with me. 
 .... It was then that Death looked into mv 
 face, and made a note of me. 
 
 We removed our residence to Moscow, after the 
 death of my father, for a very simple reason ; all 
 our estate was sold under the hammer for debt, 
 — positively everything, with the exception of 
 one wretched little hamlet, the very one in which 
 I am now finishing vi\\ magnificent existence. I 
 confess that, in spite of the fact that I was young 
 at the time, I grieved over the sale of our nest; 
 that is to say, in reality, I grieved over our park 
 only. With that park are boimd up my sole 
 bright memories. There, on one tranquil spring 
 evening, I buried my best friend, an old dog 
 with a bob tail and crooked paws— Trixie; there, 
 hiding myself in tlie tall grass, I used to eat 
 stolen apples, red, sweet Xovgorod apples ; there, 
 in conclusion, I for the first time behdd through 
 the bushes of ripe raspberries, Klaudia the maid, 
 who, despite her snub nose, and her habit of 
 laughing in her kerchief, aroused in me such a 
 tendei- passion that in her presence I hardly 
 breatlied, felt like swooning, and was stricken 
 
 10
 
 A SUPERFLUOUS MAN 
 
 iliinib. But one day, on the Bright Sunday,' 
 w hen her turn cHine to kiss my lordly hand, 1 all 
 but flung myself down and kissed her patched 
 y'oatskin shoes. Great heavens! Can it be twenty 
 years since all that happened? It does not seem 
 so very long since I used to ride my shaggy, 
 chestnut horse along the old wattled hedge of our 
 park, and, rising in my stirrups, pluck the double- 
 faced leaves of the poplars. While a man is 
 living he is not conscious of his own life; like a 
 sound, it becomes intelligible to him a little while 
 afterward. 
 
 Oh, my park ! Oh, my overgrown paths along 
 the little pond! Oh, unhappy little spot beneath 
 the decrepit dam, where I used to catch min- 
 nows and gudgeons! And you, ye lofty birch- 
 trees, with long, pendulous branches, from 
 behind which, from the country road, the mel- 
 ancholy song of the peasant used to be wafted, 
 unevenly broken by the jolts of the rough cart — 
 I send you my last farewells! . . . As I part 
 with life I stretch out iny hands to you alone. 
 I should like once more to inhale the bitter fresh- 
 ness of the wormwood, the sweet scent of the 
 reaped buckwheat in the fields of my natal spot; 
 I should like once more to hear from afar the 
 modest jangling of the cracked bell on our 
 parish church ; once more to lie in the cool shadow 
 beneath the oak -bush on the slope of the famil- 
 
 ^ Easter. —Thanslator. 
 11
 
 THE DIARF OF 
 
 iar ravine ; once more to follow with my eyes the 
 moving trace of the wind, as it flew like a dark 
 streak over the golden grass of our meadow. . . . 
 Ekh, to what end is all this? But I cannot 
 go on to-day. Until to-morrow. 
 
 March 22. 
 
 To-day it is cold and overcast again. Such wea- 
 ther is far more suitable. It is in accord with 
 my work. Yesterday quite unseasonably evoked 
 in me a multitude of unnecessary feelings and 
 memories. That will not be repeated. Emo- 
 tional effusions are like liquorice-root: when you 
 take your first suck at it, it does n't seem bad, 
 but it leaves a very bad taste in your mouth 
 afterward. T will simply and quietly narrate 
 the story of my life. 
 
 So then, we went to live in ^loscow. . . . 
 
 But it just occurs to me: is it really worth 
 wjiile to tell the storv of my life? 
 
 Xo, decidedly it is not worth while. . . . My 
 life is in no way different from the lives of a 
 mass of other people. The parental home, the 
 university, service in inferior positions, retire- 
 ment, a small circle of acquaintances, down- 
 right poverty, modest pleasures, humble occupa- 
 tions, moderate desires — tell me, for mercy's 
 sake, who does not know all that? And I, in 
 particular, shall not tell the story of my life, be- 
 
 12
 
 A SUPERFLUOUS MAN 
 
 cause I am writing for my own pleasure; and if 
 my past presents even to me nothing very cheer- 
 ful, nor even very sorrowful, that means that 
 there really can be nothing in it worthy of atten- 
 tion. I haci better trv to analyse mv own char- 
 acter to myself. 
 
 What sort of a man am 1 ? . . . Some one may 
 remark to me that no one asks about that. — 
 Agreed. But, you see, I am dying, — God is my 
 witness, I am dying, — and really before death 
 the desire to kno^\' ^\'hat sort of a fellow I have 
 been is pardonable, I think. 
 
 After having thoroughly pondered this im- 
 portant question, and having, moreover, no need 
 to express myself bitterly on my own score, as do 
 people who are strongly convinced of their mer- 
 its, I must confess one thing: I have been an 
 utterly snj)erfluous man in this world, or, if you 
 like to put it that way, an utterly useless bird. 
 And I intend to prove that to-morrow, because 
 to-day I am coughing like an aged sheep, and 
 my nurse, Terentievna, will give me no peace. 
 " Lie down, dear little father mine," she says, 
 " and drink your tea." ... I know whj^ she 
 worries me: she wants some tea herself! Well! 
 All right! Why not permit the poor old woman 
 to extract, at the finish, all ])ossible profit from 
 her master? . . . The time for that has not yet 
 gone by. 
 
 13
 
 THE UlARY OF 
 
 Marcli 23. 
 \\'iNTER again. The snow is falling in large 
 flakes. 
 
 wSuperfluous, superfluous. . . . That s a capi- 
 tal word I have devised. The more deeply 1 
 penetrate into myself, the more attentively I 
 scrutinise the whole of my own i)ast life, the 
 more convinced do I become of the strict justice 
 of that expression. Superfluous — precisely that. 
 That word is not appropriate to other people. 
 . . . People are bad, good, clever, stupid, agree- 
 able, and disagreeable; but superfluous . . . . 
 no. That is to say, understand me: the universe 
 could dispense with these people also .... of 
 course; but uselessness is not their chief quality, 
 is not their distinguishing characteristic, and 
 when you are speaking of them, the word " super- 
 fluous " is not the first one that comes to your 
 tongue. But I .... of me nothing else could 
 possibly be said: superfluous— that is all. Nature 
 had not, evidently, calculated on my appearance, 
 and in consequence of this, she treated me like 
 "i an unexpected and unbidden guest. Not without 
 cause did one wag, a great lover of Swedish Avhist, 
 say of me, that my mother had discarded.' T 
 speak of myself now calmly, ^^'ithout any gall. 
 . . . . 'T is a thing of the past! During the 
 whole course of my life I liave constantly found 
 
 ^ A decidedly vulgar pun \n tlie original.— Transijvtor. 
 
 14
 
 A SUPKIU LUOUS MAN 
 
 my place occupied, i)()ssibly because I sought 
 my place in the wrong direction. I Avas, sus- 
 picious, bashful, irritable, like all invalids; more- 
 over, probably owing to superfluous vanity, — or 
 by reason of the deficient organisation of my 
 person, — between my feelings and my tlioughts 
 and the expression of those feelings and thoughts 
 there existed some senseless, incomprehensible 
 and insuperable barrier; and when I made up 
 my mind to overcome that impediilient by force, 
 to break down that barrier, my movements, the 
 expression of my face, my entire being as- 
 sumed the aspect of anguished tension: I not 
 only seemed, but I actually became unnatiu'al and 
 affected. I was conscious of it myself and made 
 haste to retire again into myself. Then a fright- 
 ful tumult arose within me. I analysed ntyself 
 to the last shred; I compared myself with other 
 people ; I recalled the smallest glances, the smiles, 
 the words of the people before whom I woidd 
 have liked to expand; I interpreted everything 
 from its bad side, and laughed maliciously over 
 my pretensions " to be like the rest of the world," 
 — and suddenly, in the midst of my laughter, 
 I sadly relaxed utterly, fell into foolish dejec- 
 tion, and then began the same thing all over 
 again; in a word, I ran round like a squirrel in 
 a wheel. Whole days passed in this torturing, 
 fruitless toil. Come now, tell me, ])ray, to whom 
 and for what is such a man of use? Why did 
 
 15
 
 THE DIARV OF 
 
 this happen with me, what was the cause of this 
 minute fidgeting over myself — who knows? 
 Who can say? 
 
 I remember, one (hiv I was ch-ivino- out of jNlos- 
 cow in the (hhgence. Tlie road was good, but 
 the postihon liad hitched an extra trace-horse to 
 the four-span. Tliis unhai)py, fifth, wholly un- 
 necessary horse, fastened in rough fashion to the 
 fore-end of a thick, short rope, which ruthlessly 
 saws its liaunches, rubs its tail, makes it run 
 in the most unnatural manner, and imparts to 
 its whole body the shape of a comma, always 
 arouses my profound compassion. I remarked 
 to the postilion that, apparently, the fiftli horse 
 
 might be dispensed ^^'ith on that occasion 
 
 He remained silent awhile, shook the back of his 
 neck, lashed the horse half a score of times in suc- 
 cession with his wliip across its gaunt back and 
 under its pufFed-out belly — and said, not with- 
 out a grin: " A\'^ell. you see, it lias stuck itself on, 
 that 's a fact! AVliat the devil 's the use? " 
 
 And I, also, have stuck myself on. . . But the 
 station is not far off. I think. 
 
 Superfluous. ... I promised to prove the 
 justice of my opinion, and I will fulfil my 
 promise. I do not consicier il necessary to men- 
 tion a thousand details, (hiily occurrences and in- 
 cidents, whicli, moreover, in the eyes of every 
 thoughtful man might serxe as incontrovertible 
 proofs in my favour— tliat is to sav. in favour 
 
 16
 
 A SUPERITA^OUS MAN 
 
 of my view; it is better for me to begin directly 
 with one decidedly important event, after which, 
 probably, no doubt will remain as to the accuracy 
 of the word superfluous. I repeat: I have no 
 intention of entering into details, but I cannot 
 pass over in silence one decidedly curious and 
 noteworthy circumstance, — namely, the strange 
 manner in which my friends treated me (1 also 
 had friends) every time 1 chanced to meet them, 
 or even dropped in to see them. They seemed 
 to grow uneasv: as thev came to meet me they 
 either smiled in a not entirely natm-al manner, 
 looked not at my eyes, not at my feet, as some 
 people do, but chiefly at my cheeks, hastily ejacu- 
 lated: "Ah! how do you do, Tchulkatiirin! " 
 ( Fate had favoured me with that name ^ ) or, 
 " Ah! so here 's Tchulkaturin! " immediateh' 
 stepped aside, went apart, and even remained for 
 some time thereafter motionless, as though they 
 were trying to recall something. I noticed all this, 
 because I am not deficient in penetration aud the 
 gift of observation; on the whole, I am not 
 stupid; decidedly amusing thoughts sometimes 
 come into my head even, not at all ordinary 
 thoughts; but, as 1 am a superfluous man with a 
 dumbness inside me, I dread to ex])ress my 
 thought, the more so, as I know beforehand that 
 I shall express it very badly. It even seem* 
 strange to me, sometimes, that people can talk, 
 
 ^ Derived from t.rhnlok, stocking. —Til,\nsi.ator. 
 
 17
 
 TIIK DIAKV OF 
 
 uiul so simply, so freely. ..." What a ealam- 
 itv! !" vou think. I am bound to say that mv 
 tongue pretty often itehed, in spite of my 
 dumbness; and I aetually did utter words in 
 mv youth, but in ri])er years I succeeded in 
 restraining myself almost every time. I would 
 say to myself in an undertone: " See here, 
 now, 't will be better for me to hold my tongue 
 awhile," and I quieted down. We are all ex- 
 perts at holding our tongues; our women in 
 particular have that capacity: one exalted young 
 Russian lady maintains silence so vigorously 
 that such a spectacle is capable of producing a 
 slight shiver and cold perspiration even in a man 
 who has been forewarned. But that is not 
 the point, and it is not for me to criticise other 
 people. I will proceed to the promised story. 
 
 Several j^ears ago, thanks to a concurrence of 
 trivial but, for me, very important circumstances, 
 I chanced to pass six months in the county town 
 of O***. This town is built entirely on a de- 
 clivity. It has about eight hundred inhabitants, 
 remarkably ])()or; the wretched little houses are 
 outraii'couslv ])ad; in the main street, under the 
 guise of a pavement, formidable slabs of un- 
 hewn limestone crop out whitely here and there, 
 in consequence of which, even the peasant-carts 
 drive around it ; in the very centre of an astonish- 
 ingly untidy square rises a tiny yellowish struc- 
 ture with dark holes, and in the holes sit men in 
 
 18
 
 A SUPERFLUOUS MAN 
 
 large caps with visors, and pretend to be en- 
 gaged in trade; there, also, rears itself aloft a 
 remarkably tall, striped pole, and beside the pole, 
 bv way of order, at the cominand of the author- 
 ities, a load of yellow hay is kept, and one gov- 
 ernmental hen stalks about. In a word, in the 
 town of O*** existence is excellent. 
 
 During the early days of my sojoin-n in that 
 town I nearly went out of my mind with ennui. 
 I must say of myself that, although I am a su- 
 perfluous man, of course, yet it is not of my 
 own will ; I am sickly myself, but I cannot endure 
 anything sickly. ... I would have no objec- 
 tions to happiness, I have even tried to approach 
 it from the right and from the left. . . . And, 
 therefore, it is not surprising that I can also 
 feel bored, like any other mortal. I found my- 
 self in the town of O*** on business connected 
 with the Government service. . . . 
 
 Terentievna is absolutely determined to kill 
 me. Here is a specimen of our conversation : 
 
 Terentievna. O-okh, dear little father! why 
 do you keep writing? It is n't healthy for you 
 to write. 
 
 I. But I 'm bored, Terentievna. 
 
 She. But do drink some tea and lie down. 
 
 I. But I don't feel sleepy. 
 
 She. Akh, dear little father! Why do you 
 say that? The Lord be with you! Lie down 
 jiow, lie down : it 's better for you. 
 
 19
 
 THE DIARY OF 
 
 I. I shall (lie anyway, Terentieyna. 
 
 She. The Lord forbid and haye mercy! . . , 
 A\'ell, now, do you order me to make tea? 
 
 /. I shall not snryiye this week, Terentieyna. 
 
 She. li-i, dear little father! Why do you 
 say that? ... So I '11 go and prepare the sam- 
 oyar. 
 
 Oh, decrepit, yellow, toothless creature! Is it 
 possible that to you I am not a man! 
 
 March 24. A hard frost. 
 
 Ox the yery day of my arriyal in the tovyn of 
 O***, the aboye-mentioned goyernmental busi- 
 ness caused me to call on a certain Ozhogin, Kirill 
 Matyyeeyitch, one of the chief officials of the 
 county; but I made acquaintance with him, or, 
 as the saying is, got intimate with him, two weeks 
 later. His house was situated on the principal 
 street, and was distinguished from all the rest 
 by its size, its painted roof, and two lions on the 
 gate, belonging to that race of lions which bear 
 a remarkable likeness to the unsuccessful dogs 
 whose birthplace is Moscow. It is ])ossible to 
 deduce from these lions alone that Ozliogin was 
 an opulent man. And, in fact, he owned four 
 hundred souls of serfs; ' he receiyed at his house 
 the best society of the town of O***, and bore 
 the reputation of being a lu)s|)itable man. The 
 
 ^ Meaning male serfs. The women and ehildren were not 
 reekoned. Thansi^tor, 
 
 20
 
 A SUPERFLUOUS MAN 
 
 chief of police Ctinie to hini, in a broad carroty- 
 liued drozliky drawn by a pair of horses — a re- 
 markably large man, who seemed to have been 
 carved out of shop-worn material. Other officials 
 visited him also: the pettifogger, a j^ellowish and 
 rather malicious creatiu'e; the waggish surveyor, 
 of German extraction, with a Tatar face; the 
 officer of Waj's of Communication, a tender soul, 
 a singer, but a scandal-monger; a former county 
 Marshal of Xobility, a gentleman with dyed 
 hair, and rumpled cuffs, trousers with straps, 
 and that extremely noble expression of counte- 
 nance which is so characteristic of people who 
 have been under trial by the courts. He was 
 visited also by two landed proprietors, insep- 
 arable friends, both no longer young, and even 
 threadbare with age, the younger of whom was 
 constantly squelching the elder, and shutting his 
 mouth with one and the same reproach: " Come, 
 that will do, Sergyei Sergyeitch! What do you 
 know about it? For you write the word prohha 
 [cork] with the letter h. . . . Yes, gentlemen," 
 — he was wont to continue, with all the heat of 
 conviction, addressing those present: — " Ser- 
 gyei Sergyeitch writes not probka, but hrohka." 
 And all present laughed, although, probably, 
 not one of them was particularly distinguished 
 for his skill in orthogra|)hy ; and the unhappy 
 Sergyei Sergyeitch held his peace, and bowed 
 his head with a pacific smile. But I am forget- 
 ting that my days are numbered, and am entering 
 
 21
 
 THE DIARY OF 
 
 into too o-reat detail. So then, witliout furtlier 
 circuniloeution : Ozhogin was married and had 
 a daughter, EHzaveta Kirillovna, and I fell in 
 love with that daughter. 
 
 Ozhogin himself was a commonplaee man, nei- 
 ther good nor bad; his wife was beginning to look 
 a good deal like an aged hen; but their daughter 
 did not take after her ])arents. She was very 
 comely, of vivacious and gentle disposition. Her 
 bright grey eyes gazed good-naturedly, and in 
 a straightforward manner from beneath child- 
 ishly-arched brows; she smiled almost constantly, 
 and laughed also quite frequently. Her fresh 
 voice had a very pleasant ring ; she moved easily, 
 swiftly, and blushed gaily. She did not dress 
 very elegantly; extremely simple gowns suited her 
 best. 
 
 As a rule, I have never made acquaintance 
 quickly, and if I have felt at ease with a person 
 on first meeting, — which, however, has almost 
 never been the case, — I confess that that has 
 spoken strongly in favour of the new acquain- 
 tance. I have not known how to behave to 
 women at all, and in their presence I either 
 frowned and assumed a fierce expression, or dis- 
 ])layed my teeth in a grin in the stupidest way, 
 and twisted my tongue about in my mouth witli 
 embarrassment. AVith Elizaveta Kirillovna, on 
 the contrary, I felt myself at home from the very 
 first moment. This is ho^\' it came about. One 
 
 22
 
 A SUPERFLUOUS ]MAN 
 
 day. I arrive at O/lio^in's before dinnei-, and 
 ask: " Is he at honied " 1 am told: " Ves, and he 
 is dressing; please eonie into the hall."' I go 
 into the hall; I see a young girl in a white gown 
 standino: bv the window, witli her back toward 
 me, and holding a cage in her hands. I curl 
 up a little, according to my habit; but, neverthe- 
 less, I cough out of propriety. Tlie young girl 
 turns round quickly, so (]uickly that her curls 
 strike lier in the face, catches sight of me, bows, 
 and with a smile shows me a little box, half -filled 
 with seed. 
 
 " Will you excuse me? " 
 
 Of course, as is customary in such circum- 
 stances, I first bent my head, and, at the same 
 time, crooked and straightened my knees (as 
 thouffh some one had hit me from behind in the 
 back of m}^ legs, whicli, as everybody knows, 
 serves as a token of excellent breeding and agree- 
 able ease of manner) , and then smiled, raised my 
 hand, and waved it twice cautiously and gently in 
 the air. The girl immediately turned away from 
 me, took from the cage a small board, and began 
 to scrape it violently with a knife, and suddenly, 
 without changing lier attitude, gave utterance to 
 the following words: 
 
 " This is papa's bull-finch. . . . Do you like 
 bull-finches? " 
 
 1 The lar^e music-room, also used for dancing, as a plaj-rooni for the 
 children in winter, and so forth, in Russian houses.— Translatok. 
 
 23
 
 THE DIARY OF 
 
 " I prefer canary-birds/' — I replied, not with- 
 out a certain effort. 
 
 "And I am fond of canary-birds also; but 
 just look at him, see how pretty he is. See, he is 
 not afraid." — What sur})rised me was that I was 
 not afraid. — " Come closer. His name is Popka." 
 
 I went up, and bent over. 
 
 " He 's very charming, is n't he? " 
 
 She turned her face toward me; but w^e were 
 standing so close to each otlier that she was 
 obliged to throw her liead back a little, in order 
 to look at me with her bright eyes. I gazed at 
 her: the whole of her rosy young face was smil- 
 ing in so friendly a manner tliat I smiled also, 
 and almost laughed aloud with pleasure. The 
 door opened; ]Mr. Ozhogin entered. I imme- 
 diately went to him, and began to talk with him 
 in a very unembarrassed way; I do not know 
 myself how I came to stay to dinner; I sat out 
 the whole evening, and on the following day, 
 Ozhogin's lackey, a long, jjurblind fellow, was 
 already smihng at me, as a friend of the house, 
 as he pulled off" my overcoat. 
 
 To find a refuge, to weave for myself e^'en a 
 temporary nest, to know tlie /)oy of daily rela- 
 tions and liabits. — that was a Iiappiness which 
 I, a superfluous man, without domestic memories, 
 had not experienced up to that time. If tliere 
 were anything about me suggestive of a flower, 
 and if that com])arison were not so threadbare, I 
 
 24
 
 A SUPTaUTJJOUS INIAX 
 
 would decide to say that, from that hour, 1 hegan 
 to blossom out in spirit. Kverything in me and 
 round about me underwent such an instantaneous 
 change! JNly whole life was illuminated by love, 
 — literally my whole life, down to the smallest de- 
 tails,— like a dark, deserted chamber into which 
 a candle has been brought. I lay down to sleep 
 and 1 rose up, dressed myself, breakfasted, and 
 smoked my pipe in a way different from my 
 habit; I even skipped as I walked, — really I did, 
 as though wings had suddenly sj^routed on my 
 shoidders. I remember that I was not in doubt 
 even for a minute, as to the feeling with which 
 Elizaveta Kirillovna had inspired me; and from 
 the very first day, I fell in love with her passion- 
 ately, and from the very first day, too, I knew that 
 I was in love. I saw her every day for the space 
 of three weeks. Those three weeks were the hap- 
 piest time of m}^ life; but the remembrance of 
 them is painful to me. I cannot think of them 
 alone: that which follo\^^ed them involuntarily 
 rises up before me, and venomous grief slowly 
 grips the heart which had just grown soft. 
 
 AMien a man is feeling very well, his brain, as 
 every one knows, acts very little. A calm and 
 joyous feeling, a feeling of satisfaction, per- 
 meates his \\hole being; he is swallowed up in 
 it; the consciousness of individuality vanishes in 
 him— he is in a state of bliss, as badly educated 
 poets say. But when, at last, that " spell " passes 
 
 25
 
 THE DIAKV OF 
 
 off, a man sometimes feels vexed and regretful 
 that, in the midst of haj)piness. he was so unob- 
 servant of himself that he did not redouble his 
 thoughts, his refleetions, and his memories, that 
 he did not prolong his enjoyment .... as 
 though a " blissful " man had any time, and as 
 though it were worth while to reflect about his 
 own emotions! The hapj)y man is like a fly in 
 the sunshine. That is why, when I recall those 
 three weeks, I find it almost impossible to retain 
 in my mind an accurate, definite impression, the 
 more so, as in the whole course of that time, no- 
 tliing of particular note took place between us. 
 .... Those twenty days present themselves to 
 me as something warm, young, and fragrant, 
 as a sort of bright streak in my dim and grey- 
 hued life. ]My memory suddenly becomes im- 
 placably faithful and clear, only dating from the 
 moment when the blows of Fate descended upon 
 me, S23eaking again in the words of those same 
 ill-bred writers. 
 
 Yes, those three weeks. . . . However, they 
 did not precisely leave no images beliind in me. 
 Sometimes, when I happen to think long of that 
 time, certain memories suddenly float forth from 
 the gloom of the past — as tlie stars unexpectedly 
 start forth in the evenino^ skv to meet attentively- 
 riveted eves. Esi^eciallv memorable to me is 
 
 •• la 
 
 one stroll in a "rove outside the town. There 
 were four of us: old ^ladame Ozhogin, IJza, I, 
 
 2G
 
 A SUPEiiFLLOUS MAN 
 
 and a certain Bizmyonkoff, a petty official of 
 the town of O***, a fair-haired, good-natured, 
 and meek young man. I shall have occasion to 
 allude to him again. Mr. O/.hogin remained at 
 home: his head ached, in consequence of his hav- 
 ing slept too long. The day was splendid, warm, 
 and calm. I must remark that gardens of enter- 
 tainment and ])ublic amusement are not to the 
 taste of the Russian. In governmental towns, 
 in the so-called Public Gardens, vou will never 
 encounter a living soul at any season of the year ; 
 possibly some old woman will seat herself, grunt- 
 ing, on a green bench baked through and through 
 by the sun, in the neighbourhood of a sickly tree, 
 and that onl}" when there is no dirty little shop 
 close to the gate. But if there is a sparse little 
 birch-grove in the vicinity of the town, the mer- 
 chants, and sometimes the officials, will gladly go 
 thither on Sundays and feast-days, with their 
 samovar, patties, water-melons, and set out all 
 those good gifts on the dusty grass, right by the 
 side of the road, seat themselves around, and eat 
 and drink tea in the sweat of their brows until 
 the very evening. Precisely that sort of small 
 grove existed then two versts distant from the 
 town of O***. AVe went thither after dinner, 
 drank tea in due form, and then all four of us 
 set off for a stroll through the grove. Bizmyon- 
 koff gave his arm to old ^ladame Ozhogin ; I gave 
 mine to Liza. The day was already inclining 
 
 27
 
 THE DIARY OF 
 
 toward evening. I was then in the very ardour of 
 first love (not more than a fortnight had elapsed 
 since we had become acquainted), in that con- 
 dition of passionate and attentive adoration, 
 when vour whole soul innocently and involun- 
 tarilv follows every motion of the beloved beinij; 
 when you cannot satiate yourself with its pres- 
 ence, or hear enough of its ^oice; when you smile 
 and look like a convalescent child, and any man 
 of a little experience must see at the first glance, 
 a hundred paces off, what is going on in j^ou. 
 
 Up to that day, I had not once chanced to be 
 arm in arm with Liza. I walked by her side, 
 treading softly on the green grass. A light 
 breeze seemed to be fluttering around us, between 
 the white boles of the birch-trees, now and then 
 blowing the ribbon of her hat in my face. With 
 an importunate gaze I watched her, until, at last, 
 she turned gaily to me, and we smiled at each 
 other. The birds chirped approvingly overhead, 
 the blue sky peered caressingly througli the fine 
 foliage. i\Iy head reeled with excess of pleasure. 
 I liasten to remark that Liza was not in the 
 least in love with me. She liked me; in general, 
 she was not shy of anv one, but I was not fated 
 to disturb her childish tranquillity. She walked 
 arm in arm with me, as with a brother. She was 
 seventeen years old at the time. . . . And yet, 
 that same evening, in my presence, tliere began 
 in her that quiet, inward fermentation, which 
 
 28
 
 A ST^n^^.TJFTJTOTTS MAN 
 
 prt'CTHles the conversion of a eliild into a woman. 
 .... 1 was witness to tliat cliange of the whole 
 being, tliat innoeent ])er])lexity, that trenmlons 
 pensiveness ; I was the first to note that sudden 
 softness of glance, that ringing micertainty of 
 voice — and, oh, stn])id fool! oh, su])erflnous man! 
 for a whole week I \\ as not ashamed to assume 
 that I, I was the cause of that change! 
 
 This is the way it happened. 
 
 We strolled for quite a long time, until even- 
 ing, and chatted very little. I held my peace, like 
 all inexperienced lovers, and she, in all proba- 
 bility, had nothing to say to me; but she seemed 
 to be meditating about something, and shook her 
 head in a queei sort of way, pensively nibbling at 
 a leaf which she had plucked. Sometimes she 
 began to stride forwai-d in such a decided way 
 . . . and then suddenly halted, waited for me 
 and gazed about her with eyebrows elevated and 
 an absent-minded smile. On the preceding even- 
 ing, we had read together " The Prisoner of the 
 Caucasus." ^ With what eagerness had she lis- 
 tened to me, with her face propped on both hands, 
 and her bosom resting against the table! I tried 
 to talk about our reading of the evening before; 
 she blushed, asked me whether I had given the 
 bidl-finch any hemp-seed before we started, be- 
 gan to sing loudly some song, then suddenly 
 ceased. The grove ended on one side in a rather 
 
 I By M. Y. Ldrmontoflf. 
 
 29
 
 THE DIARY OF 
 
 steep and lofty eliii"; below ilowid a small, mean- 
 dering river, and beyond it, i'urtber tban the eye 
 could see, stretched endless meadows, now swell- 
 ing slightly like waves, now spreading out like 
 a table-cloth, here and there intersected with 
 ravines. Liza and 1 were the first id emerge on 
 the edge of the grove; Bizmyonkoff remained 
 behind with the old lady. We came out, halted, 
 and both of us involuntarily narrowed our eyes: 
 directly ()p])osite us, in the midst of the red-hot 
 mist, the sun was setting, huge and crimson. 
 Half the sky w^as aglow and flaming; the red 
 rays beat aslant across the meadows, casting a 
 scarlet reflection even on the shady side of the 
 ravine, and lay like fiery lead upon the river, 
 where it was not hidden under overhanging 
 bushes, and seemed to be reposing in the laj) of 
 the ravine and the grove. We stood there 
 drenched in the blazing ]-adiance. It is beyond 
 my power to impart all the passionate solemnity 
 of that picture. They sa\^ that the colour red 
 appeared to one blind man like the sound of 
 a trumpet; I do not know to what degree that 
 comparison is just; but, actually, there was 
 something challenging in that flaming gold of 
 the evening air, in the crimson glow of sky and 
 earth. I cried out with rapture, and immediately 
 turned to Liza. She was gazing straight at the 
 sun. I remember, the glare of the sunset was re- 
 flected in her eyes in tiny, flaming spots. She 
 was startled, profound i\' moved. She made no 
 
 30
 
 A SI^PERFIJ^OUS MAN 
 
 answer to my cxclaniation, did not stir for a long 
 liiiR', and liung her head. ... I stretclied out 
 my liand to her; she turned away from me, and 
 suddenly burst into tears. I gazed at lier with 
 secret, almost joyful surprise. . . . Bizmyonkoff's 
 voice rang out a couple of paces from us. IJza 
 hastily wiped lier ej^es, and witli a wavering 
 smile looked at me. The old lady emerged from 
 the grove, leaning on the arm of her fair-haired 
 escort; both of them, in their turn, admired the 
 view. The old lady asked Liza some question, 
 and I remember that I involuntarily shivered 
 when, in reply, her daughter's broken voice, like 
 cracked glass, resounded in reply. In the mean- 
 while, the sun had set, the glow was beginning 
 to die out. We retraced our steps. I again gave 
 IJza my arm. It was still light in the grove, and 
 I could clearly discern her features. She was 
 embarrassed, and did not raise her eyes. The 
 flush which had spread all over her face did not 
 disappear; she seemed still to be standing in the 
 rays of the setting sun. . . . Her arm barely 
 touched mine. For a long time I could not start 
 a conversation, so violently was my heart beating. 
 We caught glimpses of the carriage far awajs 
 through tlie trees; the coacliman was driving 
 to meet us at a foot-pace over the friable sand of 
 the road. 
 
 " Lizaveta Kirillovna," — I said at last,— 
 " why did you weep? " 
 
 " I don't know,"— slie answered after a brief 
 
 31
 
 THE DIARY OF 
 
 pause, l()()kini>' at nic \\itli her <)-eiitle eyes, still 
 wet with tears, — their "lanee seemed to me to 
 have uiulergone a ehange, - and again fell silent. 
 
 " I see that you love nature . ..." 1 went 
 on. — That was not in the least what I had 
 meant to sav, and my tongue hardly stam- 
 mered out the last phrase to the end. She shook 
 her head. 1 could not utter a word more. ... I 
 was waiting for something .... not a con- 
 fession — no, indeed! I was waiting for a confid- 
 ing glance, a question. . . . But Liza stared at 
 the ground and held her peace. I repeated once 
 more, in an undertone: " Why? " and received no 
 reply. She was embarrassed, almost ashamed, 
 I saw that. 
 
 A quarter of an hour later, we were all seated 
 in the carriage and driving toward the town. 
 The horses advanced at a brisk trot; we dashed 
 swiftly through the moist, darkening air. I sud- 
 denly began to talk, incessantly addressing my- 
 self now to Rizmyonkoff, now to ^Madame Ozho- 
 gin. I did not look at IJza, but I could not 
 avoid perceiving that from the corner of the car- 
 riage her gaze never once rested on me. At home 
 she recovered with a start, but would not read 
 with me, and soon went off to bed. The break — 
 that break of which I have spoken — had been ef- 
 fected in her. She had ceased to be a little girl; 
 she was already beginning to expect . . . like 
 myself .... something or other. She did not 
 have to wait- long. 
 
 82
 
 A SUPEKI LUOUS MAN 
 
 But tliat night I returned to my lodgings in 
 a state of utter enchantment. The confused 
 something, wliich was not exactly a foreboding, 
 nor yet exactly a suspicion, that had arisen within 
 me vanished: I ascribed the sudden constraint 
 in Liza's behaviour tow^ard me to maidenly mod- 
 esty, to timidity. ... Had not I read a thou- 
 sand times in many compositions, that the first 
 appearance of love agitates and alarms a young 
 girl? I felt myself very happy, and already 
 began to construct various plans in my own 
 mind. . . . 
 
 If any one had then whispered in my ear: 
 " Thou liest, my dear fellow! that 's not in store 
 for thee at all, my lad! thou art doomed to die 
 alone in a miserable little house, to the intolerable 
 grumbling of an old peasant-woman, who can 
 hardly wait for thy death, in order that she msiy 
 sell thy boots for a song. . . ." 
 
 Yes, one involuntarily says, with the Russian 
 philosopher: " How is one to know what he does 
 not know? "—-Until to-morrow. 
 
 March 25. A white winter day. 
 
 I HAVE read over what I wrote yesterday, and 
 came near tearing up the whole note-book. It 
 seems to me that my style of narrative is too pro- 
 tracted and too mawkisli. However, as my re- 
 maining memories of that period present no- 
 thing cheerful, save tlie joy of that peculiar 
 
 33
 
 THE DIARY OF 
 
 nature which LerniontofF had in view when he 
 said that it is a cheerful and a painful thing to 
 touch the ulcers of ancient wounds, then why 
 should not I observe myself? But I must not 
 impose upon kindness. Therefore I will continue 
 witliout mawkishness. 
 
 For the space of a whole week, after that stroll 
 outside the town, my position did not improve 
 in the least, although the change in Liza became 
 more perceptible every day. As I have alread}'' 
 stated, I interpreted this change in the most fa- 
 vourable possible light for myself. . . . The mis- 
 fortune of solitary and timid men — those who 
 are timid through self-love— consists precisely in 
 this — that they, having eyes, and even keeping 
 them staring wide open, see nothing, or see it 
 in a false light, as though through coloured 
 glasses. And their own thoughts and observa- 
 tions hinder them at every step. 
 
 In the beginning of our acquaintance Liza 
 had treated me trustingly and frankly, like a 
 child; perhaps, even, in her liking for me there 
 was something of simple, childish affection. . . . 
 But when that strange, almost sudden crisis took 
 jjlace in her, after a short perplexity, she felt her- 
 self embarrassed in my presence, she turned away 
 from me involuntarilv, and at the same time 
 grew sad and pensive. . . . She was expecting 
 . . . . what? She herself did not know .... 
 but I .... I, as T have already said, rejoiced 
 
 34
 
 A SUPERFLUOUS MAN 
 
 at that crisis. ... As God is my witness, I al- 
 most swooned with rapture, as the saying is. 
 How^ever, 1 am wiUing to admit that any one else 
 in my place might have been deceived also. . . . 
 AVho is devoid of self-love? It is unnecessary to 
 say that all this became clear to me only after a 
 time, when 1 was compelled to fold my injiu'ed 
 wings, which were not any too strong at best. 
 
 The misunderstanding which arose between 
 Liza and me lasted for a whole week, — and 
 there is nothing surprising about that : it has been 
 my lot to be a witness of misunderstandings 
 which have lasted for years and years. And who 
 w^as it that said that only the true is real? A lie 
 is as tenacious of life as is the truth, if not 
 more so. It is a fact, I remember, that even dur- 
 ing that week I had a pang now^ and then .... 
 but a lonely man like myself, I ^^'ill say once 
 more, is as incapable of understanding what is 
 going on within him as he is of comprehending 
 what is going on before his eyes. Yes, and more 
 than that: is love a natural feeling? Is it natural 
 to a man to love? Love is a malady; and for a 
 malady the law is not written. Su})pose my 
 heart did contract unpleasantly within me at 
 times; but, then, everything in me was turned 
 upside down. How is a man to know under such 
 circumstances what is right and what is wrong, 
 what is the cause, what is the significance of every 
 separate sensation? 
 
 35
 
 THE DIARY OF 
 
 But, be that as it may, all these misunderstand- 
 ings, forebodings, and hojjes were resolved in the 
 following manner. 
 
 One day, — it was in the morning, about eleven 
 o'clock, — before I had contrived to set my foot 
 in Mr. Ozhogin's anteroom, an unfamiliar, ring- 
 ing voice resounded in the hall, the door liew 
 open, and, accompanied by the master of the 
 house, there appeared on the threshold a tall, 
 stately man of five-and-twentv, who hastily 
 threw on his military cloak, which was lying on 
 the bench, took an affectionate leave of Kirill 
 Matvyeevitch, touched his cap negligently as he 
 passed me — and vanished, clinking his spurs. 
 
 " Who is that? " — I asked Ozhogin. 
 
 " Prince X***," — replied the latter, M'ith a 
 troubled face; — "he has been sent from Peters- 
 burg to receive the recruits. But where are those 
 servants? " — he went on with vexation: — " there 
 was no one to put on his cloak." 
 
 We entered the hall. 
 
 " Has he been here long? " — I inquired. 
 
 " They say he came yesterday evening. I of- 
 fered him a room in my house, but he declined it. 
 However, he seems to be a very nice young 
 fellow." 
 
 " Did he stay long with you? " 
 
 " About an hour. He asked me to introduce 
 him to 01ym])iada Xikitichna." 
 
 " And did you introduce him?. " 
 
 36
 
 A SUPERFLUOUS MAN 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " And did he make acquaintance with Lizaveta 
 Kirillovna? . . . ." 
 
 " Yes, he made her acquaintance, of course." 
 
 I said nothing for a while. 
 
 " Has he come to remain long, do you know? " 
 
 " Yes, I think he will be obliged to stay here 
 more than a fortnight." 
 
 And Kirill JNIatvyeevitch ran off to dress. 
 
 I paced up and down the hall several times. I 
 do not remember that Prince N***'s arrival pro- 
 duced any special impression on me at the time, 
 except that unpleasant sensation which usually 
 takes possession of us at the appearance of a new 
 face in our domestic circle. Perhaps that feeling- 
 was mingled with something in tlie nature of 
 envy of the timid and obscure Moscow man for 
 the brilliant officer from Petersburg. — '^ The 
 Prince," — I thought, — " is a dandy of the capi- 
 tal; he will look down on us." . . . I had not seen 
 him for more than a minute, but I had managed 
 to note that he was handsome, alert, and easy- 
 mannered. 
 
 After pacing the liall for a while, I came to 
 a halt, at last, in front of a mirror, ])ulled from 
 my pocket a tiny comb, imparted to mj^ hair a 
 picturesque disorder and, as sometimes hap])ens, 
 suddenly became engrossed in the contemplation 
 of my own visage. I remember that my attention 
 was concentrated with i)articular solicitude on 
 
 37
 
 THE DIARY OF 
 
 iiiv nose; the rather flabby and undefined out- 
 line of that feature was affording me no special 
 gratification — when, all of a sudden, in the dark 
 depths of the inclined glass, which reflected al- 
 most the entire room, the door opened, and the 
 graceful figure of Liza made its a]3pearance. I 
 do not know why I did not stir and kept the 
 same expression on my face. Liza craned her 
 head forward, gazed attentively at me and, ele- 
 vating her eyebrows, biting her li])s, and holding 
 her breath, like a person who is delighted that he 
 has not been seen, cautiously retreated, and softly 
 dre\A' the door to after her. The door creaked 
 faintly. Liza shuddered, and stood stock-still on 
 the spot. . . . I did not move. . . . Again she 
 IDulled at the door-handle, and disap])eare(l. 
 There was no possibility of doubt: the expression 
 of Liza's face at the sight of my person denoted 
 nothing except a desire to beat a successful re- 
 treat, to avoid an unpleasant meeting; the swift 
 gleam of pleasure whicli 1 succeeded in detecting 
 in her eves, Avhen she thought that slic reallv liad 
 succeeded in escaping unperceived, — all that said 
 but too clearly: that young girl was not in love 
 with me. For a long, long time I could not with- 
 draw my gaze from the motionless, dumb door, 
 which again presented itself as a white spot in 
 the depths of the mirror; I tried to smile at my 
 own u})right figure — liung my head, returned 
 honie, and flung myself on the di^'an. 1 felt re- 
 
 38
 
 A SUPERFI.UOl S :\IAX 
 
 niarUablv hecavv at heart, so lieavv that I could 
 not weep .... and what was there to weej) 
 about? . . . . " Can it be? " — I kept reiterating 
 incessantly, as I lay, like a dead man, on my back, 
 and with my hands folded on m}^ breast: — " Can 
 it be?" ... . How do you like that " Can it 
 be?" 
 
 ^Nlarch 26. A thaw. 
 
 When, on the following day, after long hesi- 
 tation and inward quailing, I entered the famil- 
 iar drawing-room of the Ozhogins', I was no 
 longer the same man whom they had known for 
 the space of three weeks. All my former habits, 
 from which I had begun to \A'ean myself under 
 the influence of an emotion which was new to me, 
 had suddenly made their appearance again, and 
 taken entire possession of me like the owners re- 
 turning to their house. 
 
 People like myself are generally guided not 
 so much by positive facts, as by their own im- 
 pressions; I, who, no longer ago than the ])re- 
 \'ious evening, had been dreaming of " tlie lap- 
 tures of mutual love," to-day cherished not the 
 slightest doubt as to my own " imhappiness," and 
 was in utter despair, although I myself was not 
 able to discover any reasonable ])retext for my 
 despair. I could not be jealous of Prince X***, 
 and whatever merits he might possess, his mere ar- 
 rival was not sufficient instantly to extirpate 
 
 39
 
 THE DTAHY OF 
 
 Liza's inclination lor me. . . . But stay! — did 
 that inclination exist J" I recalled the j)ast. " And 
 the stroll in the forest? " I asked niyseli'. ' And 
 the expression of her face in the mirror? " — 
 " But," I went on, — " the stroll in the forest, ap- 
 parently, . . . Phew, good heavens! What an 
 insignificant heing I am! " I exclaimed aloud, at 
 last. This is a specimen of the half -expressed, 
 half-thought ideas whicli, returning a tliousand 
 times, revolved in a monotonous whirlwind in my 
 head. T repeat, — I returned to the Ozhogins' the 
 same mistrustful, suspicious, constrained person 
 that I had heen from my childliood. . , . 
 
 I found the whole family in the drawing-room; 
 BizmvonkofF was sitting there also, in one corner. 
 All appeared to be in high spirits: Ozhogin, in 
 particular, was fairly beaming, and his first 
 words were to communicate to me that Prince 
 N*** had spent the whole of the preceding even- 
 ing with tliem. — " ^Vell," I said to myself, " now 
 I understand why you are in such good humour." 
 I must confess that the Prince's second call puz- 
 zled me. I had not expected that. Generally 
 s|jeaking, people like me expect everything in 
 the world except that wliich ought to happen in 
 the ordinary run of things, I sulked and as- 
 sumed the aspect of a wounded, but magnani- 
 mous man; I wanted to punish Liza for her un- 
 graciousness; from whicli, moreover, it must be 
 concluded, that, nevertheless, T was n<^t yet in 
 
 40
 
 A SUPERFLUOUS MAN 
 
 utter despair. They say, in some cases when you 
 are really beloved, it is even advanta^^^eous to 
 torture the adored object; but in im* 25t^)sition, 
 it was unutterably stupid. Liza, in the most in- 
 nocent manner, paid no attention whatever to me. 
 Only old ]Madame Ozhogin noticed my solemn 
 taciturnity, and anxioush^ inquired after my 
 health. Of course I answered her with a bitter 
 smile that " I was perfectly well, thank God." 
 Ozhogin continued to dilate on the subject of 
 his visitor; but, observing that I answered him 
 reluctantly, he addressed himself chiefly to Biz- 
 myonkofF, who was listening to him with great 
 attention, when a footman entered and an- 
 nounced Prince N***. The master of the house 
 instantly sjDrang to his feet, and rushed forth 
 to welcome him! Liza, on whom I immediately 
 darted an eagle glance, blushed with pleasure, 
 and fidgeted about on her chair. The Prince 
 entered, perfumed, gay, amiable. . . . 
 
 As I am not composing a novel for the in- 
 dulgent reader, but simj)ly writing for my own 
 pleasure, there is no necessity for my having re- 
 course to the customary devices of the literary 
 gentlemen. So I will say at once, without fur- 
 ther procrastination, 'that Liza, from the very 
 first day, fell passionately in love with the Prince, 
 and the Prince fell in love with her — partly for 
 the lack of an^i:hing to do, but also partly because 
 Liza really was a very charming creature. There 
 
 41
 
 THE UlARY OF 
 
 was nothing remarkable in the fact that they fell 
 in love with each other. He, in all probability, 
 had not in the least expected to find such a j^earl 
 in such a wretched shell (I am speaking of the 
 God-forsaken town of Q***) , and she, up to that 
 time, had never beheld, even in her dreams, any- 
 thing in the least like this brilliant, clever, fasci- 
 nating aristocrat. 
 
 After the preliminary greetings, Ozhogin in- 
 troduced me to the Prince, who treated me very 
 politely. As a rule, he was polite to every 
 one, and despite the incommensurable distance 
 which existed between him and our obscure rural 
 circle, he understood not only how to avoid em- 
 barrassing any one, buf even to have the appear- 
 ance of being our equal, and of only happening 
 to live in St. Petersburg. 
 
 That first evening. . . . Oh, that first even- 
 ing! In the happy days of our childhood, our 
 teachers used to narrate to us and hold up to us 
 as an exami)le of manly fortitude the young 
 Lacedcemonian who, having stolen a fox and hid- 
 den it under his cloak, never once uttered a sound, 
 but permitted the animal to devour all his entrails, 
 and thus preferred death to dishonour. ... I 
 can find no better expression of my uimtterable 
 sufferings in the course of that evening, when, 
 for the first time, I beheld the Prince by Liza's 
 side. My persistent, constrained smile, my an- 
 guished attention, my stupid taciturnity, my pain- 
 
 42
 
 A SUPERFLUOUS MAN 
 
 fill and vain longing to depart, all this, in all 
 probability, was extremely noticeable in its way. 
 Not one fox alone was ravaging my vitals — jeal- 
 ousy, envy, the eonseiousness of my own insig- 
 nificance, and impotent rage were rending me. 
 I could not but admit that the Prince was really 
 
 a very amiable young man I devoured him 
 
 with my eyes; 1 really believe that I forgot to 
 wink as I srazed at him. He did not chat with 
 Liza exclusively, but, of course, he talked for 
 her alone. I must have bored him extremely. 
 .... He probably soon divined that he had to 
 do with a discarded lover, but, out of compassion 
 for me, and also from a profound sense of my 
 ])erfect harmlessness, he treated me with extraor- 
 dinary gentleness. You can imagine how that 
 hurt me ! 
 
 I remember that, in the course of the evening, 
 I tried to efface my fault; I (do not laugh at me, 
 whoever vou mav be under whose eves these 
 lines may chance to fall, especially as this was my 
 final dream) .... I suddenly took it into m}^ 
 head, God is my witness, among the varied tor- 
 ments, that Liza was trying to punish me for my 
 arrogant coldness at the beginning of my visit; 
 that she was angry with me, and was flirting with 
 the Prince merely out of vexation at me. I 
 seized a convenient ()])])ortunity, and a])])roach- 
 ing her with a meek but caressing smile. I mur- 
 mured: " Knough, forgive me . . . however, I 
 
 43
 
 TIIK DIARY OF 
 
 do not ask it because 1 am alVaid " — and without 
 awaiting her answer, I suddenly imparted to my 
 face an unusually vivacious and easy expression, 
 gave a wry laugh, threw my hand up over my 
 head in the direction of the ceiling (I remember 
 that I was trying to adjust my neckcloth), and 
 was even on the point of wheeling round on one 
 foot, as much as to say: "All is over, I 'm in 
 fine spirits, let every one be in fine s])irits ! " but 
 I did not wheel round, nevertheless, because I 
 w^as afraid of falling, owing to an unnatural 
 stiffness in my knees. . . Liza did not under- 
 stand me in the least, looked into my face with 
 surprise, smiled hurriedly, as though desirous of 
 getting rid of me as promptly as possible, and 
 again apj)roached the Prince. Blind and deaf 
 as I was, I could not but inwardly admit that she 
 was not at all angry nor vexed with me at that 
 moment; she simply was not thinking about me. 
 The blow was decisive, mj' last hopes crumbled 
 to ruin with a crash — as a block of ice pene- 
 trated with the spring sim suddenly crumbles 
 into tiny fragments. I had received a blow^ on 
 the head at the first assault, and, like the Prus- 
 sians at Jena, in one day I lost everything. No, 
 she was not angry with me! . . . 
 
 Alas! on the contrary! She herself— 1 could 
 see that — w^as being undermined, as with a bil- 
 low. Tjike a young sapling, which has already 
 half deserted the bank, she bent eagerly forward
 
 A SUPERFLUOUS ^lAX 
 
 over tlie flood, ready to surrender to it both the 
 first blossoming of her spring, and her whole hfe. 
 Any one to Avhose lot it has fallen to be a witness 
 to such an infatuation has lived tlirough bitter 
 moments, if he himself loved and was not beloved. 
 I shall forever remember tlie devouring atten- 
 tion, the tender gaiety, the innocent self-forget- 
 fulness, the glance, lialf-cJiihlish and already 
 womanly, the Iiappy smile wliich blossomed forth, 
 as it were, and never left the half-])arted lips 
 and the blushing cheeks. . . . Everything of 
 which Liza had had a dim foreboding during our 
 stroll in the grove had now come to j^ass — and 
 she, surrendering herself wdiolly to love, had, at 
 the same time, grown quiet and sparkling like 
 young wine which has ceased to ferment, because 
 its time has come. . . . 
 
 I had the patience to sit out that first evening, 
 and tlie evenings which followed .... all, to 
 the very end! I could cherish no hope whatso- 
 ever. Liza and tlie Prince grew more and 
 more attached to each other with every day that 
 
 passed But I positively lost all sense of 
 
 my own dignity, and could not tear myself 
 away from the spectacle of my unhappiness. I 
 remember that one day I made an effort not 
 to go, gave myself my word of honour in the 
 morning that I would remain at home, — and 
 at eight o'clock in the evening (1 usually 
 went out at seven), 1 jumj)ed up like a lunatic, 
 
 45
 
 THE DIARY OF 
 
 put on my hat, and ran, panting, to Kirill 
 Matvveevitch's. 
 
 ]My position was extremely awkward; I main- 
 tained obdurate silence, and sometimes for days 
 at a stretch never uttered a sound, I have 
 never been distinguished for eloquence, as I have 
 already said; but now every bit of sense I had 
 seemed to fly away in the presence of the Prince, 
 and I remained as poor as a church mouse. 
 INIoreover, in private, I forced my unhappy 
 brain to toil to such a degree, slowly pondering 
 over everything I had marked or noted in the 
 course of the preceding day, that when I returned 
 to the Ozhogins', I hardly had enough strength 
 left to continue my observations. They spared 
 me as they Avould a sick man, I saw that. Every 
 morning I reached a fresh, definitive decision, 
 which had chiefly been hatched out during a sleep- 
 less night. Now I prepared to have an explana- 
 tion with Liza, to give her some friendly advice 
 . . . but when I liappened to be alone with her, 
 my tongue suddenly ceased to act, as though it 
 had congealed, and we both painfully awaited 
 the appearance of a third person; then, again, I 
 wanted to flee, for good and all, leaving behind 
 me, for the object of my afl'ections of course, a 
 letter filled with reproaches; and one day I set 
 about that letter, but the sense of justice had not 
 yet quite vanished from within me; I under- 
 stood that 1 had no right to upbraid any one for 
 
 4>Q
 
 A SUPERFLUOUS MAN 
 
 anything, and flung nw note into the fire; again 
 I suddenly offered the whole of myself as a sac- 
 rifice, in magnanimous fashion, and gave Liza 
 my blessing, wishing her happiness in her love, 
 and smiled in a gentle and friendly way on the 
 Prince from a corner. But the hard-hearted 
 lovers not only did not thank me for my sacrifice, 
 they did not even })erceive it, and evidently stood 
 in no need either of my blessings or of my smiles. 
 . . . Then, with vexation, I suddenly passed 
 over into the diametrically opposite frame of 
 mind. I promised myself, as I swathed myself 
 in my cloak, Spanish fashion, to cut the lucky 
 rival's throat from round a corner, and with the 
 joy of a wild beast, I pictured to mj'self Liza's 
 despair. . . . But, in the first place, in the town 
 of O*** there were very few such corners, and, 
 in the second place, a board fence, a street-lan- 
 tern, a policeman in the distance. . . . Xo! at such 
 a corner as that it would be more seemly to peddle 
 rings of bread than to shed human blood. I 
 must confess that, among other means of deliv- 
 erance, — as I very indefinitely expressed it when 
 holding a conference with myself, — I thought of 
 appealing straight to INIr. Ozhogin .... of 
 directing the attention of that nobleman to 
 the dangerous position of his daughter, to tlie 
 sad consequences of her frivolity. ... I even 
 began to talk with him one day on tlie very 
 ticklish subject, but framed my speecli so craftily 
 
 47
 
 THE DIARY OF 
 
 and obscurely, that he hstened and hstened to me, 
 and suddenly, as though awaking from sleep, 
 swiftly rubbed the palm of his hand all over his 
 face, not sparing even his nose, snorted, and 
 walked a\\ ay from me. 
 
 It is needless to say tliat, on adopting that de- 
 cision, I assured myself that I was acting from 
 the most disinterested motives, that I was de- 
 sirous of the universal welfare, that I was ful- 
 filling the duty of a friend of the family. . . . But 
 I venture to think that even if Kirill ]Matvyee- 
 vitch had not cut short mj' effusions, I should still 
 have lacked the coiu'age to finish my monologue. 
 I sometimes undertook, with the pompousness of 
 an ancient sage, to weigh the Prince's merits; I 
 sometimes comforted myself with the hope that 
 it was merely a passing fancy, that Liza would 
 come to her senses, that her love was not genuine 
 love. . . . Oh, no ! In a word, I do not know^ of 
 a thought over which I did not brood at that time. 
 One remedy alone, I frankly confess, never en- 
 tered my head ; namely, it never once occurred to 
 me to commit suicide. Wliv that did not occur 
 to me, I do not know. . . . Perhaps even then 
 I had a foreboding that I had not long to live in 
 any case. 
 
 It is easy to understand that, under such un- 
 toward conditions, mv conduct, mv behaviour to- 
 ward other people, was more characterised by 
 unnaturalness and constraint than ever. Even old 
 
 48
 
 A STTPERFUTOXTS ISIAN 
 
 lady Ozli()<4iii tliat dull-witted being — began tc 
 shun nie, and at times did not know from which 
 side to approach me. Bizmyonkoff, always cour- 
 teous and ready to be of service, avoided me. It 
 also seemed to me then that in him I had a fellow- 
 sufferer, that he also loved Liza. But he never 
 rey^lied to my hints, and, in general, talked to me 
 with reluctance. The Pi-ince behaved in a very 
 friendly manner to him; 1 may say that the 
 Prince i-espected him. Neither Bizmyonkoff 
 nor I interfered with the Prince and I^iza; but 
 he did not shun them as I did, he did not look 
 like a wolf nor like a victim — and gladly joined 
 them whenever they wished it. He did not dis- 
 tinguish himself particularly Iw jocularity on 
 such occasions, it is true; but even in times past 
 there had been a quiet element in his mirth. 
 
 In this manner about two weeks passed. The 
 Prince was not only good-looking and clever: he 
 played on the "piano, sang, drew very respectably, 
 and knew how to narrate well. His anecdotes, 
 drawn from the highest circles of society in the 
 capital, always produced a strong impression on 
 the hearers, which was all the more ])owerful 
 because he himself did not seem to attribute any 
 particular importance to them. . . . 
 
 The consequence of this guile, if you choose to 
 call it so. on the Prince's part was, that in the 
 coin'se of his brief sojourn in the town of O*** 
 he absolutely bewitched the whole of society there. 
 
 49
 
 THE DIARY OF 
 
 It is always very easy for a man from the highest 
 circles to bewitch us steppe-dwellers. The 
 Prince's frequent calls on the Ozhogins (he spent 
 his evenings at their house) , as a matter of course, 
 aroused the envy of the other nobles and officials ; 
 but the Prince, being a man of the world and 
 clever, did not neglect a single one of them, 
 called on all of them, said at least one pleasant 
 word to all the dames and young ladies, permitted 
 himself to be stuffed with laboriously-heavy 
 viands and treated to vile wines with magnificent 
 appellations; in a word, behaved himself admir- 
 ably, cautiously, and cleverly. Prince X*** was, 
 altogether, a man of cheerful disposition, socia- 
 ble, amiable by inclination, and as a matter of cal- 
 culation also: how was it possible for him to 
 be otherwise than a complete success in every 
 May ? 
 
 From the time of his arrival, every one in the 
 house had thought that the time flew by with re- 
 markable swiftness; everything went splendidly; 
 old Ozhogin, although he pretended not to notice 
 anything, was, in all probability, secretly rub- 
 bing his hands at the thought of having such a 
 son-in-law. The Prince himself was conducting 
 the wliole affair very quietly and decorously, 
 when, all of a sudden, an unforeseen event .... 
 
 Until to-morrow. To-day I am weary. These 
 reminiscences chafe me, even on the brink of the 
 grave. Terentievna thought to-day that my nose 
 
 50
 
 A SUPERFLUOUS MAN 
 
 had grown even more pointed; and that 's a bad 
 sign, they say. 
 
 March 27. The thaw continues. 
 Matters were in the above-described condition: 
 the Prince and Liza loved each other, the elder 
 Ozhogins were waiting to see what would hap- 
 pen; Bizmyonkoff was present also— nothing 
 else could be said of him; I was flopping like a 
 fish on the ice, and keeping watch to the best of 
 my ability, — I remember that at that time I ap- 
 pointed to myself the task of at least not allow- 
 ing Liza to perish in the snare of the seducer, and 
 in consequence thereof, I had begun to pay par- 
 ticular attention to tlie maid-servants and the 
 fatal " back " entrance— although, on the other 
 hand, I sometimes dreamed for whole nights to- 
 gether about the touching magnanimity with 
 which, in the course of time, I would extend my 
 hand to the deluded victim and say to her: " The 
 wily man has betrayed thee; but I am th}^ faith- 
 ful friend. ... let us forget the past and be 
 happy! "—when, suddenly, a joyful piece of 
 news was disseminated throughout the town: the 
 ^larshal of Nobility for the county intended to 
 give a large ball in honour of the respected visi- 
 tor, at his own estate Gornostaevka, also called 
 Gubnyakova. All the hierarchies and powers of 
 the town of O*** received invitations, beginning 
 with the chief of police and ending with the 
 
 .51
 
 THE DIARY OF 
 
 apothecary, a remarkably piiiiple-faced German, 
 with cruel pretensions to tlie abihty to speak Rus- 
 sian purely, in consequence of which, he was con- 
 stantly using violent expressions with absolute 
 inappropriateness, as, for instance: "Devil take 
 me, I feel a dashing fine fellow to-da}'." ^ . . . 
 Terrible preparations began, as was fitting. 
 One cosmetic-shop sold sixteen dark-blue jars of 
 pomade, with the inscription, " a la jesmin " with 
 the Russian character denoting the hard pronun- 
 ciation after the n. The young ladies supplied 
 themselves with stiff gowns, torturingh' tight 
 at the waist-line, and with promontories on the 
 stomach ; the mammas erected on their own heads 
 formidable decorations, under the pretext that 
 they were caps; the bustling fathers laj" without 
 their hind legs, as the saying is." . . . 
 
 The longed-for day arrived at last. I was 
 among those invited. The distance from the 
 town to (xornostaevka was reckoned at nine 
 \ersts. Kirila ^latvyeevitch offered me a seat 
 in his carriage; but I declined. . . . Thus do 
 cliastised children, desirous of revenging them- 
 selves well on their parents, refuse their favourite 
 viands at table. ^Moreover, I felt that my pres- 
 ence would embarrass I^iza. BizmyonkofF took 
 my place. The Prince drove out in his own 
 I'alash, I in a miserable drozhky, which T had 
 
 ' The proiiiiiiciation is also indicated as beinj? faulty. — Thansi^atoh, 
 - Ran themselves off their legs- Than slatou. 
 
 52
 
 A SUPEKFTJ^OITS MAN 
 
 hired at an exorbitant price for this festive oc- 
 casion. 
 
 I will not describe the ball. Everytliing about 
 it was as usual: musicians with remarkably false 
 horns in the gallery; flustered landed proprie- 
 tors with anti{]uated families; lilac ice-cream, 
 slimy orgeat; men in patched boots and knitted 
 cotton gloves; provincial lions Avith convulsively- 
 distorted faces; and so foi-th, and so forth. And 
 all this little world circled round its sun — round 
 the Prince. Lost in the throng, unnoticed even 
 by the maidens of eight-and-forty with pimples 
 on their brows and blue flowers on their temples, 
 I kept incessantly gazing now at the Prince, now 
 at Liza. She w^as verv charminglv dressed and 
 very pretty that evening. They only danced to- 
 gether twice (he danced the mazurka^ with her, 
 't is true!), but, at all events, so it seemed to 
 me, there existed between them a certain mys- 
 terious, unbroken communication. Even when 
 he was not looking at her, was not talking 
 to her, he seemed constantly to be addressing her, 
 and her alone; he was handsome and brilliant, 
 and charming with others — for her alone. She 
 was evidently conscious that she was the queen of 
 the ball— and beloved; her face simultaneously 
 beamed with childish joy and innocent pride, and 
 
 1 The mazurka, which is still a great favourite in Russia, greatly 
 resembles the cotillon in everything except the steps, which are viva- 
 cious. Both the cotillon and the mazurka are danced— one before, 
 the other after supper — at Court balls and other dances. — TnANSi^Ton. 
 
 53
 
 THE DIARY OF 
 
 then suddenly was lighted up with a different, a 
 more profound feeling. She exhaled an atmos- 
 phere of happiness. 1 observed all this. ... It 
 was not the first thne I had had occasion to watch 
 them. . . . At first this greatly pained me, then 
 it seemed to touch me, and at last it enraged me. 
 I suddenly felt myself remarkably malicious and, 
 I remember, I rejoiced wonderfully over this new 
 sensation, and even conceived a certain respect 
 for myself. " Let 's show them that we have n't 
 perished yet ! " I said to myself. When the first 
 sounds summoning to the mazurka thundered 
 out, I calmly glanced around, coldly, and with 
 much ease of manner, approached a long-faced 
 young lady with a red and shining nose, an awk- 
 wardly gaping mouth, which looked as though 
 it had been unhooked, and a sinewy neck, which 
 reminded one of the handle of a bass-viol, — ap- 
 proached her, and curtly clicking my heels to- 
 gether, invited her for the dance. She wore a 
 pink gown, which seemed to have faded recently 
 and not quite completely; above her head quiv- 
 ered some sort of a faded melancholy fly on a 
 very thick brass s])ring; and, altogether, the 
 young woman was impregnated through and 
 through, if one may so express one's self, with a 
 sort of sour boredom and antiquated ill-success. 
 From the very beginning of the evening, she had 
 not stirred from her seat; no one had thought of 
 asking her to dance. One sixteen-year-old youth, 
 
 54
 
 A SUPERFLUOUS ISIAX 
 
 in default of any other partner, had been on the 
 point of appealing to this young woman, and had 
 already taken one step in her direction, but had 
 bethought himself, taken one look, and briskly 
 concealed himself in the crowd. You can im- 
 agine with what joyful surprise she accepted my 
 proposal ! 
 
 I solemnly led her the whole length of the hall, 
 found two chairs, and seated myself A\ith her in 
 the circle of the nur/urka, the tenth pair, almost 
 opposite the Prince, to whom, of course, tlie first 
 place had been conceded. The Prince, as I have 
 already said, was dancing with Liza. Neither 
 my partner nor I were incommoded with invita- 
 tions; consequently, we had plenty of time for 
 conversation. Truth to tell, my lady was not dis- 
 tinguished by ability to utter words in coherent 
 speech: she employed her mouth more for the 
 execution of a strange downward smile, hitherto 
 unbeheld by me; at the same time, she rolled her 
 eyes upward, as though some invisible force were 
 stretching her face; but I had no need of her 
 eloquence. Fortunately, I felt vicious, and my 
 partner did not inspire me with timidity. I set 
 to criticising everything and everybody in tlie 
 world, laying special stress on whipper-snappers 
 from the capital, and Petersburg fo])s, and 
 waxed so angry, at last, that my lady gradually 
 ceased to smile, and instead of rolling her eyes 
 upward, she suddenly began— witli amazement. 
 
 5.5
 
 THE DIARY OF 
 
 it must have been — to look eross-eved, and in 
 such a queer way, to boot, as tliough she had per- 
 ceived, for the first time, that she had a nose 
 on her face; and my next neighbour, one of those 
 Hons of ^vhom 1 have spoken above, more than 
 once scanned me with a glance, even turned to 
 me ^\ith the expression of an actor on the stage 
 who has waked up in an unknown land, as much 
 as to sav : " xVrt thou still at it i " However, while 
 I sang like a nightingale, as the saying is, I still 
 continued to watch the Prince and Liza. Thev 
 Avere constantly invited ; but I suffered less when 
 both of them were dancing; and eyen when they 
 were sitting side by side and chatting with each 
 other, and smiling with that gentle smile which 
 refuses to leave the face of happy lovers, — even 
 then I was not so greatly ])ained; but when Liza 
 was fluttering through the hall with some gallant 
 dandy, and the Prince, with her blue gauze scarf 
 on his knees, thoughtfully followed her with his 
 eyes, as though admiring his conquest, — then, 
 oh, then I experienced unbearable tortures, and 
 in my vexation I emitted such malicious remarks, 
 that the pui)ils of my partner's eyes reclined com- 
 pletely from both sides, on her nose! 
 
 In the meantime, the mazurka was drawing to 
 a close. . . . They began to execute the figure 
 known as " la confidente." In this figure the 
 lady seats herself in the centre of the circle, 
 chooses another lady for her confidante aiid 
 
 56
 
 A SUPERFLUOUS MAN 
 
 whispers in her ear the name of the gentleman 
 with wlioni she wishes to dance; the cavaher leads 
 up to her the 'dancers, one by one, and the con- 
 fidante refuses them until, at last, the happy 
 man who has already been designated makes his 
 appearance. Liza sat in the centre of the circle, 
 and chose the daughter of the hostess, one of 
 those young girls of whom it is said that they are 
 " God bless them." ^ The Prince began to search 
 for the chosen man. In vain did he present about 
 half a score of young men (the hostess' daughter 
 refused them all, with a pleasant smile), and, at 
 last, had recourse to me. Something unusual 
 took place in me at that moment: I seemed to 
 wink with nw whole body, and tried to decline; 
 nevertheless, I rose and went. The Prince con- 
 ducted me to Liza. . . . She did not even glance 
 at me; the hostess' daughter shook her head in 
 negation, the Prince turned toward me, and, 
 prompted probably by the goose-like expression 
 of my face, made me a profound bow. This 
 mocking reverence, this refusal, presented to me 
 by my triumphant rival, his negligent smile, 
 Liza's indifferent inattention, — all this provoked 
 an explosion on my part. I stepped up to the 
 Prince and whispered in a frenzied rage: " I 
 think you are permitting yourself to jeer at me? " 
 The Prince stared at me with scornful sur- 
 prise, again took me by the hand, and with the air 
 
 ^ Utterly insignificant. — Translator. 
 
 57
 
 THE DIAHV OF 
 
 of leading me hack to my >.eat, rei3Hed coldly: 
 "I?" 
 
 "Yes, you, you!" — I went on in a whisper, 
 oheying him, nevertheless; that is to say, follow- 
 ing: him to mv seat; — " vou! But 1 do not intend 
 to allow any frivolous Petershurg upstart . . ." 
 
 The Prince smiled calmly, almost jDatronis- 
 ingly, gripped my hand hard, whispered: " I 
 understand you : hut this is not tlie proper place ; 
 we will talk it over," turned away from me, 
 approached Bizmyonkoff and led him to Liza. 
 The pale little petty official proved to he the 
 chosen cavalier. Liza rose to meet him. 
 
 As I sat beside my partner with the melancholy 
 fly on her head, I felt myself almost a hero. ]My 
 heart thumped violently within me, my bosom 
 swelled nobly under my starched shirt-front, my 
 breath came fast and deep— and all of a sudden, 
 I stared at the adjacent lion in so magnificent 
 a manner, that he involuntarily wiggled the leg 
 which was turned toward me. Having rid my- 
 self of this man, I ran mv eves over the circle 
 of dancers. ... It seemed to me that two or 
 three gentlemen were gazing at me not without 
 amazement; but, on the whole, my conversation 
 with the Prince had not been noticed. . . . My 
 rival was ah*eady seated on his chair, perfectly 
 composed, and with liis former smile on his face. 
 Bizmyonkoff led IJza to her place. She gave 
 him a friendlv nod and immediatelv turned to 
 
 > • 
 
 58
 
 A SUPEKFLUOUS MAN 
 
 the Prince, as it seemed to me, with a certain 
 anxiety; but he laughed in response, waved his 
 hand gracefully, and must have said sometliing 
 very agreeable to her, for she flushed all over 
 with pleasure, dropped her eyes, and then riveted 
 them on him once more with affectionate re- 
 proach. 
 
 The heroic frame of mind which had suddenly 
 developed in me did not disappear until the end 
 of the mazurka; but I made no more jests, and 
 did not criticise, and merely cast a severe and 
 gloomy glance from time to time at my lady, 
 who was, evidently, beginning to be afraid of 
 me, and was reduced to a state of complete stam- 
 mering and winked incessantly, when I led her 
 to the natural stronghold of her mother, a very 
 fat woman with a red head-dress. Having 
 handed over the frightened young girl as be- 
 hooved me, I walked off to the window, clasped 
 my hands, and waited to see what would 
 happen. I waited a good while. The Prince was 
 constantly surrounded by the host, — precisely 
 that, surrounded, as England is surrounded by 
 the sea, — not to mention the other members of the 
 county Marshal of the Nobility's family, and 
 the other guests; and, moreover, he could not, 
 without arousing universal surprise, approach 
 such an insignificant man as I, and enter into 
 conversation with him. This insignificance of 
 mine, I remember, was even a source of delight 
 
 59
 
 THE DIARY OF 
 
 to me tlien. ''Fiddlesticks!" 1 thought, as I 
 watched him turning courteously now to one, now 
 to another respected })ersonage who sought the 
 honour of heing noticed hy him, if only for " the 
 twinkling of an eye,'' as the poets say: — " Fiddle- 
 sticks, my dear fellow ! . . . . Thou wilt come to 
 me hy and by— for I have insulted thee." 
 
 At last the Prince, having cleverly got rid of 
 the crowd of his adorers, strode past me, darted 
 a glance, not exactly at the window, nor yet 
 exactly at my hair, was on the point of turning 
 away, and suddenly came to a halt, as though 
 he had just remembered something. 
 
 " Akh, yes!" — he said, addressing me with a 
 smile; — " bv the way, I have a little matter of 
 business with you." 
 
 Two landed proprietors, the most persistent 
 of all, who were obstinateh' following up the 
 Prince, ])robably thouglit that the " little matter 
 of business " was connected with the service, and 
 respectfully retreated. The Prince ])ut his arm 
 in mine, and led me to one side. My heart 
 thimiped in my breast. 
 
 " You," — he began, drawling out the word 
 yoiij and staring at my chin with a contemptu- 
 ous expression which, strange to say, was infi- 
 nitely becoming to his fresh, handsome face, — 
 " you said something insolent to me, I believe." 
 
 " I said what I thought,"— I retorted, raising 
 my voice. 
 
 60
 
 A SUPERFTJ^OTTS MAN 
 
 li . . . . spejik more cjuictl}," — lie re- 
 marked:— " well-bred men do not shout. Per- 
 haps you would like to fi^ht with me? " 
 
 " That is your affair," — I replied, drawing 
 myself up. 
 
 " I shall be compelled to call you out,"— he 
 said carelessly, — " if you do not withdraw your 
 expressions. ..." 
 
 " I have no intention of withdrawing any- 
 thing," — I retorted proudly. 
 
 " Really? "—he remarked, not without a sneer- 
 ing smile. — " In that case,"— he went on, after a 
 brief ])ause, — " I shall have the honour to send 
 my second to you to-morrow." 
 
 "Very well, sir," — I said in the most indiffer- 
 ent tone I could muster. 
 
 The Prince bowed slighth\ 
 
 " I cannot forbid you to think me a frivolous 
 man," — he added, arrogantly narrowing his eyes; 
 — " but it is impossible that the Princes X*** 
 should be upstarts. Farew^ell for the present, 
 Mr. . . . Mr. Shtukaturin." 
 
 He quickly turned his back on me, and again 
 ajjproached his host, who had ah-eady begun to 
 grow agitated. 
 
 "Mr. Shtukaturin"! .... My name is 
 Tchulkaturin. ... I coidd find no reply to make 
 to this last insult of his, and only stared after him 
 in a violent rage. — " Farewell until to-morrow," 
 I whispered, setting my teeth, and immediately 
 
 61
 
 TIIK DIAHV OF 
 
 liimted lip an officer of my acquaintance. Captain 
 Koloberdyaeff of the uhlans, a desperate ca- 
 rouser and a splendid fellow, narrated to him in 
 a few words my quarrel with tlie Prince, and 
 asked him to he my second. He, of course, im- 
 mediately consented, and I wended mv way 
 homeward. 
 
 I could not get to sleep all night — from agi- 
 tation, not from pusillanimity. I am no cow- 
 ard. I eyen thought yery little indeed about the 
 impending possibility of losing my life, that high- 
 est good on earth, according to the Germans. 
 I thought of Liza only, of my dead hopes, of 
 what I ought to do. " Ought I to tr}^ to kill the 
 Prince? " I asked myself, and, of course, wanted 
 to kill him, — not out of yengeance, but out of a 
 desire for Liza's good. " But she will not sur- 
 yiye that blow%" I went on. " No, it will be better 
 to let him kill me! " 
 
 I confess that it was also pleasant to me to 
 think that I, an obscure man from the country, 
 had forced so important a personage to fight a 
 duel with me. 
 
 Dawn found me engrossed in these cogita- 
 tions; and later in the morning, Koloberdyaeff 
 ])resented himself. 
 
 " Well,"— he asked me, noisily entering my 
 bedroom, — "and where 's the Prince's second?" 
 
 " Why, good gracious! " — I replied with yexa- 
 tion, — " it 's only seyen o'clock in the morn- 
 
 62
 
 A SUPERFLUOUS MxVN 
 
 iiig now; I ])rcsiime tlie Prince is still fast 
 asleep." 
 
 " In that case," — retiirne<l the irrepressible 
 cavalry-captain, — " order them to give me some 
 tea. I have a headache from last night's doings. 
 . . . . 1 have n't even been undressed. How- 
 ever,"— he added with a yawn, — " I rarelv do 
 undress anyway." 
 
 Tea was served to him. He drank six glasses 
 with rum, smoked four pipes, told me that on the 
 preceding day he had bought for a song a horse 
 which the coachmen had given up as a bad job, 
 and intended to break it in by tying up one of 
 its forelegs, — and fell asleep, without undress- 
 ing, on the couch, with his pipe still in his mouth. 
 I rose, and put my papers in order. One note 
 of invitation from Liza, the only note I had re- 
 ceived from her, I was on the point of putting 
 in my breast, hut changed my mind, and tossed 
 it into a box. Koloberdyaeff was snoring faintly, 
 Avith his head hanging doAvn from the leather 
 cushions. ... I remember that I surveyed for a 
 long time his dishevelled, dashing, care-free and 
 kindly face. At ten o'clock my servant an- 
 nounced the arrival of "Rizmyonkoff . The Prince 
 had selected him for his second. 
 
 Together we roused the soundly-sleeping cap- 
 tain. He rose, stared at us with eyes owlishly 
 stupid from sleep, and in a hoarse voice asked 
 for vodka; — he recovered himself, and after hav- 
 
 03
 
 THE DIARY OF 
 
 ing exclianged salutes witli BizniyonkofF, went 
 out with him into the next room for eonsultation. 
 The conference of tlie seconds did not last long. 
 A quarter of an hour later they both came to me 
 in my bedroom: Koloberdyaeff announced to me 
 that " we shall fight to-day, at three o'clock, with 
 ])istols/* I silently bowed mv head, in token of 
 assent. Bizmyonkoif immediately took leave of 
 us, and drove away. Pie ^^•as somewhat ])ale and 
 inwardly agitated, like a man A\ho is not accus- 
 tomed to that sort of performance, but was very 
 polite and cold. I seemed, somehow, to feel 
 ashamed in his presence, and I did not dare to 
 look him in the eye. 
 
 Koloberdyaeff began \o talk about his horse 
 again. This conversation was very much to my 
 taste. 1 was afraid lie might mention Liza. But 
 my good captain was no scandal-monger, and, 
 more than that, he despised all .women, calling 
 them, God knows why, " salad." At two o'clock 
 we lunched, and at three were already on the field 
 of action — in that same birch-grove where I had 
 once strolled with Liza, a couple of paces from 
 that cHfF. 
 
 We were the first to arrive. But the Prince 
 and BizniyonkofF did not make us wait long for 
 them. The Prince was, without exaggeration, 
 as fresh as a rose; his bi-own eyes gazed out with 
 extreme affability from beneath the visor of his 
 military cap. He was smoking a straw cigar, 
 
 6-l<
 
 A SUPERFLUOUS ^NIAN 
 
 and on catcliing siglit of* Koloberdyaeff lie sliook 
 liaiuls witli liim in a cordial manner. He even 
 bowed very eharniinti'lv to me. 1. on the eon- 
 trary, felt conscious that I was pale, and my 
 hands, to my intense vexation, were trembling 
 slightly; . . . my throat was dry. . . Never, np 
 to that time, had I fought a duel. " O God! " 
 I thought; "if only that sneering gentleman 
 does not take mv agitation for timidity! " I in- 
 wardly consigned my nerves to all the fiends ; but 
 on glancing, at last, straight at the Prince's 
 face, and catching on his lips an almost imper- 
 ceptible smile, 1 suddenly became inflated with 
 wrath, and immediately recovered my equanim- 
 ity. 
 
 In the meantime, our seconds had arranged 
 the barrier, had paced off the distance, and 
 loaded the pistols. Koloberdyaeff did most of 
 the active part; Rizmyonkoff chiefly watched 
 him. It was a magnificent day — quite equal to 
 the day of the never-to-be-forgotten stroll. The 
 dense azure of the sky again peeped through tlie 
 gilded green of the leaves. Their rustling- 
 seemed to excite me. The Prince continued to 
 smoke his cigar, as he leaned his shoulder against 
 the trunk of a linden. ... 
 
 " Be so good as to take your places, gentlemen ; 
 all is ready," — said Koloberdyaeff at last, hand- 
 ing us the pistols. 
 
 The Prince retreated a few paces, halted, and 
 
 do
 
 THE DIARY OF 
 
 turning his head back over his shoulder, asked 
 me: " And do you still refuse to withdraw your 
 words? "... I tried to answer him; but my voice 
 failed me, and I contented myself with a dis- 
 dainful motion of the hand. The Prince laughed 
 again, and took his place. AVe began to approach 
 each other. I raised my pistol, and was on' the 
 point of taking aim at the breast of my enemy, — 
 at that moment he reallv was my enemy, — but 
 suddenly elevated the barrel, as though some one 
 had jogged my elbow, and fired. The Prince 
 staggered, raised his left hand to his left temple 
 — a thin stream of blood trickled down his cheek 
 from beneath his white wash-leather glove. Biz- 
 myonkofF flew to him. 
 
 " It is nothing," — he said, taking off his cap, 
 which had been perforated; — " if it did not enter 
 my head, that means it is only a scratch." 
 
 He calmly pidled a batiste handkerchief from 
 his pocket, and laid it on his curls, which were wet 
 with blood. 1 looked at him as though petrified, 
 and did not stir from the spot. 
 
 " Please go to the barrier! " — remarked Kolo- 
 berdyaeff to me with severity. 
 
 I obeyed. 
 
 " Shall the duel go on? " — he added, address- 
 ing Bi'/myonkoff. 
 
 Bizmyonkoff made him no reply; but the 
 Prince, without removing the handkerchief from 
 the wound, nor even giving himself the satis- 
 
 66
 
 A SUPKHFLT^OUS MAN 
 
 faction of teasing nie at the barrier, replied witli 
 a smile: " The duel is ended," and fired into tlie 
 air. 1 nearly \vej3t with vexation and rage. That 
 man, by his magnanimity, had definitively tram- 
 pled me in the mud, had cut my throat. 1 wanted 
 to protest, I wanted to demand that he should 
 fire at me; but he stepped up to me, and offering 
 me his hand, " Everything is forgotten between 
 us, is it not? " — he said, in a cordial voice. 
 
 I cast a glance at his pale face, at that blood- 
 stained handkerchief, and utterly losing my head, 
 blushing Avith shame, and annihilated, I pressed 
 his hand. . . 
 
 " Gentlemen! " — he added, addressing the sec- 
 onds: — " I hope that all this will remain a 
 secret? " 
 
 "Of course!" — exclaimed KoloberdyaefF, — 
 " but. Prince, allow me. ..." 
 
 And he himself bound up his head. 
 
 The Prince, as he departed, bowled to me once 
 more; but BizmyonkofF did not even bestow a 
 glance on me. Slain, — morally slain, — 1 returned 
 home with KoloberdyaefF. 
 
 " But what ails you? " — the captain asked me. 
 " Calm yourself; the wound is not dangerous. 
 He can dance to-morrow, if lie likes. Or are 
 vou sorry that vou did not kill him? In that case, 
 
 • • • 
 
 you 're wrong; he 's a splendid fellow." 
 
 " Why did he spare me? ! "— I muttered at 
 last. 
 
 67
 
 THE DTAKY OF 
 
 ' Olio! so that 's it! "—calmly retorted tlie cap- 
 tain. . . " Okh. these romancers will he the 
 death of me! " 
 
 I pc^sitively i-efuse to descrihe my tortures in 
 the course of the evening which followed this un- 
 lucky duel. My pride suffered inexpressihly. 
 It was not my conscience which tormented me; 
 the consciousness of my stupidity annihilated me. 
 " I mvself have dealt mvself the last, the final 
 hlow! " I kept repeating as I paced my room 
 with long strides. ..." The Prince wounded b}^ 
 me and forgiving me ... . yes, Liza is his now. 
 Xothing can save her now, nor hold her back 
 on the brink of perdition." I was very well aware 
 that oin* duel could not remain a secret, in spite 
 of the Prince's words; in any case, it could not 
 remain a secret to Liza. " The Prince is not so 
 stupid" — I whispered in a frenzy — " as not to 
 take advantage of it." . . . And, nevertheless, I 
 was mistaken: the whole town heard about the 
 duel and its actual cause, — on the very next day, 
 of course; but it was not the Prince who had 
 babbled — on the contrary; when he had presented 
 himself to Liza with a bandaged head and an 
 excuse which had been pre])ared in advance, she 
 already knew everything. . . Wliether Bizmyon- 
 koff had betrayed me. or wlietlier the news had 
 reached her l)y other roads. I cannot say. And, 
 aftei- all. is it ])ossible to conceal anytliing in a 
 small town? You can imagine how Liza took it. 
 
 08
 
 A STTPKIUH OITS ]MAN 
 
 how the whole Ozlioyin family took it! As for 
 me, I suddenly became the object of universal 
 indignation, of loathing, a monster, a crazily 
 jealous man, and a cannibal. "Sly few acHjuain- 
 tances renounced me, as the}'^ would have re- 
 nounced a leper. The town authorities a})})ealed 
 to the Prince with a i)ro])osition to chastise me 
 in a stern and exemplary manner; only the per- 
 sistent and importunate entreaties of the Prince 
 himself warded off the calamity which menaced 
 my head. This man was fated to annihilate me 
 in every way. By his magnanimity he had shut 
 me up as though with my coffin-lid. It is need- 
 less to say that the Ozhogins' house was imme- 
 diately closed to me. Kirila IMatvyeevitch even 
 returned to me a plain pencil, which I had left 
 at his residence. In reality, he was precisely 
 the last man who should have been incensed with 
 me. INIy " crazy " jealousy, as thej^ called it in 
 the town, had defined, elucidated, so to S2:)eak. the 
 relations between Liza and the Prince. The old 
 Ozhogins themselves and the other residents be- 
 gan to look upon him almost in the light of a be- 
 trothed husband. In reality, that could not have 
 been quite agreeable to him; but he liked Liza 
 very much ; and moreover, at that time he had not, 
 as yet, attained his object. . . . With all the tact 
 of a clever man of the world, he accommodated 
 himself to his new ])osition. immediately entered 
 into the spirit of his new part, as the saying is. . . 
 
 69
 
 THE DIARY OF 
 
 But 1! ... 1 then gave up in despair, so far 
 as 1 myself was concerned, and so far as my 
 future was concerned. When sufferings reach 
 sucli a })itch that they make our whole inward 
 being crack and creak like an overloaded cart, 
 thev ought to cease being ridiculous. . . . But 
 no! laughter not only accompanies tears to the 
 end, to exhaustion, to the })oint where it is im- 
 possible to shed any more of them, — not at all! 
 it still rings and resounds at a point where the 
 tongue grows dumb and lamentation itself dies 
 away. . . . And then, in the first place, as I have 
 no intention of appearing absurd even to myself, 
 and in the second place, as I am frightfully tired, 
 1 shall defer the continuation and, God willing, 
 the conclusion of mv storv until to-morrow. . . . 
 
 March 29. A light frost ; last night 
 there was a thaw. 
 
 Yesterday I was unable to go on with my diary; 
 like Poprishshtchin, I lay most of the time in 
 bed, and chatted with Terentievna. There 's a 
 woman for you! Sixty years ago she lost her 
 first betrothed from the plague, she has outlived 
 all her children, she herself is unpardonablj^ old, 
 she drinks tea to her heart's content, she is well- 
 fed, warmly clad; but what do you think she 
 talked to me about yesterday? I had ordered 
 that the ca]H' of an old li\ cry-coat should be 
 given to another utterly denuded old woman for 
 
 70
 
 A SUPERFTJTOTTS ^FAN 
 
 a waistcoat (she wears a breast-piece in the sha])e 
 of a waistcoat). . . . 'I'he cape was ])retty tlior- 
 oughly eaten by moths, so why should not she 
 have it? "Well, it strikes me that 1 'm your 
 nurse. . . . O-okh, my dear little father, 't is a sin 
 for you to do that. . . . And have n't I been 
 tendint)- you? " . . . . and so forth. The mer- 
 ciless old woman fairly wore me out with 
 her reproaches. . . . But let us return to the 
 story. 
 
 So, then, I suffered like a dog which has had 
 the hind part of its body run over by a wheel. 
 Only then, — only after my expulsion from the 
 Ozhogins' house,— did I become definitiveh" 
 aware how much pleasure a man may derive from 
 the contemplation of his own unhappiness. Oh, 
 men ! ye are, in reality, a pitiful race ! . . . Well, 
 but that is in the nature of a philosophical remark. 
 ... I passed my days in utter solitude, and only 
 in the most roundabout and even base ways was I 
 able to find out what was going on in the Ozho- 
 gin family, what the Prince was doing. INIy 
 servant struck up an acquaintance with the great- 
 aunt of the wife of his coachman. This acquain- 
 tance afforded me some alleviation, and my 
 servant speedily was able, from my hints and 
 gifts, to divine what it behooved him to talk about 
 with his master, when he was pulling off the lat- 
 ter's boots at night. Sometimes I chanced to meet 
 in the street some member of the Ozhogin family, 
 
 71
 
 THE DIARY OF 
 
 Bizmyonkoff, or the Prince. . . . With the 
 Prince and Bizmyonkoff I exchanged bows, but 
 I (h(l not enter into conversation. I saw Liza 
 thrice in all: once with her mamma, in a milliner's 
 shop, once in an open calash with her father, 
 her mother, and the Prince; once in church. 
 Of course, I did not venture to approach her, and 
 only gazed at her from afar. In the shop she was 
 anxious but cheerful. . . . She was ordering 
 something for herself, and busily trying on rib- 
 bons. Her mother was gazing at her, with hands 
 clasped on her stomach, her nose elevated, and 
 indulging in that stupid and affectionate smile 
 which is permissible only to fond mothers. Liza 
 was in the calash with the Prince. ... I shall 
 never forget that meeting! The old Ozhogins 
 were sitting on the back seat of the calash, the 
 Prince and Liza in front. She was paler than 
 usual; two pink streaks were barely discernible 
 on her cheeks. She was half-turned toward the 
 Prince; supporting herself on her outstretched 
 right hand (she w^as holding her parasol in her 
 left) , and wearily bending her head, she was 
 gazing straight into his face with her expressive 
 eyes. At that moment she was surrendering her- 
 self utterly to him, trusting him irrevocably. I 
 did not have a chance to get a good look at 
 his face, — the calash dashed past too swiftly,— 
 but it seemed to me that he also was deeply 
 moved. 
 
 72
 
 A SUPERFLUOUS INIAN 
 
 The third time I saw her was in church. Not 
 more than ten days had elapsed since the day 
 when I had encountered her in the calash with 
 the Prince, not more tlian three weeks since my 
 duel. The business on account of which the 
 Prince had come to Q*** had long been finished; 
 but he still deferred his departure; he reported 
 in Petersburg that he was ill. In the city, ])eople 
 were expecting every day a formal proposal on 
 his part to Kirila Matvyeevitch. I myself was 
 only waiting for this last blow, in order to retire 
 forever. The town of O*** had grown loath- 
 some to me. I could not sit still at home, and from 
 morning till night I dragged myself about the 
 suburbs. One grey, wet day, as I was return- 
 ing from a stroll which had been cut short by the 
 rain, I stepped into the church. The evening 
 service M^as only just beginning, there were very 
 few people present; I looked about me, and sud- 
 denly, near a window, I descried a familiar jjro- 
 file. At first I did not recognise it; that pale 
 face, that extinct glance, those sunken cheeks — 
 could it be the same Liza whom I had seen two 
 weeks before? Enveloped in a cloak, with no 
 hat on her head, illuminated from one side by a 
 cold ray of light, which fell through the broad 
 window of white glass, she was staring immov- 
 ably at the ikonostiisis, and, apparently, making 
 a violent effort to pray, striving to escape from 
 some sort of dejected rigidity. A fat, red- 
 
 73
 
 THE DIARY OF 
 
 checked page w itli yellow eartridge-cases on his 
 breast ^ was standing behind her, with his hands 
 clasped behind his back, and staring with sleepy 
 surprise at his mistress. I shuddered all over; 
 I started to go to her, but stopped short. A 
 torturing forboding gripped my breast. Liza 
 never stirred until the very end of vespers. All 
 the congregation departed, a chanter began to 
 sweep out the church, and still she did not stir 
 from her place. The page approached her, and 
 touched her gown ; she glanced round, passed her 
 hand over her face, and went away. I escorted 
 her, at a distance, to her house, then returned 
 home. 
 
 " She is ruined! " I exclaimed, as I entered my 
 room. 
 
 Being a man, I do not know to this day what 
 was the nature of my sensations then. I remem- 
 ber that, folding my arms, I flung myself on the 
 divan, and riveted mv eves on the floor; but I 
 did not know why, only, in the midst of my grief, 
 I seemed to l)e pleased at something. ... I 
 would not have admitted that on any account, 
 if I were not writing for myself. ... I really 
 had been tortured by painful, terrible forebod- 
 ings .... and. who knows, ])erhaps I should 
 have been disconcerted if they had not been ful- 
 fllled. " Such is the human heart ! " some mid- 
 dle-aged Russian teacher would exclaim at this 
 
 ' The page is called a kazAk, and dressed accordingly. —Translator 
 
 74
 
 A SUPEKI LI OUS MAN 
 
 point, ill an expressive voice, raising on high his 
 thick forefinger adorned with a carnehan ring. 
 15iit ^^•llat care we for the opinion of a Russian 
 teacher with an expressive voice, and a carnehan 
 ring on his finger? 
 
 Be that as it may, my forebodings had turned 
 out to be correct. The news suddenly spread 
 through the town tliat the Prince had taken his 
 departure, in consequence, nominally, of an order 
 from Petersburg ; that he had gone away without 
 having made any proposal of marriage either to 
 Kirila IMatvyeevitch or to his spouse, and that 
 Liza would continue to mourn his perfidy to the 
 end of her days. The Prince's departure had 
 been entirely unexpected, because, as late as the 
 evening before, his coachman, according to the as- 
 sertions of my servant, had not in the least sus- 
 pected his master's intention. This news threw 
 me into a fever. I immediately dressed myself, 
 was on the point of running to the Ozhogins'; 
 but after thinking the matter over, I concluded 
 that it would be decorous to wait until the follow- 
 ing day. However, 1 lost nothing by remaining 
 at home. That evening there ran in to see me 
 a certain Pandopipopulo, a Greek on his travels, 
 who had accidentally got stranded in O***, a 
 gossip of the first magnitude, who, more than 
 any one else, had seethed with indignation against 
 me for my duel with the Prince. He did not 
 even give my servant time to announce him, but 
 
 75
 
 THE DIARY OF 
 
 fairly forced his way into my room, shook me 
 vii»'oroiislv by the liaiul, made a thousand excuses 
 for liis conduct, called me a model of magnanim- 
 ity and fearlessness, depicted the Prince in the 
 blackest colours, did not spare the old Ozhogins, 
 whom Fate had, in his opinion, justly punished; 
 he gave a hit at Liza also in passing, and ran off, 
 after kissing me on the shoulder. Among other 
 things, I learned from him that the Prince, en 
 vrai grand seigneur, on the eve of his departure, 
 liad replied coldly to a delicate hint from Kirila 
 Matvyeevitch, that be had not intended to deceive 
 any one and was not thinking of marrying; had 
 risen, and made his bow, and that was the last 
 they had seen of him. . . . 
 
 On the following day, I betook myself to the 
 Ozhogins'. The blear-eyed footman, at my ap- 
 pearance, s])rang from the bench in the ante- 
 room with lightning-like swiftness; I ordered 
 him to announce me. The lackey hastened off, 
 and immediately returned: "Please enter," said 
 he; " I am ordered to invite you in." I entered 
 Kirila Matvyeevitch's study. . . . Until to-mor- 
 row. 
 
 INIarcb 30. A frost. 
 So, then, I entered Kirila jMatvyeevitch's study. 
 I would give a good deal to any one who could 
 have sho^^'n me my own face at the moment when 
 that worthy official, hastily wrap])ing his Bu- 
 
 70
 
 A SUIM^RI LI OUS :MAN 
 
 khara dressing-gown round liini, ste])ped forward 
 to meet nie with outstrctclicd hands. I must 
 have fairly racHated an atmosjjhere of modest 
 triumph, patronising syni])athy, and hmitless 
 magnanimity. ... 1 felt that I was something 
 in the nature of Scipio Africanus. OzluSgin was 
 visibly embarrassed and dejn'cssed, avoided my 
 eve, and shifted from foot to foot where he stood. 
 1 also noticed that he talked in an unnaturally- 
 loud manner, and altogether expressed himself 
 very indefinitely; — indefinitely, but with fervour, 
 did he beg my pardon, indefinitely alluded to the 
 departed visitor, added a few general and in- 
 definite remarks about the deceitfulness and in- 
 stability of eartlily blessings, and suddenl)', be- 
 coming conscious of a tear in his eye, he hastened 
 to take a pinch of snufF, probably with the ob- 
 ject of deluding me as to the cause which was 
 making him weep. . . . He used green Russian 
 snufF, and every one knows that that plant 
 makes even old men shed tears, athwart which 
 the human eye peers forth dimly and senselessly 
 for the space of several minutes. 
 
 As a matter of course 1 treated the old man 
 very cautiously, inquired after the health of his 
 wife and daughter, and at once turned the con- 
 versation artfully on the interesting question of 
 rotation of cro])s. 1 was dressed as usual; but 
 the feeling of soft decorum and gentle conde- 
 scension which filled my breast, afforded me a 
 
 77
 
 THE DIAKV OF 
 
 festive and fresh sensation, as though 1 were 
 wearing a white waistcoat and a white neckcloth. 
 One thing disturbed me: the thought of meeting 
 Liza again. ... At last Ozhogin himself pro- 
 posed to conduct me to his wife. That good, but 
 stupid woman, on beholding me, at first became 
 frightfully embarrassed; but her brain was in- 
 capable of preserving one and the same impres- 
 sion for long together, and therefore she speedily 
 recovered her equanimity. At last I saw Liza. 
 . . . She entered the room. . . . 
 
 I had expected that I should find in her an 
 abashed, penitent sinner, and had already in ad- 
 vance imparted to my face the most cordial and 
 encouraging expression. . . . Wliy should I lie? 
 I really loved her and thirsted for the happiness 
 of forgiving her, of i)utting out my hand to her; 
 but, to my unspeakable amazement, in reply to 
 my significant bow, she lauglied coldly, remarked 
 carelessly: " Ah? so it 's you? " and immediately 
 turned away from me. Her laugh appeared to 
 me forced, it is true, and, in any case, was ill- 
 suited to her dreadfully emaciated face. . . . 
 But, nevertheless, I had not expected such a re- 
 ception. ... I stared at her in astonishment. 
 . . . What a change had taken place in her! Be- 
 tween the former cliild and this woman there was 
 nothing in common. She seemed to have grown 
 taller, to have drawn herself up straigliter; all her 
 features, especially her lips, seemed to have ac- 
 
 78
 
 A SUPKK1I.UOITS INIAX 
 
 quired a more defined outline .... her gaze 
 had become! more profound, more firm, and dark. 
 I sat with tlie Ozhogins until dinner; she rose, 
 left the room and i-eturned to it, calmly replied 
 to questions, and deliberately took no heed of me. 
 I could see that she wished to make me feel that 1 
 was not worthy even of her anger, altliougli I 
 had come near killing her lover. At last 1 lost 
 patience: a malicious hint broke from my lips. 
 . . . She shuddered, darted a swift glance at 
 me, rose, and, walking to the window, said in a 
 voice which trembled slightly: "You can saj^ 
 anything you like, but you must know that I love 
 that man and shall always love him, and do not 
 consider him to blame toward me in the slightest 
 decree, on the contrary . . . ." Her voice broke 
 with a tinkle, she paused .... tried to control 
 herself, but could not, a;nd burst into tears and 
 left the room. . . . The elder Ozhogins grew 
 confused. ... I shook hands with both of them, 
 sighed, cast a glance upward, and went away. 
 
 I am too weak, there is too little time left to me, 
 I am not in a condition to describe with my 
 former minuteness this new series of torturing 
 meditations, firm intentions, and other fruits of 
 the so-called inward conflict, which started up in 
 me after the renewal of my acquaintance \\\\\\ 
 the Ozhogins. I did not doubt that I.iza still 
 loved and would long love the Prince .... but. 
 being a man tamed now by circumstances and 
 
 79
 
 THE DIARY OF 
 
 who had . resigned himself to liis fate, I did 
 not even dream of her love : I merely desired her 
 friendship, I wanted to win her confidence, her 
 respect, which, according to the assertions of ex- 
 perienced persons, is regarded as the most trust- 
 worthy foundation for happiness in marriage. 
 .... Unhappily, T had hist sight of one i-ather 
 important circumstance — namely, that Liza had 
 hated me ever since the day of the duel. I learned 
 this too late. 
 
 I began to frequent the Ozhogins' house as of 
 vore. Kirila ^Nlatvveevitch was more cordial to 
 me and petted me more than ever. I even have 
 cause to think that at the time he would have 
 gladly given me his daughter, although I was 
 not an enviable match: public opinion condemned 
 him and Liza, and, on the other hand, extolled 
 me to the skies. Liza's treatment of me did not 
 change: she maintained silence most of the time, 
 obeyed when she was bidden to eat, displayed 
 no outward signs of grief, but, nevertheless, slie 
 wasted away like a candle. I nmst do iustice to 
 Kirila Matvyeevitch: he spared her in every possi- 
 ble way; old ^ladame Ozhogin merely bristled up 
 as she looked at her poor child. There was only 
 one man whom Liza did not avoid, although she 
 did not talk much to him, namely, Bizmyonkoff. 
 The old Ozhogins treated him sternly, even 
 roughly; they couhl not pardon him for having 
 acted as second; but he continued to come to their 
 
 80
 
 A SUPERFT.UOUS MAN 
 
 lioiise, as though he did not notice their disfavour. 
 With nie he was very cold, and, — strange to say! 
 — I felt afraid of him, as it were. This state of 
 things lasted for ahont a fortnight. At last, 
 after a sleepless niglit, I made up my mind to 
 have an explanation with IJza, to lay hare my 
 lieart before her; to tell her that, notwithstanding 
 the past, notwithstan(hng all sorts of rumours 
 and gossip, I should regard myself as too hapi)y 
 if she would favour me with her hand, would 
 restore to me her trust. I really, without jesting, 
 imagined that I was exliibiting, as the compen- 
 diums of literature put it, an unprecedented ex- 
 ample of magnanimity, and that she would give 
 her consent out of sheer amazement. In any 
 case, I wanted to clear up the situation with her, 
 and escape, definitively, from my state of un- 
 certainty. 
 
 Behind the Ozhogins' house lay a fairly spa- 
 cious garden, terminating in a linden coppice, 
 neglected and overgrown. In the middle of this 
 coppice rose an old arbour in the Chinese style; 
 a board fence separated the garden from a blind- 
 alley. IJza sometmies strolled for hours at a 
 time alone in this garden. Kirila iNIatvyeevitch 
 knew this and had given orders that she \\'as not 
 to be disturbed, and kept a watch over her: 
 " Let her grief wear itself out," he said. \Vhen 
 she was not to be found in the house, it was only 
 necessary to ring a small bell on the porch at 
 
 81
 
 THE DIARY OF 
 
 (linncr-time, and she ininiediately presented her- 
 self, with the same ob(hn"ate taeitninit}- on her 
 Hps and in lier i^aze, and some sort of crumpled 
 leaf in lier hand. So, one day, observing that 
 she was not in the house, I pi-etended that I was 
 making ready to depart, took leave of Kirila 
 ]\Iatvyeevitch, put on my hat, and emerged from 
 the anteroom into the courtyard, and from the 
 courtyard into the street, but instantly, with ex- 
 traordinary swiftness, slipped back through the 
 gate and made my way past the kitchen into 
 the garden. Luckily, no one espied me. With- 
 out pausing long to think, I entered the grove 
 with hasty steps. Before me, on the path, stood 
 Liza. JNIy heart began to beat violently in my 
 breast. I stopped sh.ort, heaved a deep sigh, and 
 was on the point of approaching lier, when all 
 of a sudden, without turning round, she raised her 
 hand and began to listen. . . . From behind the 
 trees, in the direction of the blind-alley, two 
 knocks rang out clearly, as though some one were 
 tapping on the fence. Liza clapped her hands, 
 a faint squeaking of the wicket-gate became audi- 
 ble, and Bizmyonkoff emerged from the coppice. 
 I promptly hid myself behind a tree. Liza turned 
 silently to\\ard him. . . . Silently he drew her 
 arm through his, and both walked softly along the 
 path. I stared after them in astonishment. They 
 lialted, looked abf)ut them, disappeared behind the 
 bushes, appeared again, and finally entered the ar- 
 
 82
 
 A SUPERFLUOUS MAN 
 
 bour. This arbour was circular in shape, a tiny ht- 
 tle building, with one door and one small window; 
 in the centre was to be seen an old table with a sin- 
 gle leg, overgrown with fine green moss; two 
 faded little plank divans stood at the sides, at 
 some distance from the damp and dark-liued 
 walls. Here, on unusually hot days, and tliat 
 once a year, and in former times, the}^ had been 
 in the habit of drinking tea. The door would not 
 shut at all; the frame had long ago fallen out of 
 the window and, catching by one corner, dangled 
 mournfully, like the wounded wing of a bird. I 
 stole up to the arbour and cautiously glanced 
 through a crack of the window. Liza was sitting 
 on one of the little divans, with drooping head; 
 her right hand lay on her lap; Bizmyonkoff was 
 holding the left in both his hands. He was gaz- 
 ing at her with sympathy. 
 
 " How do you feel to-day? " — he asked her, in 
 a low voice. 
 
 " Just the same! " — she replied; — " neither bet- 
 ter nor worse. — Emptiness, frightful empti- 
 ness! " — she added, dejectedly raising her eyes. 
 
 Bizmyonkoff made no reply. 
 
 "What think you," she went on; — "will he 
 write to me again? " 
 
 " I think not, Lizaveta Kirillovna! " 
 
 She remained silent for a while. 
 ' And, in fact, what is there for him to write 
 about? He told me everything in his first letter. 
 
 83
 
 THE DIARY OF 
 
 I could not be his wife: but I was liappy . . . not 
 for long. ... I was happy. . . ." 
 
 BiznivonkofF lowered his eves. 
 
 "Akh," — she went on witli animation;— " if 
 you only knew how loathsome that Tchulkaturin 
 is to me! ... It always seems to me that I can 
 
 see his blood ... on that man's hands." 
 
 (I writhed behind my crack.) " However," — she 
 added thoughtfully; — "who knows, — perhaps 
 had it not been for that duel .... Akh, when I 
 beheld him wounded, 1 inmiediately felt that I 
 was all his." 
 
 " Tchulkaturin loves you," — remarked Biz- 
 myonkoff. 
 
 " What do I care for that? Do I need any one's 
 love? . . ." She paused, and added slowly : . . . 
 " except yours. Yes, my friend, your love is in- 
 dispensable to me : without you I should have per- 
 ished. You have helped me to endure terrible mo- 
 ments. ..." 
 
 She ceased. . . . BizmyonkofF began to stroke 
 her hand with paternal tenderness. " There 's no 
 help for it, there 's no help for it, Lizaveta Kiril- 
 lovna," — he repeated, several times in succession. 
 
 " Yes, and now," — she said dully, — " I think I 
 sliould die if it were not for you. You alone sus- 
 tain me; moreover, you remind me .... For you 
 know evervthing. Do vou remember how hand- 
 some he was that day ; .... lint forgive me: it 
 must be painful for you. . . ." 
 
 84
 
 A SUPERILUOT^S ]MAN 
 
 " Speak, speak! A\'hat do you mean? God 
 bless you! " — l^izniyoukoff interru])te(l her. She 
 s(jueezed his liand. 
 
 " You are very kind, Bi/inyonkoff," — she went 
 on: — " you are as kind as an angel. What am I 
 to do? 1 feel that 1 shall love him until 1 die. I 
 have forgiven him, I am grateful to him. INIay 
 God grant liim happiness! May God give him a 
 wife after his own heart! " — And her eyes filled 
 with tears. — " If only he does not forget me, if 
 only he will now and then recall his Liza to mind. 
 Let us go out," — she added, after a brief pause. 
 
 Bizmyonkoff raised her hand to his lips. 
 
 " I know," — she began with warmth, — " every 
 one is blaming me, every one is casting stones at 
 me now. Let them! All the same, I would not 
 exchange my unhappiness for their happiness 
 . . . no! no! . . . He did not love me long, but 
 he did love me ! He never deceived me : he did not 
 tell me that I was to be his wife; I myself never 
 thought of sucli a thing. Only poor ])apa hoped 
 for that. And now I am still not utterly un- 
 happy : there remains to me the memory, and how- 
 ever terrible the consequences may be .... I am 
 stifling here .... it was here that I saw him for 
 the last time. . . . Let us go out into the air." 
 
 They rose. I barely managed to leap aside and 
 hide behind a thick linden. They came out of the 
 arbour and, so far as I was able to judge fi'om tlie 
 sound of their footsteps, went off into the grove. 
 
 85
 
 TTTK DTAHY OF 
 
 J do not know how lontj- 1 luul been standing 
 there, witliout stirring- from the spot, absorl)ed in 
 a sort of irrational surprise, wlien suddenly tlie 
 sound of footsteps became audible again. 1 
 started and peered cautiously fi-om my ambush. 
 Bi'/mvonkoff and Liza were returnino" by the 
 same path. Both were gi'eatly agitated, especially 
 Bizmyonkoff. lie liad been weeping, ap})ar- 
 ently. Liza lialted, gazed at him, and uttered the 
 following words distinctly: " I consent, Bizmyon- 
 koff. I would not have consented, had you merely 
 wished to save me, to extricate me from a fright- 
 ful position; but you love me, you know all — and 
 3'ou love me; I shall nevei- find a more trustwor- 
 thy, faithful friend. I will be your wife." 
 
 Bizmyonkoff kissed her hand; she smiled sadly 
 at him, and went to the house. Bizmyonkoff 
 dashed into the thicket, and I went my w^ay. As 
 Bizmyonkoff had probably said to I^iza precisely 
 what I had intended to say to her, and as she had 
 given him precisely the answer which I had hoped 
 to hear from her, there w^as no necessity for my 
 troubling myself further. \ fortnight later she 
 married him. The old Ozhogins were glad to get 
 any bridegroom. 
 
 Well, tell me now, am not I a superfluous man ? 
 Did not I play in the whole of that affair tlie part 
 of a superfluous man? Tlie role of the Prince 
 . ... as to that, there is notliing to be said; the 
 role of Bizmyonkoff also is comprehensible . . . . 
 
 86
 
 X 
 
 V SUPERFLUOUS MAN 
 
 15ut \l W\\y was I mixed up in it? . . . wliat a 
 stupid, fifth wheel to the eart 1 was! . . . .iVkh, ^ 
 't is bitter, bitter ! ... So now% as tlie stevedores 
 oil tlie Volga say: " Ileave-ho! heave-ho! '' '— \ 
 one more little day, then another, and notliing will 
 be either bitter or sweet to me any more. 
 
 :Mareh 81. 
 
 Things are bad. I write these lines in bed. The 
 weather has ehanged suddenly since yesterday. 
 To-day is hot — almost a summer day. Every- 
 thing is thawing, crumbling, and streaming. 
 There is an odour of ploughed earth in the air: 
 a heavy, powerful, op2)ressive odour. The steam 
 is rising everywhere. The sun is fairly beating, 
 fairly blazing down. I am in a bad way. I feel 
 that I am decomposing. 
 
 I started out to write a diary, and instead of 
 that, what have I done? I have narrated one 
 incident out of my own life. I have been bab- 
 bling, sleeping memories have waked up and car- 
 ried me away. I have written leisurely, in de- 
 tail, as though I still had years before me; and 
 now, lo, there is no time to continue. Death, 
 death is advancing. I can already hear its men- 
 acing crescendo. . . Time 's up. . . . Time 's 
 up! . . . 
 
 1 The hurlakl on the Volj^'a used to tow tlic barg'es from Astrakhan 
 to Nizhni N(5vj?orod Fair, against the current. 'I'he stevedores also 
 are eall<'d Imrldki, and, as tliey lade tlie hnrjies, their I'hantey runs 
 (more Hterally tlian I liave translated it above): " Yetanother little 
 time, j'et again, . . ." and so fortli. — Tkanslatok. 
 
 87
 
 THE DIARY OF 
 
 And M-liere 's the liann '. Does it niake any dif- 
 ference what 1 have tokH In tlie presence of 
 deatli all the last earthly vanities disappear. I 
 feel that I am quieting down; I am becoming 
 more simple, more clear. I have acquired sense, 
 but too late! ... 'T is strange! I am growing 
 still— 't is true, and, nevertheless, 1 am overcome 
 with dread. Yes, I am overcome with dread. 
 Half-leaning over the voiceless, yawning gulf, 
 I shudder, I turn aside, with eager attention I 
 gaze about in all directions. Every object is 
 doublv dear to me. I cannot gaze mv till at mv 
 poor, cheerless room, as I bid farewell to every 
 tiny Heck on my walls! Sate yourselves for the 
 last time, ye eyes of mine! Life is withdrawing; 
 it is flowing evenlv and softly awav from me, 
 like the shore from the glances of the traveller 
 by sea. The aged, yellow face of my nurse, 
 bound up in a dark kerchief, the hissing samovar 
 on the table, the pot of geranium in front of the 
 window, and thou, my poor dog, Tresor, the pen 
 wherewith I indite these lines, my own hand, I 
 see you now .... there you are, there. . . . 
 Is it possible .... to-day perhaps ... I shall 
 see you no more? 'T is ])ainful for a living being 
 to part with life! Why dost thou fawn on me, 
 poor dog? W\\\ dost thou lean thy breast 
 against my bed convulsively tucking under thy 
 short tail, and never taking from me thy kind, 
 sad ej-es? ^Vrt thou sorry for me? Dost thou 
 
 88
 
 A STTPERFTJTOTTS MAN 
 
 already feel iristinetivelv that thy master will 
 
 • • • 
 
 soon be no more? Akh, if I eoukl also pass in 
 reyiew mentally all the objects in my room! I 
 know that these memories are cheerless and in- 
 significant, but I haye no othei's. Emptiness, 
 frightful emptiness! as Liza said. 
 
 Oh, my God! My (rod! Here I am dying. 
 . . . My heart capable of loye, and ready to loye, 
 ^vill soon cease to beat. . . And can it be that it 
 will be silenced foreyer, without haying eyen once 
 tasted of happiness, \yithout haying a single 
 time swelled beneath the sw^eet burden of joy? 
 Alas! 't is impossible, impossible, I know. . . If 
 at least now, before my death — and death, neyer- 
 theless, is a sacred thing, for it eleyates eyery 
 being — if some charming, sad, friendly yoice 
 were to sing oyer me the parting song of my 
 own w^oe, perhaps I might become reconciled to 
 it. But to die is stupid, stupid. . . 
 
 I belieye I am beginning to raye. 
 
 Fare\yell life, farewell my garden, and you, 
 my lindens! AVhen summer comes, see that you 
 do not forget to coyer yourselyes with flow^ers 
 from top to bottom .... and may good people 
 lie in your fragrant shade, on the cool grass 
 beneath the lisping murmur of your leayes, 
 lightly agitated by the breeze. Farewell, fare- 
 well! Farewell eyerything, and foreyer! 
 
 Farewell, Liza! I haye written these two 
 w^ords— and haye almost laughed. That exclan.- 
 
 89
 
 THE DIxVRY OF 
 
 ation seems bookish. I seem to be composing 
 a sentimental novel, and ending up a despairing 
 letter. . . . 
 
 To-morrow is the first of April. Can it be 
 that I shall die to-morrow? That would be ra- 
 ther indecorous even. However, it befits me. . . 
 
 How the doctor did gab])le to-day. . . . 
 
 April 1. 
 
 'T IS over. Life 13 ended. I really shall die 
 to-day. It is hot out of doors . . . almost sti- 
 fling .... or is it that my chest is already re- 
 fusing to breathe? Mv little comedy has been 
 played through. The curtain is falling. 
 
 In becoming annihilated, 1 shall_..cease to be 
 superfluous. . . -=— =< 
 
 Akh, how brilliant that sun is! Those powerful 
 rays exhale eternity. . . 
 
 Farewell, Terentievna! . . . This morning, 
 as she sat by the window, she fell to weeping 
 . . . . perhaps over me . . . and perhaps, be- 
 cause she herself must die before long also. 1 
 made her promise " not to hurt " Tresor. 
 
 It is difficult for me to write. ... I drop my 
 pen. . . 'T is time! Death is alread}^ drawing 
 near with increasing rumble, like a carriage by 
 night on the pavement: it is here, it is hovering 
 around me, like that faint breath which made 
 the liair of the prophet stand upright on his 
 head. . . 
 
 90
 
 A SUPERFLUOUS MAN 
 
 I am dying. . . Live on, ye living. 
 
 And may the youiifr life play 
 At the entrance of the grave, 
 And Nature the indifferent 
 With beauty beam forever! 
 
 Note, of the Editor. — Under this last line there is the profile of a 
 head with a large crest-curl and moustache, with eyes en face, and 
 ray-like eyelashes; and under the head some one has written the 
 following words: 
 
 The abov manuscript has been read 
 
 And the Contints Thereof Bin Approved 
 
 By Pyetr Zudotydshin 
 
 M M M M 
 
 Dear Sir 
 
 Pyetr Zudotyeshin. 
 
 My Dear Sir. 
 
 But as the chirography of these lines does not in the least agree 
 with the chirography in which the remainder of the note-book is 
 written, the editor considers himself justified in concluding that the 
 above-mentioned lines were added afterward bj' another person ; the 
 more so, as it has come to his (the editor's) knowledge that Mr. 
 Tchulkaturin really did die on the night of April 1-2, 18 . . , in his 
 natal estate — Ov^tchi Vody. 
 
 91
 
 THREE PORTRAITS 
 
 (1840)
 
 THREE PORTRAITS 
 
 THE neighbours " constitute one of the most 
 serious (h-awbacks to country hfe. I knew 
 one landed proj^rietor of the Government of 
 Vologda, who, at every convenient o|)])ortunity, 
 was wont to repeat the following words: " Thank 
 God, I have no neighbovu's! " — and I must ad- 
 mit that I could not refrain from envying that 
 lucky mortal. 
 
 My little village is situated in one of the most 
 thickly-populated governments of Russia. I am 
 surrounded by a vast multitude of petty neigh- 
 bours, beginning with the well-intentioned and 
 respected landed proprietors, clad in capacious 
 dress-coats, and more capacious waistcoats, — and 
 ending with arrant roysterers, who wear hussar- 
 jackets with long sleeves and the so-called 
 " fimsky " knot on the back. In the ranks of 
 these nobles, however, I have accidentally dis- 
 covered one very amiable young fellow. Once 
 upon a time he was in the military service, then 
 he retired, and settled down for good and all 
 in the country. According to his account, he 
 served two years in the B*** regiment; but I 
 positively cannot understand how that man 
 
 95
 
 THREE PORTRAITS 
 
 could liave dischart^cd any duties wliatsoever, not 
 only for the space of two years, but even for 
 the space of two days. He was horn " for a 
 peaceful life, for rustic tranquillity," that is to 
 say, for indolent, careless veoetation, which, I 
 may remark in parenthesis, is not devoid of ^reat 
 and inexhaustible charms. 
 
 lie enjoyed a very respectable property: 
 without troubling himself too much about the 
 management of his estate, he spent about ten thou- 
 sand rubles ^ a year, procm-ed for himself a capi- 
 tal cook (my friend was fond of good eating) ; 
 he also imported from ^Moscow the newest French 
 books and journals. He read nothing in Rus- 
 sian except the reports of his overseer, and that 
 with great difficulty. From morning until dinner 
 (if he did not go off hunting), he did not dofF 
 his dressing-gown; he sorted over some sketches 
 or other pertaining to the management, or be- 
 took himself to the stable, or to the threshing- 
 shed, and indulged in a good laugh with the 
 peasant wives, who rattled their chains, as the 
 saying is, in his presence, out of ostentation. 
 After dinner my friend dressed himself before 
 the mirror with great care, and drove off to some 
 neighbour endowed with two or three ])retty 
 young daughters; heedlessly and pacifically, he 
 
 ^ A ruble, at the present time, is worth, on an average, about fifty- 
 two cents. At the period here referred to, the silver ruble would pur- 
 ciiase more than a ruble nowadays, while the paper ruble was worth 
 very little. — TiiANSi.ATOu. 
 
 96
 
 THREE PORTRAITS 
 
 dangled after one of them, played at blind-man's 
 buff with them, returned home rather late, and 
 immediately sank into heroic slumber. He could 
 not feel bored, because he never devoted him- 
 self to absolute inaction, and he was not fas- 
 tidious as to his choice of occupations, and, like 
 a child, was amused with the smallest trifle. On 
 the other hand, he felt no special attachment to 
 life, and, it sometimes happened, that when it 
 became necessary to outrun a wolf or a fox, he 
 would launch his horse at full speed over such 
 ravines, that to this day I cannot understand 
 why he did not break his neck a hundred times. 
 He belonged to the category of people who evoke 
 in you the thought that they are not aware of tlieir 
 own value, that beneatli their external generosity 
 great and mighty passions are concealed; but he 
 would have laughed in your face, if he^ could 
 have guessed that you cherished such an opinion 
 concerning him; yes, and, I am bound to admit, 
 I think myself that if my friend was haimted in 
 his youth by any aspiration, indistinct but ])ower- 
 ful, toward what is very prettily called " some- 
 thing higher," that aspiration had long, long ago 
 calmed down in him and pined away. 
 
 He was rather obese, and enjoyed splendid 
 health. In our age, it is impossible not to like 
 people who give little thought to themselves, be- 
 cause they are extremely rare .... and my 
 friend almost completely forgot his own person. 
 
 97
 
 THREE lUJKTKxVlTS 
 
 However, I liave already said too iiiucli about 
 him, I think— and my chattering is all the more 
 ill-})Iaced, since he does not serve as the subject 
 of my story. His name was Piotr Feodorovitch 
 LutchinofF. 
 
 One autumn day, five of us thorough-going 
 sportsmen had assembled togethei- at Piotr Feo- 
 dorovitch's. We had s])ent the entire morning 
 in the fields, had coursed two wolves and a mul- 
 titude of hares, and had returned home in the 
 ravishinglj^-agreeable frame of mind which in- 
 vades every well-regulated man after a successful 
 hunt. 
 
 Twilight was descending. The wind was play- 
 ing over the dark fields, and noisily rocking the 
 naked crests of the birches and lindens which sur- 
 rounded Lutchinoff's house. We arrived, and 
 alighted from our horses. . . On the porch I 
 lialted and glanced about me: long storm-clouds 
 were crawling Jieavily across the grey sky; a 
 dark-brown bush was writliing in the wind, and 
 creaking ])iteously; the yellow grass bent feebly 
 and sadly to the ground : flocks of blackbirds were 
 flying to and fro among the mountain-ash trees, 
 dotted with clusters of bright-scarlet berries;^ 
 in the slender and brittle branches of the birch- 
 trees tomtits were hopping and whistling; the 
 dogs were barking hoarsely in the village. INIelan- 
 
 1 A very good preserve, with a slij^htly wild or bitter taste, is made 
 from these berries in Russia. It is a favourite preserve for putting 
 in tea. — Translator. 
 
 98
 
 TTTRKK PORTRAITS 
 
 (•holy ()vcr])o\vei*e(l inc .... for wliicli reason 1 en- 
 tered the (hning-rooni with genuine ))leasure. The 
 shutters were closed; on tlie round table, covered 
 with a cloth of dazzling- whiteness, in the midst 
 of crystal caraffes filled with red wine, burned 
 eio-ht candles in silver candlesticks; a fire blazed 
 merrily on the hearth — and an old, very comely 
 butler, with a huge bald spot, dressed in Eng- 
 lish fashion, stood in respectful immobility in 
 front of another table, which was already adorned 
 with a large soup-tureen, encircled with a light, 
 fragrant steam. In the anteroom w-e had j^assed 
 another respectable man, engaged in cooling 
 the champagne — " according to the strict rules 
 of the art." 
 
 The dinner was, as is usual on such occasions, 
 extremely agreeable; w^e laughed, recounted the 
 incidents which had occurred during the hunt, 
 and recalled with rapture two notable " drives." 
 After having dined rather heartily, we disposed 
 ourselves in broad arm-chairs in front of the 
 fireplace; a capacious silver bowl made its ap- 
 pearance on the table, and, a few moments later, 
 the flitting flame of rum announced to us our 
 host's pleasant intention to " brew a ])unch." — 
 Piotr Feodorovitch was a man not lacking in 
 taste; he knew, for example, that nothing has 
 such deadly effect on the fancy as the even, cold, 
 and pedantic light of lamps — therefore he or- 
 dered that only two candles should be left in
 
 THREE PORTRAITS 
 
 the room. Strange half -shadows quivered on the 
 walls, produced by the fitful play of the fire on 
 the hearth, and the flame of the punch .... a 
 quiet, extremely agreeable comfort i-eplaced in 
 our hearts the somewhat obstreperous jollity 
 which had reigned at dinner. 
 
 Conversations have their fates — like books (ac- 
 cording to the Latin apothegm)', like everything 
 in the world. Our conversation on that evening 
 was peculiarly varied and vivacious. In part it 
 rf)se to decidedly imp(n-tant general questions, 
 then lightly and unconstrainedly returned to the 
 commonplaces of everyday life. . . . After chat- 
 ting a good deal, we all suddenly fell silent. At 
 such times, they say, the angel of silence flits past. 
 
 I do not know why my companions ceased 
 talking, but I stopped because my eyes had sud- 
 denly paused on three dusty portraits in black 
 wooden frames. The colours had been rubbed 
 off, and here and there the canvas was warped, 
 but the faces could still be distinguished. The 
 middle portrait represented a woman, young in 
 years, in a white gown with lace borders, and a 
 tall coifl^ure of the eighties. On her right, against 
 a perfectly black background, was visible the 
 round, fat face of a good-natured Russian 
 landed proprietor five-and-t^\•enty years of age, 
 with a low, broad forehead, a stubby nose, and an 
 ingenuous smile. The powdered French coifi^'ure 
 was extremely out of kee])ing with the expres- 
 
 100
 
 THREE PORTRAITS 
 
 sion of his Slavonic countenance. The artist liad 
 depicted him in a kaftan of crimson line witli 
 large strass buttons; in his hand he held some 
 sort of unusual Hower. The third ])ortrait, 
 painted by another and more experienced hand, 
 represented a man of thirty, in a green uniform 
 of the period of Katherine II, with red fac- 
 ings, a white under-waistcoat, and a thin batiste 
 neckerchief. With one hand he leaned on a 
 cane with a gold head, the other he had thrust 
 into his waistcoat. His thin, swarthy face 
 breathed forth insolent arrogance. His long, 
 slender eyebrows almost met over his pitch-black 
 eyes; on his pale, barely -perceptible lips jjlayed 
 an evil smile. 
 
 " What makes you stare at those faces? " — 
 Piotr Feodorovitch asked me. 
 
 "Because!" — I answered, looking at him. 
 
 " Woidd you like to hear the whole story about 
 those three persons? " 
 
 " Pray, do us the favour to tell it," — we re- 
 plied with one voice. 
 
 Piotr Feodorovitch rose, took a candle, raised 
 it to the portraits, and in the voice of a man who 
 is exhibiting wild animals, "Gentlemen!" he 
 proclaimed: " this lady is the adopted daughter of 
 my own great-grandfather, Olga Ivanovna NN., 
 called Lutchinoff, who died unmarried forty 
 years ago. This gentleman," — pointing to the 
 portrait of the man in uniform, — " is sergeant 
 
 101
 
 THREE PORTRAITS 
 
 of tlie Guards, Vasily Ivanovitch Lutcliinoff, 
 wlio departed this life, by tlie will of Crod, in 
 the year one thousand seven hundred and ninety. 
 And this gentleman, to whom I have not the 
 honour to be related, is a certain Pavel Afana- 
 sievitch RogatchyofF, who never served any- 
 where, so far as I am aware. Please to note the 
 hole which is in his breast, in the exact place of 
 the heart. This hole, which is, as you see, regular, 
 and three-cornered, probably could not have hap- 
 pened accidentally. . . . Xow," — he went on in 
 his ordinary voice, — " please to take your seats, 
 arm yourselves with patience, and listen." 
 
 Gentlemen (he began) I descend from a 
 fairly ancient race. I am not proud of my 
 descent, because ni}" ancestors were all frightful 
 spendtlirifts. This reproach, however, does not 
 apply to my great-grandfather, Ivan Andreevitch 
 liUtchinoff, — on the contrary, he bore the repu- 
 tation of being an extraordinarily penurious and 
 even miserlv man — during tlie last vears of his 
 life, at all events. He passed his youth in Peters- 
 burg, and was a witness of Elizaveta's reign. 
 In Petersburg he married, and had by his wife, 
 who was also my great-grandmother, four chil- 
 dren — three sons, Vasilv, Ivan and Pavel (mv 
 grandfather) , and one daughter, Xatalya. In ad- 
 dition to these, Ivan ^Vndreevitch took into his 
 family the daughter of a distant relative, a full 
 
 102
 
 THREE PORTRAITS 
 
 and nameless orphan, — Olga Ivanovna, of whom 
 I have ah-eady spoken. jNIy great-grandfatlier's 
 subjects were, probably, aware of his existence, 
 because they were in the habit of sending to him 
 (when no particular catastrophe had happened) 
 a very considerable sum in quit-rents; — but they 
 had never beheld his face. The village of Tjutchi- 
 novko, deprived of the light of its master's 
 countenance, was thriving, — when, all of a sud- 
 den, one fine morning, a heavy travelling carriage 
 drove into the village, and drew up in front of 
 the Elder's cottage. The peasants, startled by 
 such an unprecedented event, flocked thither and 
 beheld their master, mistress, and all the pair's 
 offspring, with the exception of the eldest, Vasily, 
 who had remained in Petersburg. From that 
 memorable day forth, and to the very day of his 
 death, Ivan Andreevitch never quitted Lutchi- 
 novko. He built himself a house, this very house 
 in which I now have the pleasure of chatting 
 with you; he also built the church, and began 
 to live the life of a landed proprietor. Ivan An- 
 dreevitch was a man of huge stature, gaunt, 
 taciturn, and extremely slow in all his move- 
 ments; he never wore a dressing-gow^n, and no 
 one, with the exception of his valet, had ever seen 
 him with un])owdered hair. Ivan Andreevitch 
 habitually walked with his hands clasped behind 
 his back, slowly turning his head at every step. 
 Every day he walked in the long linden alley, 
 
 103
 
 TITRKE rOKTKAlTS 
 
 which he had })lanted witli his own hands, — and 
 before his death lie liad tlie satisfaction of en- 
 joying the shade of those hndens. 
 
 Ivan Andree\'itcli was extremely i)arsimonious 
 of his words; this remarkable circumstance may 
 serve as a proof of his taciturnity — that in the 
 space of twenty years he never said a single word 
 to his spouse, Anna Pavlovna. Altooether, his 
 relations to Anna Pavlovna were of a very 
 strange nature. — She administered all the domes- 
 tic affairs, at dinner she always sat by her hus- 
 band's side, — he would ruthlessly have chastised 
 any man who presumed to utter one disrespectful 
 word to her, — and j^et he himself never spoke 
 to her, and never touched her hand. Anna 
 Pavlovna was a pale, timid, crushed woman; 
 every day she prayed in church on her knees,' 
 and never smiled. It was said that formerly, 
 that is to say, before their arrival in the coun- 
 try, they had lived in grand style; it was said, 
 also, that Anna Pjivlovna had broken her mari- 
 tal vows, that her husband had found out about 
 her fault. . . . However that may have been, 
 Ivan Andreevitch. even when he lay dying, did 
 
 1 Except during Lent, and for special prayers on Christmas Day, 
 New Year's Day and Pciilecost (Trinity Sunday), hardly any kneel- 
 ing is prescribed by the rubrics of the Eastern Catholic Church. 
 During Easter-tide and on all Sundays it is forbidden by the rubrics, 
 on the ground that joy in tiie resurrection should overpower tlie sense 
 of sin and contrition. These rules are not always regarded. But a 
 person who kneels much is conspicuous, and spectators assume that the 
 posture indicates great grief or contrition— as above. — 'riiANSLATOU. 
 
 104
 
 THKKE rORTRAITS 
 
 not become reconciled to lier. She never left him 
 (luring his last illness; but he seemed not to no- 
 tice her. One night, Anna Pavlovna was sitting 
 in Ivan Andreevitch's bedroom; he was tortured 
 with insomnia; the shrine-lamp was burning in 
 front of the holy picture; my great-grandfather's 
 servant, Yuditch, concerning whom I shall have 
 a couple of words to say to you hereafter, had 
 left the room. Anna Pavlovna rose, crossed the 
 chamber, and flung herself, sobbing, on her 
 knees before her husband's bed, tried to say some- 
 thing — and stretched out her arms. . . . Ivan 
 Andreevitch looked at her — and shouted in a 
 weak but firm voice: " Man! " The servant en- 
 tered. Anna Pavlovna hastily rose to her feet, 
 and returned, reeling, to her place. 
 
 Ivan Andreevitch's children were extremely 
 afraid of him. They grew up in the country, 
 and were witnesses of Ivan Andreevitch's strange 
 behaviour to his wife. They all passionately loved 
 Anna Pavlovna, but dared not express their love. 
 She herself seemed to shun them. . . . You re- 
 member my grandfather, gentlemen: to the day 
 of his death, he alw^ays used to go about on tip- 
 toe, and he s])oke in a whis])er .... that 's 
 what habit will do! My grandfather and his 
 brother Ivan Ivanovitch were plain, kind, peace- 
 able and melancholy people; my grauiViante 
 Natalya married a coarse, stu])id man, as you 
 know, and until her death cherished for him a 
 
 105
 
 THREE POKTKxVlTS 
 
 dumb, servile, slieep-like love; but their brother 
 Vasily was not like that. 
 
 I think I have told you that Ivan Andreevitch 
 left him in Petersbur"-. Pie was twenty years 
 old at the time. His father confided him to the 
 care of a distant relative, a man no longer young, 
 a bachelor and a frightful Voltairian. 
 
 Vasily grew up, and entered the service. He 
 was small of stature, but well built and extremely 
 agile; he spoke French splendidly, and was re- 
 nowned for his skill at fighting with the broad- 
 sword. He was considered one of the most bril- 
 liant young men of the beginning of Katherine 
 II's reign. INIy father often told me that he knew 
 more than one old woman who could not men- 
 tion Vasily Ivjinovitch I^utchinoff without heart- 
 felt emotion. Picture to yourself a man gifted 
 with remarkable strength of will, passionate and 
 calculating, patient and daring, secretive to the 
 last degree and — according to the words of all 
 his contemporaries — bewitehingly. enchantingly 
 amiable. He had neither conscience nor good- 
 nature nor honour, although no one could call 
 him a positively bad man. He was selfish — but 
 knew how to conceal his selfishness, and was pas- 
 sionately fond of indei^endence. ^^^len ^'^aslly 
 Ivanovitch used, smilingly, to screw up his black 
 eyes, when he wanted to fascinate any one, thev 
 say that it was im]iossil)le to resist liim — and 
 even people who were convinced of the coldness 
 
 106
 
 TTTREK POKTRAITS 
 
 and liardtiess of liis spirit more than once sur- 
 rendered to the bewitching power of his influence. 
 He zealously served himself, and made others 
 toil also for his benefit, and always succeeded in 
 evervthinff, because he never lost his head, did 
 not disdain flattery as a means, and understood 
 how to flatter. 
 
 Ten years after Ivan Andreevitcli settled in 
 the country, he came to T^utchinovko as a bril- 
 liant officer of the Guards, for four months,— 
 and in that space of time succeeded in turning 
 the head even of the surly old man, his father. 
 It is strange! Ivan Andreevitch listened with 
 delight to his son's tales of his conquests. His 
 brothers were dumb in his presence, and admired 
 him as a superior being. And even Anna Pav- 
 lovna herself came to love him almost more 
 than all her other children, who were so sincerely 
 devoted to her. 
 
 Vasily I\'anovitch came to the country, in the 
 first ])lace. in order to see liis relatives; but, in 
 tlie second ])lace also, in order to get as much 
 money as ])ossible out of his father. lie had 
 lived sumi)tuously and kept open house in Peters- 
 })urg, and had contracted a multitude oi' debts. 
 It was not easy foi- liim to reconcile liimself to 
 liis ])arent's stinginess, and, although Ivan An- 
 dreevitch gave him for liis tri]) alone more money, 
 in all probability, than he gave all his other chil- 
 dren in the space of the twenty years which they 
 
 107
 
 TIIRKK POUTKAITS 
 
 spent in the paternal honse, yet Vasily stnek 
 to the faniihar Russian rule: " Take all you can 
 o-et!" 
 
 Ivan ^Andreeviteh had a servant, Yiiditch by 
 name, as tall, gaunt, and taciturn a man as his 
 master. They say that this Vuditch was, in part, 
 the cause of the strange behaviour of Ivan An- 
 dreevitch to Anna Ptivlovna: they say that it 
 was he who discovered the guilty liaison of mv 
 great -grandmother with one of my great-grand- 
 father's best friends. Probably Yiiditch deeply 
 repented of his ill-judged zeal, because it would 
 be difficult to conceive of a more kind-hearted 
 man. His memory is held sacred to this day by 
 all my house-serfs. Yiiditch enjoyed the un- 
 bounded confidence of my great-grandfather. 
 At that period, landed proprietors had money, 
 but did not hand it over to loan institutions for 
 safe-keeping, but kept it themselves in coffers, 
 in cellars, and the like. Ivan Andreevitch kept 
 all his money in a huge iron-bound coffer, which 
 stood under the head of his bed. The key to 
 this coiFer was handed over to Yiiditch. Every 
 evening, when he went to bed, Ivan Andreevitch 
 ordered this chest to be opened in his presence, 
 tapped all the tightly-stuffed sacks in turn with 
 his cane, and on Saturdays, he and Yiiditch un- 
 tied the sacks and carefully counted over the 
 money. 
 
 Yasily found out about all these performances 
 
 108
 
 THREE PORTRxVTTS 
 
 and was fired witli a desire to runiniage a bit 
 in the sacred eoft'er. In the com'se of five or six 
 days he moUificd Yuditch, that is to say, he re- 
 duced the poor old fellow to such a state that— as 
 the saying" is— he fairly worshii)i)ed his young- 
 master. After having properly prepared him, 
 Vasily assumed a careworn and gloomy asjiect, 
 for a long time refused to answer Yiiditch's in- 
 quiries and, at last, told him that he had gam- 
 bled away all his money, and intended to lay 
 violent hands on himself if he did not obtain 
 money from somewhere. Yuditch began to sob, 
 flung himself on his knees before him, begged 
 him to remember God, not to ruin his soul. Va- 
 sily, w^ithout uttering a word, locked himself up 
 in his chamber. After a while, he heard some 
 one knocking cautiously on his door. He opened 
 the door and beheld on the threshold Yuditch, 
 pale and trembling, with a key in his hands. 
 Vasily immediately understood everything. i\t 
 first he resisted for a long time. Yuditch kept 
 repeating with tears: "Pray, master, take it!" 
 . . . At last, Vasily consented. This ha|)pened 
 on Monday. The idea occurred to Vasily to re- 
 place the mone}^ he abstracted with bits of glass. 
 He reckoned on Ivan Andreevitch's not paying 
 any special heed to the bai'cly })erce])tible differ- 
 ence in the sound when he tajiped the sacks with 
 his cane, — and by Saturday he ho])ed to obtain 
 money and replace it in the sacks. Xo sooner 
 
 109
 
 THREE POinUAlTS 
 
 thought than done. His father, in fact, did not 
 notice anything. But A'asily did not obtain 
 money by Saturday: he had hoped, with the 
 money he had taken, to clean out at the card-table 
 a certain wealthy neighbour — and, on the con- 
 trary, he lost everything himself. In the mean- 
 time, Saturday arrived; the turn came for the 
 sacks stuffed with bits of glass. Picture to your- 
 selves, gentlemen, the amazement of Ivan An- 
 dreevitch ! 
 
 "What 's the meaning of this?" — he thun- 
 dered. 
 
 Yuditch made no reply. 
 
 " Hast thou stolen this money? " 
 
 " Xo, sir." 
 
 " Then has some one taken the key from thee? " 
 
 " I have not given the key to any one." 
 
 " Xot to any one? If thou liast not sfiven it 
 to any one — thou art the thief. Confess! " 
 
 " I am not a thief, Ivan Andreevitcli." 
 
 "Whence came these bits of glass, damn it? 
 So thou art deceiving me? For the last time 
 I say to thee — confess! " 
 
 Yuditch hung his head and clasped his hands 
 behind his back. 
 
 "Hey there, people!" shouted Ivan .;Vndree- 
 vitch in a raging voice. — " The rods! " 
 
 "What? You mean to ... . whip . . . 
 me?" whispered Yuditch. 
 
 " Thou shalt catch it! And how art thou any 
 
 110
 
 TIIKEE POHTHAITS 
 
 better than the rest? Thou art a thief! Well, 
 now, Yiiditch! I had not expected such rascality 
 from thee! " 
 
 " I have <>"rown "rev in vour service, Ivan An- 
 dreevitch," said Yuditch with an effort. 
 
 " And what care I about tliy ^rey hair? ^Nlay 
 the devil take thee and th}^ service! " 
 
 The people entered. 
 
 " Take him, and give him a good flogging! " 
 
 Ivan Andree\'itch's lips were pale and trem- 
 bling. He ramped about the room like a wild 
 beast in a confined cage. 
 
 The men did not dare to execute his com- 
 mands. 
 
 " What are you standing there for, you vile 
 serfs? have I got to lav hands on him myself, I 'd 
 like to know? " 
 
 Yuditch started for the door. 
 
 "Stop!" yelled Ivan Andreevitch. — "Yii- 
 ditch, for the last time I sav to thee, I entreat 
 thee, Yuditch, confess." 
 
 " I cannot," moaned Yuditch. 
 
 " Then seize him, tlie old sycophant! . . . 
 Flog him to death! On my head be it! " thun- 
 dered the maddened old man. The torture be- 
 gan. ... 
 
 Suddenly the door flew open, and Vasily en- 
 tered. He was almost paler tlian his fatlici-. his 
 hands trembled, his upper li]) was raised and dis- 
 closed a row of white, even teetli. 
 
 Ill
 
 THREE rORTRAlTS 
 
 " I am iiiiiltv." he said in a dull but steady 
 voice. — " I took the money." 
 
 The men stopped short. 
 
 " Thou! whatC ! thou, \^aska! without the con- 
 sent of Yuditch ? " 
 
 "No!" — said Yiiditch: — " with my consent. 
 I myself gave the key to Vasily Ivanovitch. Dear 
 little father, Vasily Ivanovitch! why have you 
 deigned to trouble yourself? " 
 
 " So that 's who the thief is! " — shouted Ivan 
 Andreevitch. — " Thanks, Vasily, thanks! But 
 I shall not spare thee, Yuditch, all the same. 
 \Vhy didst not thou confess all to me at once? 
 Hey, there, you! why have you stopped? or do 
 you no longer recognise my authority? And 
 I '11 settle with you, my dear little dove!" he 
 added, turning to Vasily. 
 
 The men were on the point of setting to work 
 again on Yuditch. 
 
 " Don't touch him! " whispered Vasily through 
 his teeth. The servants did not heed him. 
 — " Back! " he shouted, and hurled himself upon 
 them. . . . They staggered back. 
 
 "Ah! a rebel! " — moaned Ivan Andreevitch, 
 and raising his cane, he advanced on his son. 
 
 Vasily leaped aside, grasped the hilt of his 
 sword, and bared it half-way. All began to 
 tremble. Anna Pihlovna, attracted by the noise, 
 frightened and pale, made her appearance in the 
 doorway. 
 
 112
 
 THREE rORTRATTS 
 
 Ivan Andreevitcirs face underwent a frightful 
 change. He staggered, dropped his cane, and 
 fell heavily into an arm-chair, covering his face 
 with both hands. No one stirred; all stood as 
 tliough rooted to the spot, not excepting even 
 Vasily. He convulsively gripped the steel hilt 
 of his sword, his eves flaslied with a morose, evil 
 gleam. . . . 
 
 " Go away all . . . begone," — said Ivan An- 
 dreevitch in a low voice, without removing his 
 hands from his face. 
 
 The whole throng withdrew. Vasily halted on 
 the threshold, then suddenly tossed his head, em- 
 braced Yuditch, kissed his mother's hand . . . 
 and two honrs later Ire was no longer in the vil- 
 lage. He had departed for Petersburg. 
 
 On the evening of that day, Yuditch was sit- 
 ting on the porch of the house-serfs' cottage. 
 The servants swarmed around him, pitied him, 
 and bitterly blamed the master. 
 
 " Stop, my lads," he said to them at last; — 
 " enough of that .... Avhy do you abuse him? 
 I don't believe that he, our dear little father, is 
 pleased himself witli his desperate deed. . . ." 
 
 As a result of this affair, Vasily never saw his 
 jjarents again. Ivan Andreevitch died without 
 him, probably with such grief at his heart as may 
 God spare any of us from experiencing. In the 
 meantime, Vasily Ivanovitch went out in society, 
 made merry after his own fashion, and squan- 
 
 113
 
 THREE PORTKAITS 
 
 dered money. How he obtained the money, I 
 cannot say witli certainty. He 2)rocured for him- 
 self a French servant, a clever and intelligent 
 young fellow, a certain Boursier. This man be- 
 came passionately attached to him, and aided 
 him in all his numerous performances. I have no 
 intention of narrating to you in detail all the 
 pranks of my great-uncle ; he distinguished him- 
 self by such unbounded audacity, such snaky 
 tact, such incredible cold-bloodedness, such adroit 
 and subtle wit, that, I must confess, I can under- 
 stand the limitless power of that unprincipled 
 man over the most noble souls. . . . 
 
 Soon after his father's death, Vasily Iva- 
 novitch, notwithstanding all his tact, was chal- 
 lenged to a duel by an outraged husband. He 
 fought, severely ^^'ounded his antagonist, and 
 was forced to quit the capital: he was ordered 
 to reside permanently on his hereditary estate. 
 Vasily Ivanovitch was thirty years of age. You 
 can easily imagine, gentlemen, with what feelings 
 this man, who had ])ecome accustomed to the 
 brilliant life of the capital, journeyed to his na- 
 tive place. They say that, on the road, he fre- 
 quently got out of his kibitka, flung himself face 
 down on the snow, and wept. Xo one in Lu- 
 tchinovko recognised the former jolly, amiable 
 Vasily Tvanovitcli. He spoke to no one, he went 
 off hunting from morning until night, witli visi- 
 ble impatience endured the timid caresses of his 
 
 114 
 
 I
 
 THREE PORTKAITS 
 
 mother, and jeered pitilessly at his brothers, and 
 at their wives (both of them were already mar- 
 ried ) . . . . 
 
 So far I have said nothing to you, I believe, 
 about Olga Ivanovna. She had been brought 
 to Lutchfnovko as an infant at the breast; she 
 had almost died on the way. Olga Ivano\'na had 
 been reared, as the saying is, in the fear of God 
 and of her parents. ... It must be confessed 
 that Ivan Andreeviteh and Anna Pavlovna both 
 treated her like a daughter. But there was con- 
 cealed in her a feeble spark of that fire which 
 blazed so brightly in the soul of Vasily Ivano- 
 vitch. In the meantime, while Ivan Andree- 
 vitch's own children did not dare to indidge in 
 conjectures concerning the strange, s])eechless 
 quarrel between their parents, Olga, from her 
 earliest years had been disturbed and pained by 
 the position of Anna Pavlovna. Like Vasily, she 
 loved independence; all oppression revolted her. 
 She had attached herself to her benefactress witli 
 all the powers of her soul; she hated old Lutchi- 
 noff, and more than once, as she sat at table, she 
 had fixed upon him such sombre glances, that even 
 the man who was serving the viands felt fright- 
 ened. Ivan Andreeviteh did not notice all those 
 glances, because, in general, he paid no attention 
 whatever to his family. 
 
 At first, Anna Pavlovna endeavoured to ex- 
 terminate this hatred in lier— -but several bold 
 
 115
 
 threp: poktraits 
 
 questions on Olga's part forced her to complete 
 silence. Ivan Andreevitch's children adored 
 Olga, and the old woman loved her also, altliough 
 with rather a cold affection. 
 
 Prolonged sorrow had crushed all cheei'fulness, 
 all strong feeling, in this poor woman; nothing 
 so clearly proves Vasily's bewitching amiability 
 as the fact that he made even his mother love him 
 ardently. Effusions of tenderness on the part 
 of children was not in the spirit of that age, and 
 therefore it is not surprising that Olga did not 
 venture to display her devotion, although she 
 always kissed Anna Pavlovna's hand with par- 
 ticular respect in the evening, when she bade her 
 good-night. She was barely able to read and 
 write. Twent}^ j^ears later, Russian girls began 
 to read novels in the style of the " Adventures of 
 Marquis G***," — " Fanfan and Lolotte," — of 
 "Alexyei; or, The Cot in the Forest"; — they 
 began to learn to play on the clavicliord and to 
 sing romances in the style of the following, once 
 very familiar song: 
 
 "Men in the li^^ht 
 
 Cling to us like flies "" — and so forth. 
 
 But in the '70s (Olga Tvanovna was boi-n in the 
 year 1757), our rustic beauties had no concep- 
 tion of all these accomplishments. It would be 
 (hfficult for us now to ])icture to ourselves a 
 
 116
 
 THREE PORTRAITS 
 
 young Russian <4'irl of good birtli of tliat epoch. 
 We can, it is true, judge from our grandmothers 
 as to the degree of education of noble gentle- 
 women in the times of Katherine II; hut how is 
 one to distinguisli that which was inculcated in 
 them in the coui'se of their long life, from that 
 which thev Avere in the days of their youth ^ 
 
 Olga Ivanovna spoke a little French, but with 
 a strong Russian accent ; in her day, there was no 
 thought of such a thing as the emigres} In a 
 word, with all her good qualities, she was, never- 
 theless, a decided savage, and, probably, in the 
 simplicity of her heart, she more than once ad- 
 ministered chastisement with her own hands to 
 some unlucky maid. . . . 
 
 Some time before Vasily Ivanovitch's arrival, 
 Olga Ivanovna had been betrothed to a neigh- 
 bour, — Pavel Afanasievitch Rogatchyoff, an ex- 
 tremely good-natiu'cd and honourable man. Na- 
 ture had forgotten to endow him with gall. Plis 
 own servants did not obey him; they sometimes 
 all went off, from the first to the last of them, 
 and left poor Rogatchyoff without any dinner 
 . . . but nothing could disturb the tranquillity 
 of his soul. He had been distinguished, even 
 from his childhood, by his obesity and sluggish- 
 ness; he had never served anywhere, and he was 
 
 ^ Many exiles caused by the French Revolution found refuge in 
 Russia as tutors. Some founded families there, intermarrying with 
 Russians, and their Russified names are easily recognisable. — Trans- 
 
 IjVTOH. 
 
 117
 
 THKEE rOT^TKAITS 
 
 fond of going to cliurcli and singing in the choir. 
 Look at tliat good-natured, round face, gentle- 
 men; gaze at that tranquil, brilliant smile .... 
 does not it make you feel cheerful yourselves? 
 Once in a while his father liad driven over to 
 Lutchinovko, and had l^rouglit with him, on fes- 
 tival davs, his Pavlusha, wliom the little Lutchi- 
 nofFs tormented in every possible wa}'. Pavlusha 
 grew up, began to go to Ivan Andreevitch's of 
 his own accord, fell in love with Olga Ivanovna, 
 and offered her his hand and his heart— not to 
 her personally, but to her benefactors. Her 
 benefactors gave their consent. They never even 
 thought of asking Olga Ivanovna whether she 
 liked RogatchyofF. At that epoch, — as our 
 grandmothers used to say, — " such luxuries were 
 not in fashion." But Olga speedily got used to 
 her betrothed: it was impossible not to grow at- 
 tached to that gentle, indulgent being. 
 
 RogatchyofF had received no education what- 
 soever; all he could say in French was " bon- 
 zhour " — and in secret lie even regarded that word 
 as improper. And some jester had also taught 
 him the following, whicli professed to be a Frencli 
 song: " Sonetchka, Sonetchka! Que voulez-vous 
 demoi — I adore you — mais jc ne peux pas." . . . 
 He was always humming this song in an under- 
 tone when he felt in good spirits. His father 
 also was a man of indescribably kind dis])o- 
 sition; he was forever going about in a long 
 
 118
 
 THRKK roiJTUAlTS 
 
 nankeen coat, and no matter what was said to him, 
 lie assented to everything witli a smile. 
 
 From the time of Pavel Afanasievitch's he- 
 trothal hoth the Hogatehyoffs — father and son — 
 hegan to bustle about fri^litf'ully ; they made over 
 their house, they built on various " galleries," they 
 chatted in friendly wise with the workmen, thev 
 treated them to vodka. They did not manage 
 to finish all the additional building by winter — so 
 they deferred the wedding until the summer; in 
 the summer, Ivan Andreevitch died — and the wed- 
 ding was postponed until the following spring; 
 in the winter, Vasily Ivanovitch arrived. Ro- 
 gatehyoff was introduced to him ; Vasily received 
 him coldly and carelessly, and in the course of 
 time, frightened him to such a degree by his arro- 
 gant treatment that poor RogatchyofF quivered 
 like a leaf at his mere a]3pearance, maintained si- 
 lence, and smiled constrainedh\ Vasily once came 
 near driving him off for good — by offering to bet 
 with him that he, Rogatchyoff, was unable to 
 stop smiling. Poor Pavel Afanasievitch almost 
 wept with confusion, but — 't is an actual fact! — 
 the smile, the very stupid, constrained smile, 
 would not quit his face! And Vasily slowly toyed 
 with the ends of his neckcloth, and stared at him 
 in quite too scornful a manner. 
 
 Pavel Afanasievitch's father also learned of 
 Vasily's arrival, and a few days later — foi- thr 
 sake of " the greater solemnity "—he set out f oi 
 
 119
 
 THKEE PORTRAITS 
 
 Lutchi'novko with the intention of " congratu- 
 hiting the amiable visitor on his arrival in his 
 native parts." Afanasy Afanasievitch was re- 
 nowned throughont the whole countryside for his 
 eloquence— that is to say, for his ability to utter, 
 witliout hesitation, a rather long and cunningly- 
 concocted speech, with a slight admixture of 
 bookish words. Alas! on this occasion he did 
 not maintain his reputation; he became confused 
 much worse than his son, Pavel Afanasievitcli. 
 He stammered out something very unintelligible, 
 and, although he had never touched vodka in his 
 life, having this time, " by way of countenance," 
 drunk a small glassful (he had found Vasily 
 at luncheon), he had endeavoured, at least, to 
 clear his throat with a certain amount of inde- 
 pendence, and had not produced the smallest 
 sound. As he set out for home, Pavel Afanasie- 
 vitch whispered to his parent: " Well, dear little 
 father? " Afanasy Liikitch replied to him with 
 irritation, also in a whisper: " Don't mention it! " 
 The Rogatchyoffs began to come more rarely 
 to Lutchinovko. But tliey were not the only 
 ones whom Vasily intimidated: he aroused in 
 his brothers, in their wives, even in Anna Pav- 
 lovna herself, a painful and involuntary sense of 
 discomfort .... thev beyan to avoid him in all 
 ])ossiblc ways. \'asily could not hel]) noticing 
 this, but, a])])arently, he had no intention of al- 
 tering his behaviour to tliem, when, all of a sud- 
 
 120
 
 TITKKK POirrHAITS 
 
 den, jit tlic lK'<>inniiio oi' the spring, he again re- 
 vealed hiniseli" as the same amiable, charming man 
 they had previously known him to be. . . . 
 
 The first revelation of this sudden change was 
 on the occasion of ^'^aslly's unexpected call on 
 the Rogatcliyoff s. Afanasy Lukitch, in particu- 
 lar, was thoroughly daunted by the sight of Lu- 
 tchinoff's calash, but his fear very speedily van- 
 ished. Xever had Vasily been more amiable and 
 merry. He linked his arm in the arm of young 
 RogatchyofF, walked out with him to inspect the 
 buildings, chatted with the carpenters, gave them 
 advice, himself made a few notches with the axe, 
 ordered them to show him Afanasy Liikitch's 
 stud-horses, himself drove them at the end of 
 a rope— and altogether, by his cordial amiability, 
 reduced the kind-hearted steppe-dwellers to such 
 a condition that they both repeatedh^ embraced 
 him. At home, also, Vasih^ turned all heads for 
 a few davs as of vore: he devised various amusing 
 games, he procured musicians, invited in tlie 
 neighbours of both sexes, narrated the tittle-tattle 
 of the town to the old ladies in the most diverting 
 manner, paid some court to the young women, 
 invented iniheard-of amusements, fireworks, and 
 so forth: — in a word, he enlivened everything and 
 everybody. The sad, gloomy house of the I^u- 
 tcliinoffs was suddenly converted into a noisy, 
 brilliant, enchanting sort of dwelling, of which the 
 whole countryside talked. — This sudden change 
 
 121
 
 THREE PORTRAITS 
 
 amazed many, dclit^litcd all. and various rumours 
 got into circulation: the knowing ones said that 
 some hidden trouhle had, up to that time, been 
 afflicting Vasily Ivanovitch, that the possibility 
 of returning to the capital had presented itself to 
 him. . . . Rut no one divined the true cause of 
 Vasily Ivanovitch's regeneration. 
 
 Olga Ivanovna, gentlemen, was very far from 
 l)eing uncomely. — Rut her beauty consisted 
 rather in remarkable softness and freshness of 
 person, in a tranquil charm of movement, than in 
 strict regularity of features. Xature had en- 
 dowed her with a certain independence; her edu- 
 cation — she had been reared an orphan — had de- 
 veloped in her caution and firmness. Olga did 
 not belong to the category of quiet and languid 
 young gentlewomen: but one feeling alone had 
 fully ripened in her: hatred for her benefactor. 
 However, other and more womanly passions also 
 could flame up in Olga Ivanovna's soul with un- 
 usual, unhealthy force .... but there was in 
 her none of that proud coldness, nor that comj^act 
 strength of soul, nor that selfish concentration, 
 without which every passion speedily vanishes. — 
 The first outbursts of such half-active, half-pas- 
 sive souls are sometimes remarkably violent; but 
 they very soon undergo a change, especially when 
 it becomes a question of the ruthless a])plication 
 of accepted ])rinciples; they fear the conse- 
 quences. . . . And, yet, gentlemen, I must con- 
 
 122
 
 THREE PORTRAITS 
 
 f ess to you frankly : women of that sort produce 
 upon me a very strong impression. . . . 
 
 ( At these words, the narrator tossed off a glass 
 of water at one draught. — " Nonsense! non- 
 sense! " — 1 thouglit, as 1 looked at his round cliin : 
 — " on vou, mv dear friend, no one in the world 
 produces ' a very strong impression.' ") ... 
 
 Piotr Feodorovitch went on : 
 
 Gentlemen, I believe in blood, in race. There was 
 more blood in Olga Ivanovna, than, for example, 
 in her nominal sister — Natalya. How did that 
 "blood" show itself?— you ask me. — Why, in 
 everything; in the outline of her hands and of her 
 lips, in the spund of her Aoice, in her glance, in her 
 walk, in the way she dressed her hair, — in the folds 
 of her gown, in short. In all these trifles there was 
 a certain hidden something, although I must ad- 
 mit that that .... how shall I express it? ... . 
 that distinction whicli had fallen to tlie lot of Oloa 
 Ivanovna would not have attracted the attention 
 of Vasilv if he had met her in Petersburg. But 
 in the country, in the wilds, she not only excited 
 his attention, — but even, altogetlier, was the sole 
 cause of the change of which I have just spoken. 
 Judge for yourselves: Vasily Ivanovitch was 
 fond of enjoying life; he could not hel]) being 
 bored in the countrj^^; his brothers were kind- 
 hearted fellows, but extremely limited in mind; 
 
 123
 
 THREE rOKTKAlTS 
 
 he had nothing in common with them. His sis- 
 ter Xatiilya and her husband had had four chil- 
 dren in the space of three years ; between her and 
 Vasilv lav a whole abyss. . . Anna Pavlovna 
 went to churcli, prayed, fasted, and prejjared her- 
 self for death. There remained only Olga, a rosy, 
 tiniid. charming young girl. . . At first Vasily 
 did not notice her . . . and who would turn his 
 attention on an adopted child, an orphan, a 
 foundling? .... One day, at the very begin- 
 ning of spring, he was walking through the gar- 
 den, and with his cane switching off the heads of 
 the chicory, those stupid yellow flowers which 
 make their appearance in such abundance first of 
 all, in the meadows as yet hardly green. — He was 
 strolling in the garden in front of the house, 
 raised his head — and beheld Olga Ivanovna. — 
 She was sitting with her side to the window, and 
 ga/ing pensively at a striped kitten, which, ])iu-r- 
 ing and blinking, had cuddled down on her lap, 
 and with great satisfaction was presenting its 
 little nose to the spring sunshine, already fairly 
 l)rilliant. Olga Ivanovna wore a white morning- 
 gown with shoi-t sleeves; her bare, faintly-rosy, 
 as yet not fully-developed shoulders and arms 
 breathed fortli freslmess and health; a small cap 
 discreetly confined her thick, soft, silky locks; her 
 face was sliglitly flushed; slie had not been long 
 awake. Her slender, supjjle neck was bent for- 
 ward so cliarmingly; her unconfined form re- 
 
 124
 
 TIIUKE rORTllAITS 
 
 posed so engagingly and modestly that Vasily 
 Ivanovitch (a great connoisseur!) involuntarily 
 halted and took a look. It suddenly came into 
 his head that Olga Ivanovna ought not to he left 
 in her pristine ignorance, that in time she might 
 turn out to he a very chai-ming and very amiahle 
 woman. He crept up to the window, raised him- 
 self on tiptoe, and im])rinted a silent kiss on Olga 
 Ivanovna's smooth, white arm, a little helow the 
 elbow. — Olga screamed and sprang to her feet, 
 the kitten elevated its tail, and leaped into the 
 garden; Vasily Ivanovitch detained her with his 
 hand. . . . Olga blushed all over, to her very 
 ears; he began to jest at her fright .... invited 
 her to walk with him; but suddenly Olga Iva- 
 novna noticed the negligence of her attire — 
 " more swiftlv than the swift-footed doe," she 
 slipped into the next room. 
 
 That same day, Vasily set off for the Roga- 
 tchyoiFs'. He suddenly grew gaj^ and brightened 
 up in spirit. Vasily did not fall in love with Olga, 
 no! — one must not trifle with the word love. . . . 
 He had found for himself an occupation, he had 
 set himself a task, and was rejoicing with the joj-^ 
 of an active man. He never even called to mind 
 the fact that she was his mother's ado]ited child, 
 the betrothed of another man ; he did not deceive 
 himself for a single instant ; he was very well aware 
 that she could not be his wife. . . . Perhaps pas- 
 sion was his excuse — not a lofty, not a noble pas- 
 
 125
 
 THREE rOTJTKATTS 
 
 sion, 't is true, but, nevertlieless, a tolerably strong 
 and torturing passion. Of course he did not fall 
 in love like a child; he did not surrender himself 
 to vnibounded raptures; he knew well what he 
 wanted and what he was aiming at. 
 
 Vasily Ivanovitch possessed to perfection the 
 ability to win the favour of others, even of those 
 who were prejudiced or timid. Olga speedily 
 ceased to shun him. Vasily Ivanovitch intro- 
 duced her into a new world. He imported a 
 clavichord for her, gave her music lessons (he 
 played very fairly himself on the flute ) , he read 
 books to her, he had long talks with her. . . . The 
 poor young steppe-girl's head was turned: Va- 
 sily had completely subjugated her. He knew 
 how to talk to her about that wliich, hitherto, had 
 been foreign to her, and to talk in a language 
 which she understood. Olga gradually brought 
 herself to express all her feelings to him; he 
 lielped her, suggested to her the words which she 
 could not find; he did not startle her; he now re- 
 pressed, now encouraged her impulses. . . . Vasily 
 occupied himself with her education not out of a 
 disinterested desire to awaken and develop her 
 abilities ; he simply wanted to bring her somewhat 
 closer to him, and he knew, moreover, that it is 
 easier to attract an inexperienced, shy, but vain 
 young girl by the mind than by tlie heart. Even 
 if Olga had been a remarkable being, Vasily could 
 not possibly have observed it, because he treated 
 
 126
 
 TTTKKK POlMlJAirS 
 
 her like a child ; but you already know, gentlemen, 
 that there was nothing noteworthy about Olga. 
 
 Vasily strove, as niucli as possible, to work on 
 her imagination, and often of an evening she 
 would leave him with sueli a wliirl of new images, 
 words, and thoughts in lier liead, tliat slie was 
 unable to get to sleep until dawn, and sighing 
 sadly, she pressed her burning cheeks against her 
 cold pillows ; or she rose and went to the window, 
 and gazed timorously and eagerly into the far- 
 away gloom Vasilv filled every moment of her 
 life; she could not think of any one else. She 
 soon ceased to take any notice of Rogatchyoflf. 
 Vasily, being a shrewd and clever man, did not 
 speak to Olga in his presence; but he either con- 
 fused him to the verge of tears, or got up some 
 boisterous game, a stroll in the evening, a rowing- 
 party on the river by night with lanterns and 
 music, — in a word, he did not give Pavel Afana- 
 sievitch a chance to recover his ground. But. 
 despite all Vasily Ivanovitch's cleverness, Ro- 
 gatchyoff was dimly conscious that he, the be- 
 trothed and the future hus])and of Olga, had be- 
 come, as it were, a stranger to her .... but, in 
 his infinite good-heartedness, he was afraid of 
 wounding her by a reproach, although he really 
 loved her and prized her affection. \\'hen he was 
 alone with her, he did not know what to talk 
 about, and merely endeavoured to serve her in 
 every possible way. Two months passed. Every 
 
 327
 
 I'lIKKK POlMUAriS 
 
 Iracv ol' independence, of will, disappeared in 
 0]cr-d: the weak and taeitnrn Kogatehyoff could 
 not serve liei- as a prop; slie did not even try to 
 resist the fascination, and with a sinkino- lieart 
 she i»ave herself nncon(htionallv to Vasilv. . . . 
 
 Olga Ivanovna, it is prol)a])le, tlien learned the 
 joys of love; hut not for long. Althonoh Vasily 
 — for the lack of any other occupation — not oidy 
 did not discard her, hut even hecanie attached to 
 her, and j^etted her, yet Olga lost herself to such a 
 decree that she did not find hliss even in love, and 
 nevertheless she was unahle to tear herself away 
 from A'asily. She hegan to he afraid of every- 
 thing, she did not dare to think; she talked of 
 nothing; she ceased to read; she hecame a prey 
 to melancholy. Sometimes Vasily succeeded in 
 drawing her after him, and making her forget 
 evervhodv and everything; but on the following 
 day he found her pale and silent, with cold hands, 
 with a senseless smile on her lips. . . . 
 
 A decidedly difficult time began for Vasily; 
 but no difficulties could daunt him. He concen- 
 trated himself com])letely, like an expert gam- 
 bler. He could not count u])on Olga Ivanovna in 
 the sliglitest degree; she was incessantly betray- 
 ing herself, i)aling, and blushing and weeping 
 . . . her new role was beyond her strength. 
 Vasily toiled for two; in his boisterous and noisy 
 joy only an experienced observer coidd have de- 
 tected a feverish tenseness; he played with his 
 
 128
 
 THHKK POKTUAITS 
 
 hrotlit'is, liis sisters, the liogatchyoft's, the nei<^li- 
 bours, both men and women, — as though they 
 Iiad been pawns; he was eternally on the alert, 
 lie never allowed a single glance, a single move- 
 ment to escape Inm, although he appeared to be 
 the most care-free of mortals; every morning he 
 entered into battle, and every evening he cele- 
 brated a victory. He was not in the least op- 
 pressed by this strange activity; he slept four 
 hours a day, he ate very little, and was healthy, 
 fresh, and gay. In the meantime, the wedding- 
 day was approaching; Vasily succeeded in con- 
 vincing Pavel Afanasievitch himself of the neces- 
 sity of a postponement; then he despatched him 
 to jMoscow to make some ])urchases, and himself 
 entered into correspondence with his Petersbui-g 
 friends. He exerted himself not so much out of 
 comi)assion for Olga Ivanovna, as out of a de- 
 sire and love for fuss and bustle. . . . ^Ioreo\er, 
 he had begun to grow tired of Olga Ivanovna, 
 and more than once already, after a fierce out- 
 burst of ])assi()n, he had looked at her as he had 
 l)een wont to look at KogatchyofF. Lutchinotf 
 always remained a imzzle to every one; in the 
 very coldness of his implacable spirit you felt con- 
 scious of the presence of a strange, almost south- 
 ern flame, and in the maddest heat of passion, 
 cold emanated from that man. — In the presence 
 of others, he U2:)held Olga Ivanovna as befoie; but 
 when he was alone with her, he played with her 
 
 129
 
 TIIKEK rORTRxVlTS 
 
 as a cat plays witli a mouse — he either terrified 
 her with so])hisnis, or he exhibited heavy and 
 vicious tedium, or, in conchision, he threw himself 
 at her feet again, swept her away, as a whirlwind 
 sweeps a chip .... and he was not then pre- 
 tending to be in love . . . but really was swoon- 
 ing with it himself. . . 
 
 One day, quite late in the evening, Vasily was 
 sitting alone in his own room and attentively 
 perusing the latest letters he had received from 
 Petersburg— when, suddenly, the door creaked 
 softly and Palashka, Olga Ivanovna's maid, en- 
 tered. 
 
 "What dost thou want? " — Vasily asked her, 
 quite curtly. 
 
 " iNIy mistress begs that you will come to 
 ler. 
 
 " 1 can't at present. Cto a^^'ay. . . \Vv\\, why 
 dost thou stand there? " — he went on, perceiving 
 that Palashka did not leave the room. 
 
 " ^ly mistress ordered me to say that there is 
 very great need, sir." 
 
 ''Well, ])ut what 's the matter:' " 
 
 " Please to see foi- yourseli', sir. . . ." 
 
 Vasfly rose, with a exation tossed the letters into 
 a casket, and })et()ok himself to Olga Ivanovna. 
 She was sitting alone in a corner,— pale and mo- 
 tionless. 
 
 " AVhat do you want? "—he asked lier, not very 
 j)<)litcly. 
 
 130
 
 TTTKKK poinirvrrs 
 
 0\g'd looked at him, and with a shudder, cov- 
 ered her eyes. 
 
 " AMiat ails yow! what 's the matter with thee, 
 OlKa?" 
 
 Tic look 1ki- liaiul. . . Olga Ivanovna's hand 
 Avas as cold as ice. . . She tried to speak .... 
 and her voice died away. Tlie poor woman liad 
 no douht left in her mind as to her condition. 
 
 A'asily was somewhat disconcerted. Olga Iva- 
 no\na's room was a couple of paces from the bed- 
 room of Anna Pavlovna. Vasily cautiously 
 seated himself beside Olga, kissed and warmed 
 lier hands, and argued with her in a whisper. She 
 listened lo liim, and sliivcred silently, slightly. 
 Pahishka stood in the doorway and softly wiped 
 away lier tears. In the adjoining room a pen- 
 dulum was beating heavily and regularly, and the 
 breathing of a sleeper was audible. Olga Iva- 
 novna's torpor dissolved, at last, in tears and dull 
 sobs. Tears are tlie equivalent of a thunder- 
 storm: after them a person is always quieter. 
 Wlicn Olga Ivanovna had become somewhat com- 
 posed, and only s()l)be(l con\nlsively from time to 
 time like a child, ^^aslly knelt down before her, 
 and with caresses and tender promises soothed her 
 completely, gave her a drink of water, i)ut her 
 to bed. and went away. All night long he did 
 not undress himself, wrote two or three letters, 
 burned two or three papers, got out a golden 
 locket with the portrait of a black-browed and 
 
 131
 
 riiKKK roHiHAirs 
 
 black-eyed woniaiu with a l)okl. .sensual luce, 
 gazed long at her i'eatures, and paced his cham- 
 ber in thought. On the following morning, at 
 tea, he beheld, with a good deal of dissatisl'action, 
 pool* Olga's reddened, swollen eyes, and ])ale, dis- 
 ti'aught face. After breakfast, he proj)osed to 
 her that she should lake a sti-oll with him in 
 the park. Olga followed Vasily like an obedi- 
 ent sheep. Hut when, two hours later, she re- 
 turned from the ])ark. she looked dreadfully; she 
 told Anna Pavlovna that she felt ill, and went to 
 bed. During the walk, Vasily had announced to 
 her, with all due penitence, that he was secretly 
 married — he was just as much a bachelor as I 
 am. Olga Ivanovna did not fall down in a swoon 
 — people fall in swoons only on the stage; but 
 she became suddenly petrified, although she not 
 only had not been hoj^ing to marry Vasily Iva- 
 novitch. but had even, somehow, been afraid 
 to think of it. Vasily began to demonstrate to 
 her the necessity of j)arting from him and mar- 
 rying Rogatchyoff. Olga Ivanovna looked at 
 him with duml) horror. Vasily talked coldly, 
 j)ractically. sensibly; he l)lamed himself, he ex- 
 pressed regret, — but all his arguments wound up 
 with the following words: " We must act." Olga 
 lost her head completely; she was frightened 
 and ashamed; dismal, heavy despair took ix)sses- 
 sion of her; she longed for death — and sadly 
 awaited Vasily's decision. 
 
 132
 
 THKEK POU'iKxVlTS 
 
 " We must confess all to my mother," he said 
 at last. 
 
 Olga turned deadly pale; her limbs gave way 
 beneath her. 
 
 " Don't be frightened, don't be frightened." 
 — Vasily kept repeating: — " rel}^ on me; I will 
 not forsake thee ... 1 will arrange everything 
 . . . trust in me." 
 
 The poor woman gazed at him with love . . . yes, 
 with love, and with ])rofound. though hopeless 
 devotion. 
 
 " I will arrange everything, everything," — 
 said Vasily to her at parting . . . and for the 
 last time kissed her ice-cold hands. 
 
 Olga Ivanovna had just risen from her bed on 
 the following morning, when her door opened 
 . . . and Anna Pavlovna made her appearance 
 on the threshold. She was supported by A^asily. 
 Silently she made her way to an arm-chair, and 
 silently seated herself. Vasily stood beside her. 
 He seemed composed; his brows Avere contracted, 
 and his lips were slightly parted. Anna Pav- 
 l()\'na. j)ale, indignant, wratlifiil. tried to si)eak, 
 but her voice failed hei-. Olga IvjinoAiia \\ ith 
 terror, took in, in a single glance, her benefac- 
 tress and her lover: she felt a frightful sinking 
 at the heart . . . with a shriek she fell down on 
 her knees in the middle of the room and covered 
 her face with her hands. . . . 
 
 "So it is true ... it is true!"" whispered 
 
 Vi3
 
 THREE PORTRAITS 
 
 Anna Piivlovna, and bent toward lier. . . . "An- 
 swer! " — she went on liarshly. seizing Olga by 
 the arm. 
 
 " ^Nlaninia! ' lang out Vasily's ])razen voice, — 
 " you promised me not to insult her." 
 
 " I won't . . . come, confess .... confess 
 ... is it true? Is it true? " 
 
 " INIamma . . . remember! . . ." said Vasily, 
 slowly. 
 
 That one word shook Anna I'avlovna violently. 
 She leaned against the back of her chair, and fell 
 to sobbing. 
 
 Olga Ivanovna softly raised her head and at- 
 tempted to fling herself at the old woman's feet, 
 but Vasily restrained her, raised her up, and 
 seated her in another arm-chair. Anna Pavlovna 
 continued to weep and whisper incoherent 
 words. . . . 
 
 " Listen, manuna," — began Vasily. " Don't 
 be so overwhelmed! This calamity can still be al- 
 leviated. ... If Rogatchyoff . . . ." 
 
 Olga Ivanovna shuddered and straightened 
 herself u]). 
 
 " If Rogatchyoff," — pursued Vasily, with a 
 significant glance at Olga Ivanovna, — " has im- 
 agined that he can with impunity disgrace an 
 honourable family . . . ." 
 
 Olga Ivanovna was terrified. 
 
 " In my house," — moaned Anna Pavlovna. 
 
 " Calm yourscH". mamma. lie has taken ad- 
 
 134
 
 THHKi': poiriKAns 
 
 vantage of her inexperience, of her youth, he 
 .... did you wish to say something? "—he 
 added, perceiving that Olga was trying to get at 
 him. 
 
 Olga Ivfinovna fell back in her chair. 
 
 " I shall go at once to Rogatchyoff. 1 shall 
 force him to wed her this very day. Be assured, 
 I shall not permit him to jeer at us. ..." 
 
 " But . . . Vasilv Ivanovitch . . . you . . ." 
 whispered Olga. 
 
 He stared long and coldly at her. She relapsed 
 into silence. 
 
 " ^lamma, give me your word not to disturb 
 her until my arrival. See— she is barely alive. 
 Yes, and you require rest yourself. Trust to 
 me: I answer for everything; in any case, await 
 my return. I repeat to you— do not kill her, nor 
 yoiu'self — rely upon me." 
 
 He walked to the door, and paused. 
 
 " Mamma,"— he said: " come with me. Leave 
 her alone, I beg of you." 
 
 Anna Pavlovna rose, went to the holy picture, 
 made a reverence to the floor, and softly followed 
 her son. Olga Ivanovna followed lier silently 
 and immovably with her eyes. Vasilv hastilv 
 came back, seized her hand, whispered in her ear: 
 " Trust to me, and do not betray us," — and im- 
 mediately withdrew. . . . 
 
 " Boursier! " he shouted, as he ran swiftly 
 down the stairs. — " Boursier! " 
 
 13.5
 
 riiKKK ruirruAns 
 
 A quarter ol' an liour later lie was seated in his 
 calash with his servant. 
 
 Old Uogatehyoft' was not at home that day. 
 He had ^onc to the county town, to huy seer- 
 sucker i'or kaftans to clothe his I'ctainers. Pavel 
 .Vi'anasievitch was sitting- in his study, and in- 
 s))ecting a collection of faded hutterflies. Ele- 
 vating- his eyehrows, and thrusting forth his lips, 
 he was cautiously turning about with a pin the 
 large wings of the " nocturnal sphinx," when 
 suddenly, he i'elt a small but heavy hand on his 
 shoulder. He glanced round — before him stood 
 Vasily. 
 
 " Good morning, Vasily Ivanoviteh," — said he, 
 not without some surprise. 
 
 Vasily looked at him and sat down in front of 
 him on a chair. 
 
 Pavel Afanasievitch was about to smile . . . 
 but glanced at Vasily, relaxed, o])ened liis mouth, 
 and clasped his hands. 
 
 " Come, tell me, Pavel Afanasievitch," — began 
 Vasilv, suddenly: — " do vou intend to have the 
 
 » •• • 
 
 wedding soon? " 
 
 " I? . . . soon .... of cour.se. ... I, so far as 
 I am concerned .... however, that is as you 
 and your sister choose. . . . T, for my part, am 
 leadv to-morrow, if vou like." 
 
 " Very good, very good. You are a very im- 
 j)atienl man, T'avel Afa?iasievitch." 
 How so, su'f 
 
 130
 
 TIIKKK POHTKAITS 
 
 " Listen," — added Vasily lvano\iteli, rising 
 to liis feet: — " 1 know everything; yon nnder- 
 stand me, and I order you to marry Olga without 
 delay, to-morrow." 
 
 '' But excuse me, excuse me," — returned Ko- 
 gatchyoff, without rising from his seat; — " you 
 order me? 1 myself have sought the hand of 
 Olga Ivanovna, and there is no need to order me. 
 I nmst confess, \"asily Ixanovitch, somehow, I 
 don't understand you. . . ." 
 
 " Thou dost not understand? " 
 
 " No, really, I don't understand, sir." 
 
 " Wilt thou give me thy word to marry her to- 
 morrow? " 
 
 " Why, good gracious, Vasily Ivanovitch .... 
 have n't you yourself i-epeatedly postponed our 
 marriage :f If it had not heen for j^ou, it would 
 have taken place long ago. And even now 1 
 have no idea of refusing. But what is the mean- 
 ing of your threats, of your urgent demands?" 
 
 Pavel Afanasievitch wijjed the perspiration 
 from his face. 
 
 " Wilt thou give me thy word? Speak! Ves, 
 or no? " — rej^eated Vasily with pauses between 
 his wo]-ds. 
 
 " Certainly ... 1 give it, sir, but . . . ." 
 
 " Good. Remember. . . . And she has con- 
 fessed everything." 
 
 " \Vho has confessed? " 
 
 Olga Ivtinovna." 
 
 i:]7
 
 THREE rORTKAlTS 
 
 " But what has slie confessed? " 
 
 " Why do vou dissinndate with me, Pavel 
 Af anasievitch ? Surely, I 'in not a stranger to 
 you. 
 
 " How am I dissimulating^ I don't understand 
 you, I don't understand you, positively I don't 
 understand you. AVhat could Olga Ivanovna 
 confess? " 
 
 " What? You bore me! You know well w^liat." 
 
 " May God slay me if . . . ." 
 
 " No, I will slay thee — if thou dost not marry 
 her .... dost understand? " 
 
 "What! . . . ." Pavel Af anasievitch leaped 
 to his feet, and stood before Vasily. — " Olga Iva- 
 novna .... you say . . . . ' 
 
 " Thou 'j-t clever, my good fellow, very clever, 
 I must admit." Vasily, with a smile, tapped him 
 on the shoulder. — " In spite of the fact that thou 
 art so mild of aspect . . . ." 
 
 "My God, O God! . . . You will drive me 
 mad. . . What do you mean to say? Explain 
 yourself, for God's sake!" 
 
 Vasily bent over him and whispered something 
 in his ear. 
 
 Rogatcli\off cried out: — " ^V]lat? .... how? " 
 
 Vasily stamped his foot. 
 
 " Olga Ivanovna? Olga? . . ." 
 
 " Yes .... your betrothed bride. . . ." 
 
 " My betrotlied bride .... Vasily Ivano- 
 \'itch .... she ... she .... Rut I will liave no-
 
 THKKK F()l{rUAlTS 
 
 thing to do with her! " — shouted Pavel Afanasie- 
 vitch. " I '11 have none of her! What do you 
 take me for? To deceive me — to deceive me! 
 . . . Olga Ivanovna, is n't it sinful of you, are n't 
 you ashamed? . . . ." (Tears gushed from his 
 eyes.) — " T thank you, Vasilv Ivanovitch, 1 thank 
 you. . . . And now 1 '11 liave nothing to do with 
 her! I won't! I won't! don't speak of such a 
 thing! .... Akh, good heavens! — that I should 
 have lived to see this day! But it is well, it is 
 well!" 
 
 " Stop hehaving like a haby," — remarked 
 Vasilv Ivanovitch, coldly. — " Remember, you 
 have given me your word that the wedding shall 
 take place to-morrow." 
 
 " No, that shall not be ! Enough, Vasily Iva- 
 novitch, I say to you once more — for whom do 
 you take me? You do me much honour; many 
 thanks, sir. Kxcuse me, sir." 
 
 " As you like! " — retorted Vasily. — " Get your 
 
 » * m.' 
 
 sword." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " This is why." 
 
 Vasily drew out his slender, flexible French 
 sword, and bent it slightly against the floor. 
 
 " You mean .... to flght .... with me? . . ." 
 
 " Precisely so." 
 
 " But, Vasi'ly Ivanovitch, pray, enter into 
 my position! How can I — judge for yourself 
 
 — after wliat you have told mc? ... I am 
 
 130
 
 an honest man. Vasily Ivanovitcli: T am a noble- 
 man." 
 
 " N'oii are a FK^bleinan. you are an honest man, 
 - tlien be so good as to tiglit witli me." 
 
 "Vasily Ivanovitcli!" 
 
 '' ^'(m a|)])eai' to be a eoward. ^Fr. Koga- 
 teliyofrr' 
 
 " I am not in the least a coward ^^aslly Ivano- 
 vitch. Vou luivc thouglit to frighten me, A^asily 
 Ivanovitch. ' Come, now,' you said to yourself, 
 ' 1 '11 scare him, and he '11 turn cowardly ; he will 
 instantly consent to anything.' .... No, Vasily 
 Ivanovitch, I 'm the same sort of nobleman as 
 yourself, altliough I liave not received my edu- 
 cation in the capital, it is true: and you will not 
 succeed in terrifying me. excuse me." 
 
 "Very good," — retorted Vasily : — " where is 
 
 your swords " 
 
 " Eroshka! '—shouted Pavel Afanasievitch. 
 
 A man entered. 
 
 " Get mv sword— yonder — thou knowest where 
 it is in the garret .... and be (juick about 
 
 it. . . ." 
 
 Erdshka withdrew. ]*avel Afanasievitch sud- 
 denlv turned extremelv i)ale, hastily took off his 
 dressing-gown, ])ut on a kaftan of a reddish hue 
 with large strass buttons .... wound a neck- 
 clotli round his neck. . . . Vasily watched him. 
 and examined the fingers of his right hand. 
 
 " So how is it to be^ Are we to fight. Pavel 
 iXfanasievitch^ "
 
 'riIKJ:K POHTKAITS 
 
 " If wc must light, we must," — returned Ro- 
 gatchyoff, hastily buttoning his waistcoat. 
 
 " Hey, Pavel Afanasievitch, heed my advice: 
 marry .... wliy sliouldst thou not? . . . But 
 1, believe me . . . . " 
 
 " No, \'asily Ivanovitch," — Kogatchyoft' in- 
 terruptetl him. " Vou will either kill me or maim 
 me, I know; but 1 have no intention of losing 
 my honour; if T must die, T will." 
 
 Kroshka entered and hurriedly handed Ko- 
 gatchyoff' a wretched httle old sword, in a 
 cracked, leather scabbard. At that time all 
 nobles wore swords when they had j)owdered liaii*; 
 l)ut the nobles of the steppes only ])owdered 
 their hair a couple of times a year. Eroshka 
 retreated to the dooi*. and fell to weeping. 
 Pavel Afanasievitch thrust liim out of the 
 room. 
 
 " But, Vasily Ivanovitch," — he remarked, with 
 some agitation, — " I cannot fight with you in- 
 stantly: ])ermit me to defer our duel until to- 
 morrow; my father is not at home; and it would 
 not be a bad thing to })ut my affairs in order, 
 in case of a catastrophe." 
 
 " I see that you are beginning to quail again, 
 jjjy dear sir." 
 
 " Xo, no, Vasily Ivanovitch; but judge foi- 
 yourself. ..." 
 
 "Listen!" . . . shouted Lutchi'noff: — "you 
 are driving me out of patience. . . . Either give 
 me vour word to man-v immcdiatelv, or tight 
 
 111
 
 THKEE rOKTKAlTS 
 
 . ... or I will trounce you with a cudgel, like 
 a coward, do you understand ? " 
 
 " Let us go into the park," — replied Roga- 
 tchyofF between his teeth. 
 
 But suddenly the door opened, and the old 
 nurse Efimovna, all dishevelled, forced her way 
 into the room, fell on her knees before Roga- 
 tchyofF and clasped his feet. . . . 
 
 " IVIv dear little father! " — she wailed: — " mv 
 child .... what is this thou art projecting? 
 Do not ruin us miserable ones, dear little fa- 
 ther! For he will kill thee, my dear little dove! 
 But only give us the command, give us the 
 command, and we 11 kill that insolent fellow 
 with our caps. . . . Pavel Afanasievitch, my dar- 
 ling child, have the fear of God before thine 
 eyes ! 
 
 A multitude of pale and agitated faces showed 
 themselves in the doorway .... the red beard 
 of the Elder even made its appearance. . . . 
 
 " Let me go, Efimovna, let me go! " — mut- 
 tered RogatchyofF. 
 
 " I will not let thee go, my own one, I will not 
 let thee go. What art thou doing, dear little 
 father, what art thou doing:* And what will 
 Afanasv Lukitch say? AVhv, he will drive all 
 of us out of the white world. . . . And why do 
 ye stand there? Seize the unbidden guest by the 
 arms, and lead him forth from the house, that 
 no trace of him may remain. . . ." 
 
 U'2
 
 TIIKKK POliTKAlTS 
 
 " Rogatcliyofi'! " — shouted Vasfly Ivanovitch, 
 menacingly. 
 
 " Thou hast gone crazy, Kfiniovna, thou art 
 disgracing nic," .... said Pavel Afanasievitch. 
 — " Go away, go, with God's blessing, and be- 
 gone, all of you, do you hear? Do you hear? ..." 
 
 Vasily Ivanovitch walked swiftly to the open 
 window, drew out a small silver whistle, and whis- 
 tled lightly. . . . Boursier answered close at 
 liand. T^utchinoff* immediately turned to Pavel 
 Afanasievitch. 
 
 " How is this comedy to end? " 
 
 " Vasilv Ivanovitch, I will come to you to- 
 morrow — what am I to do with tliis crazy 
 woman? . . . ." 
 
 " Eh! I see that it is useless to talk long with 
 vou," — said Vasilv, and swiftly raised his 
 cane. ... 
 
 Pavel Afanasievitcli daslied forward, thrust 
 aside Efimovna, seized his sword, and ruslied 
 through the other door into the park. 
 
 Vasily dai-ted after him. They both ran to a 
 wooden arbom* artfully ])ainted in the Chinese 
 manner, locked themselves in, and l)ared their 
 swords. Rogatchyoff had once upon a time taken 
 lessons in fencing; but lie barely knew how to 
 parry properly. The blades crossed. A'^asily was, 
 evidently, j)laying with Rogatcliy6ft"s sword. Pa- 
 vel Afanasievitch sighed, turned pale, and gazed 
 with consternation into liUlchinoff's face. In the
 
 THREE rOKTKAlTS 
 
 nieunwhile, cries resounded in the jxiik; a throng 
 of people rushed to the arhoui-. Suddenly Ro- 
 gatchyoff' heard a heart-rending, senile roar .... 
 lie recognised his father's voice. ^Afaiuisy Lii- 
 kitch, hatless. and with dishevelled locks, was 
 running in IVont of all, waving his arms de- 
 spairingly 
 
 \Vith a powerful and unex])ected turn of his 
 hlade, A'asily knocked the sword from Pavel 
 Afanasievitch's hand. 
 
 " Marry, brother," — he said to him. — " Stop 
 being a fool! " 
 
 " I will not marry! " — whispered RogatchyoiF, 
 closed his eyes, and trembled all over. 
 
 Afanasy I^ukitch began to pound on the door 
 of the arbour. 
 
 " Thou wilt not^ " — shouted Vasily. 
 
 RogatchyofF shook his head in the negative. 
 
 "Well, then, the devil take thee!" 
 
 Poor Pavel xVfanasievitch fell dead: l^utchi- 
 nofF's sword liad i)ierced his lieart. . . . The door 
 burst oj)en, old Rogatchyoff rushed into the ar- 
 boiu', but Vasily had already managed to spring 
 out of the window. . . 
 
 Two liours later, he entered Olga IvanoMia's 
 room. . . She darted to meet him in affright. 
 . . . He silently bowed to her, di'ew out his sword, 
 and pierced Pjivel Afanasievitcirs ])orti'ait at tlie 
 place of the heart. Olga shrieked, and fell 
 senseless on the floor. . . . ^'asIly directed his
 
 1 nin:i: poiM'KAi IS 
 
 steps to iVnna Pavlovna. He found her in the 
 room oi' the holy pictures. 
 
 ■ Maiuriia." -lie said, '" we are avenged." 
 The pool' old woman shuddered and went on 
 praying. 
 
 A week later, Vasily took his departure Tor 
 Petersburg, — and two years afterward he re- 
 turned to the country, crippled with paralysis, 
 and speechless. He no longer fovmd either Anna 
 Pjivlovna or Olga Ivanovna alive, and soon died 
 himself in the arms of Yiiditch, who fed him like 
 a baby, and was the only person who could un- 
 derstand his incoberent babble. 
 
 14.5
 
 THREE MEETINGS 
 
 (1851)
 
 THREE MEETINGS 
 
 Passa quo' colli c viciii allcf^ramente; 
 Noil ti curar di tanta coiupania — 
 Vieni pensando a me segretaniente — 
 Ch'io t' accompapna y)er tiitta la via.* 
 
 DLJRIX(r the whole course of the summer, 
 I liail gone n-liunting nowhere so frequently 
 us to the large village of Glinnoe, situated twenty 
 versts from my hamlet. In the environs of this 
 village there are, in all probability, the very best 
 haunts of game in all our county. After having 
 tramped through all the adjacent bush-plots and 
 fields, I invariablv, toward the end of the dav, 
 turned aside into the neighbouring marsh, al- 
 most the only one in the countryside, and thence 
 returned to my cordial host, the Elder of Glin- 
 noe, with whom I alw-ays stopped. It is not more 
 than tw^o versts from the marsh to Glinnoe; the 
 entire road runs through a valley, and only 
 midway of the distance is one compelled to cross 
 a small hillock. On the crest of this hillock lies 
 a homestead, consisting of one uninhabited little 
 
 ^ Pass through these hills and come cheerily to me: care thou not 
 for too great a company. Come thon, and think secretly of mc, that 
 I may he thy comrade all the way. 
 
 149
 
 TIIKKK MKKTIX(;S 
 
 manor-house and a garden. It almost always 
 happened that 1 passed it at the very acme of the 
 sunset glow, and I reniemher, that on every such 
 occasion, this house, witli its hermeticallv-sealed 
 windows, apj)eared to nie like a hlind old man 
 who had come forth to warm himself in tlie 
 sunlight. He is sitting, dear man, close to the 
 highway; the splendour of the sunlight has long 
 since been superseded for him by eternal gloom; 
 but he feels it, at least, on his upturned and out- 
 stretched face, on his flushed cheeks. It seemed 
 as though no one had lived in the house itself for 
 a long time; but in a tiny detached wing, in 
 the courtyard, hxlged a decrepit man who had 
 received his freedom, tall, stooping, and grey- 
 haired, with expressive and impassive features. 
 He was always sitting on a bench in front of the 
 wing's solitary little window, gazing with sad 
 pensiveness into the distance, and Avhen he caught 
 sight of me, he rose a little way and saluted, with 
 that deliberate gravity wliich distinguishes old 
 house-serfs who have belonged not to the gen- 
 eration of our fathers, but to our grandfathers. 
 I sometimes entered into conversation with him, 
 but he was not loquacious; all I learned from 
 him was that the farm on which he dwelt be- 
 longed to the granddaugliter of his old master, 
 a widow, who had a younger sister; that both of 
 them lived in towns, and beyond the .sea, and 
 never showed themselves at home; that he was 
 
 150
 
 anxious to Hiiisli his life as speedily as possible, 
 beeause " you eat and eat bread so that you get 
 melancholy: so long do you eat." This old nuiirs 
 name was Lukyanitch. 
 
 One day, for some reason or other, 1 tarried 
 long in the fields; a very fair amount of game 
 had presented itself, and the day had turned out 
 fine for hunting — from early morning it had 
 been still and grey, as though thoroughly per- 
 meated with evening. I wandered far a-field, and 
 it was not only already com])letely dark, but the 
 moon had risen and night had long been standing 
 in the sky, as the expression runs, when I reached 
 the familiar farm. I had to pass along the gar- 
 den. . . All around lay such tranquillity. . . 
 
 I crossed the broad road, cautiously made my 
 way through the dusty nettles, and leaned against 
 the low, wattled hedge.^ iNIotionless before me 
 lay the small garden all illuminated and, as it 
 were, soothed to stillness by the silvery rays of 
 the moon, — all fragrant and humid; laid out in 
 ancient fashion, it consisted of a single oblong 
 grass-plot. Straight paths came together ex- 
 actly in tlie centre, in a circular flower-bed, 
 thickly overgrown with asters; tall lindens sur- 
 rounded it in an even border. In one spot only 
 was this border, a couple of fathoms in length, 
 ])roken, and through the gap a part of the low- 
 
 ' In rentral and soiitliern Russia where limber is searee, fences, 
 and even tlie walls of barns and store-houses, are made of interlaced 
 
 boughs. — TKANSLATOIt. 
 
 151
 
 TIIHKK MKETINGS 
 
 roofed liouse was visibk-. nitli two windows 
 lighted, to my anuizenient. Voung apple-trees 
 reared themselves here and there over tlie mea- 
 dow; atliwart their slender branches the nocturnal 
 sky ffleamed softlv hhie, and the dreamv light 
 of the moon streamed down: in front of each 
 apple-tree, on the whitening grass, lay its faint, 
 mottled shadow. On one side of tlie gai'den the 
 lindens were confusedly green, inundated with 
 motionless, palely-brilliant light: on the other, 
 they stood all black and opa(]ue: a strange, re- 
 pressed rustling arose at times in their dense 
 foliage; they seemed to be calling to the paths 
 which vanished under them, as though luring 
 them beneath their dim canopy. The whole sky 
 was studded with stars; mysteriously did their 
 soft blue scintillations stream down from on high ; 
 they seemed to be gazing with (juiet intentness 
 at the distant earth. Small, thin clouds now and 
 then sailed across the moon, momentarily con- 
 verting its tranquil gleam into an obscure but 
 luminous mist. . . . K\erything was dreaming. 
 The air. all warm, all })ei*fumed. did not even vi- 
 brate: it oidy shivered now and then, as water 
 shivers when disturbed by a falling bi-anch. . . , 
 One was conscious of a certain thirst, a certain 
 swooning in it. . . I bent over the fence: a wild 
 scarlet po])|)y reai'cd its erect little stalk bei'oi'c 
 me from the matted grass: a lai'ge. lound droj) 
 of night dew glittered with a dai-k gleam in the 
 
 ].52
 
 lieait ol' I lit' open blossom. Kverything was 
 (Ircaniiiig; everything was taking its ease lux- 
 uriously round about; everything seemed to be 
 gazing u])ward, stretching itself out, motionless, 
 expeetanl. . . \Vhat was it that that warm, not 
 yet sleeping nigiit, was waiting for? 
 
 It was waiting for a sound; tluit sensiti\e still- 
 ness was waiting for a living ^'()iee — but every- 
 thing maintained silence. The nightingales had 
 long since ceased their song . . . and the sud- 
 den booming of a beetle as it flew past, the light 
 smacking of a tiny fish in the fish-pond behind 
 the lindens at the end of the garden, the sleepy 
 whistle of a startled bird, a distant cry in the 
 fields, — so far away that the ear could not dis- 
 tinguish whether it was a man, or a wild animal, 
 or a bird which had uttered it, — a short, brisk 
 trampling of hoofs on the road: all these faint 
 sounds, these rustlings, only rendered the still- 
 ness more profound. . . jNIy heart yearned within 
 me, with an indefinite feeling, akin not precisely 
 to expectation, nor yet to a memory of hap])iness. 
 I dared not stir; I was standing motionless be- 
 fore this motionless garden steeped in moon- 
 light and in dew, and, without myself knowing- 
 why, was staring importunately at those two 
 windows, which shone dindy I'ed in the soft 
 half-darkness, when suddenlv a elioi'd ran<>- 
 out of the house, — rang out and rolled forth in a 
 flood. . , . The irritatingly-resonant air thun- 
 
 153
 
 rilKKK MKF/ri\(iS 
 
 dered back an echo. ... I gave an imolnntary 
 start. 
 
 Tlie chord was followed h\- the sonnd of a 
 woman's voice. . . 1 beoan to listen eagerly — 
 and . . . can 1 ex])ress my amazement C . . . 
 two \-eai's previonsly. in Italy, at Soi-rento, I had 
 heard lliat seli'same song, that selfsame voice. 
 • • • \ es, \ trs. . . 
 
 '' .' 
 
 " \'ieni pensando a nic sefvretanientc . . .*" 
 
 It was they; 1 had recognised them; those were 
 the sonnds. . . This is the way it had happened. 
 1 was returning home from a long stroll on the 
 seashore. I was walking swiftly along the street ; 
 night had long since descended,— a magnificent 
 night, southern, not cahii and sadly -pensive as 
 with us, no! but all radiant, sumptuous, and very 
 beautiful, hke a happy woman in her bloom; the 
 moon shone with incredible brilliancy; great, ra- 
 (hant stars fairly throbbed in the dark-blue sky; 
 the black shadows were sharply defined against 
 the around illuminated to vellowness. On both 
 sides of the street stretched the stone walls of 
 gardens; orange-trees reared above them their 
 crooked branches; the golden globes of heavy 
 fruit, hidden amidst the interlacing leaves, were 
 now barely visible, now glowed brightly, as they 
 ostentatiously disi)layed themselves in the moon- 
 light. ( )n many trees the blossoms shone tenderly 
 white; the air was all imi)regnated with fragrance 
 
 l.)4.
 
 THHKK MKKTlXCiS 
 
 laiiguisliiiigly i)()\verful, penetrating, and almost 
 heavy, althougli inex])res.sil)ly sweet. 
 
 I walked on. and, 1 must confess, — having al- 
 ready l)eeome aeeustomed to all these wonders, — 
 1 was thinking only of how I might most speedily 
 reach my inn, when suddenly, from a small pa- 
 vilion, built u])on the very wall of a garden along 
 which 1 was passing, a woman's voice rang out. 
 It was singing some song with which 1 was un- 
 familiar, and in its sounds there was something 
 so winning, it seemed so permeated with the pas- 
 sion and joyous expectation expressed by the 
 words of the song, that I instantly and involvm- 
 tarilv halted, and raised mv head. There were 
 two windows in the pavilion; but in both the 
 Venetian blinds were lowered, and through their 
 narrow chinks a dull light barely made its way. 
 
 After having repeated " vieni, vicni! " twice, 
 the voice became silent; the faint sound of strings 
 was audible, as though of a guitar which had 
 fallen on the rug; a gown rustled, the floor 
 creaked softly. The streaks of light in one win- 
 dow disai)peared. . . Some one had approached 
 from >vithin and leaned against it. T advanced 
 a couple of paces. Suddenly the blind clattered 
 and flew open; a graceful woman, all in white, 
 swiftly thrust her lovely head from the window, 
 and stretching out her arms toward me, said: 
 " Sei tu? " 
 
 1 was disconcerted, 1 did not know what to say:
 
 TiiuKK .me>:tixgs 
 
 but at tliat same inoment tlie Unknown threw lier- 
 self backward with a faint shriek, the bhnd 
 shnnnied to, and the hght in the ])avihon grew 
 still nioi'e dim. as though it iiad been carried out 
 into another room. I remained motioidess, and 
 for a long time could not recover mvself. The 
 face of the woman who had so suddenly })re- 
 sented itself before me was strikingly beautiful. 
 It had flashed too rapidly before my eyes to per- 
 mit of my immediately recalling each indi^'idual 
 feature; but the general impression was inde- 
 scribably powerful and profound. ... I felt 
 then and there that 1 should never forget that 
 countenance. The moon fell straight on the wall 
 of the pavilion, on the window whence she had 
 shown herself to me, and, great heavens! how 
 magnificently had her great, dark eyes shone in 
 its radiance! In what a heavy flood bad her half- 
 loosened black hair fallen u})on her u])lifted, 
 rounded shoulders! How much bashful tender- 
 ness there had been in the soft inclination of her 
 form, iiow much afl'ection in her voice, when she 
 had called lo nie in that hiu'ried. bill resonant 
 \\his})ei'! 
 
 After standing for (juite a long time on one 
 spot, 1 at last ste})pe(l a little aside, into the 
 shadow of the o})})osite wall, and began to stare 
 thence at the pavilion ^^■ith a sort of stupid sur- 
 ])rise and antici])ation. I listened .... listened 
 N\ith strained attention. . . It seemed to me now 
 
 156
 
 TTiKKK Mi:K'n\(;s 
 
 llial 1 licaid some one's (jiiict bicalliing Ijehiiid 
 the darkened Aviiidow, now a rustle and quiet 
 lau^liter. At last, ste])s resounded in the dis- 
 tanee . . . Ihey eanie neaici': a man of almost 
 identieal stature with myself made his appeai'- 
 anee at the end of the street, hriskly strode uj) 
 to a <4ate directly heneath the ])avili()n, which I 
 had not previously noticed, knocked twice with 
 its iron viw^, without looking about him, waited 
 a little, knocked again, and hegan to sing in an 
 undertone: " Kcco ridcntc." . . . The gate 
 opened . . . he slij)ped noiselessly through it. 
 I stai'ted, shook my head, threw my hands apai't, 
 and ])ulling my hat morosely down on my brows, 
 went off home in dis]:)leasure. On the following 
 day I vaiidy paced u]) and down that street for 
 two hours in the very hottest part of the day, past 
 the pavilion, and that same evening went away 
 from Sorrento without even having visited 
 Tasso's house. 
 
 The reader can now ])icture to himself the 
 amazement which suddenly took possession of 
 me, when T heard that same voice, that same song, 
 in the steppes, in one of the most remote j^arts of 
 Russia. . . . Xow, as then, it was night: now, 
 as then, the voice sudderdy rang out from a 
 lighted, uid'amiliar room; now, as then, I wa,s 
 alone. jNIy heart began to heat violently within 
 me. " Is not this a dream? " I thought. And lo! 
 again the final " vieni! " rang out. . . . Can it 
 
 1,57
 
 THUKK MKK/ri\c;s 
 
 be that the window will opeii^ Can it be that 
 the woman will show herself in it? — The window 
 opened. In the window, a woman showed herself. 
 I instant Iv recognised her, althouiih a distance 
 of fifty ])aces lay between us, alt]ion<>'h a li^ht 
 cloud ()l)scurcd the moon. It was she, my Un- 
 known of Sorrento. 
 
 liut she did not stretch forth her bare arms 
 as before: she folded them quietly, and leaning 
 them on the window-sill, began to gaz.e silently 
 and immoval)ly at some ])oint in the garden. Yes, 
 it was she; those were hei* never-to-))e-forgotten 
 features, her eyes, the like of which I had never 
 beheld. Xow, also, an ample white gown en- 
 folded her limbs. She seemed somewhat plumper 
 than in Sorrento. Everything about exhaled an 
 atmosphere of the confidence and repose of love, 
 the triuni))h of beauty, of cahn happiness. For 
 a long time she did not stir, then she cast a 
 glance backward into the room and, suddenly 
 straightening herself up, exclaimed thrice, in 
 a loud and ringing voice: " Addio! " The beau- 
 tiful sounds were wafted far, far away, and for 
 a long time they (juivered, growing fainter and 
 dying out beneath the lindens of the garden and 
 in the fields behind me, and everywhere. Every- 
 thing around me was filled for several minutes 
 with the voice of this \voman, everything rang in 
 i-esponse to her, — rang with her. She shut the 
 window, and a few moments later the light in the 
 house vanished. 
 
 158
 
 As soon as 1 recovered myself — and this was 
 not very soon, I must admit — 1 immediately di- 
 rected my course alont>' the <>'ardeTi of the manor, 
 approached the closed gate, and peered tlirough 
 tlie wattled fence. Nothing out of the ordinary 
 was visible in the courtyard; in one corner, under 
 a shed, stood a calash. Its front half, all bespat- 
 tered with dried mud, shone out sharply white in 
 the moonlight. The shutters of the house were 
 closed, as hefore. 
 
 1 have foi-gotten to say, that for about a week 
 previous to that day, I had not visited Glinnoe. 
 For more than ludf an hour I paced to and fro 
 in per])lexity in front of* the fence, so that, at last, 
 I attracted the attention of the old watch-dog, 
 which, nevertheless, did not begin to bark at me, 
 but merely looked at me from under the gate 
 in a remarkably ironical manner, with his pur- 
 blind little eyes puckered up. I understood his 
 hint, and beat a retreat. But before I had man- 
 aged to traverse half a Acrst, I suddeidy heard 
 the sound of a horse's hoofs behind me. ... In 
 a few minutes a rider, mounted on a black horse, 
 dashed past me at a swift trot, and swiftly turn- 
 ing to^^'ard me his face, ^^•here I could descry 
 nothing save an aquihne nose and a very hand- 
 some moustache under his military cap, which was 
 pulled well down on his lirow, turned into the 
 right-hand road, and immediately vanished be- 
 hind the forest. 
 
 " So that is he," 1 thought to myself, and my 
 
 159
 
 heart stirred w itiiiii iiu' in a strange sort of way. 
 It seemed to me that I recognised liim; his figure 
 really did suggest the figure of the man whom T 
 had seen enter the garden-gate in Sorrento. Half 
 an hour later I was in (ilinnoe at my liost's, had 
 i-oused him, and had immediately hegun to in- 
 terrogate him as to the persons who had arrived 
 at the neighhouring farm. He rephed with an 
 effort that the ladies had arrived. 
 
 " But what ladies? " 
 
 " \Vhv, everybody knows what ladies," he re- 
 plied \'ery languidly. 
 
 '' llnssians? " 
 
 " What else should they be^ — Russians, of 
 course." 
 
 " Not foreigners? " 
 
 "Hey?" 
 
 " Have they been here long? " 
 
 " Not long, of course." 
 
 " And have they come to stay long? " 
 
 " That I don't know." 
 
 " xVre they wealthy? " 
 
 " And that, too, we don't know. Perhaps they 
 are wealthy." 
 
 " Did not a gentleman come with them? " 
 
 " A gentleman? " 
 
 " Yes, a gentleman." 
 
 The Elder sighed. 
 
 " O, okh. O T^ord!"— he ejaculated with a 
 yawn. ..." X-n-o. there was no .... gentle- 
 
 160
 
 TiiHKE mf;ktixc;s 
 
 iiiaii, 1 think tiic'ic was no gentleman. J don't 
 know! " — he snddenly added. 
 
 " And what sort of otlier neighbours are living 
 here? " 
 
 " What sort? everybody knows what sort, — all 
 sorts." 
 
 " All sorts?— And what are their names? " 
 
 " Wliose — the lady ]jroprietors'? or the neigh- 
 bours'? " 
 
 " The lady proprietors'." 
 
 Again the Elder yawned. 
 
 "What are their names?" — he muttered. — 
 " AVhy, (xod knows what their names are! The 
 elder, I tliink, is named Anna P^eodorovna, and 
 the other ... No, I don't know that one's name." 
 
 " AVell, what s tlieir surname, at least?" 
 Their surname? " 
 
 Yes, their surname, tlieir family name." 
 Their family name. . . . Yes. Why, as God 
 is my witness, 1 don't know." 
 
 " Are they young? " 
 
 "Well, no. They are not." 
 
 " How old are they, then? " 
 
 " AMiy, the youngest must be over forty." 
 
 " Thou art inventing the whole of this." 
 
 The Elder was silent for a while. 
 
 " Well, you must know best. But 1 don't 
 know." 
 
 " Well, thou art wonnd u)) to say one thing! " 
 — I exclaimed w ith xexation. 

 
 THKEE MEETINGS 
 
 Knowing, by experience, that there i.s no i)()s- 
 jsibihty of extracting anything lucid from a Rus- 
 sian man when once he undertakes to answer in 
 that way (and, moreover, my host had only just 
 throw-n himself down to sleep, and swayed for- 
 ward slightly before every answer, opening his 
 eyes widely with child-like surprise, and with dif- 
 ficulty ungluing his lips, smeared with the honey 
 of the first, sweet slumber), — I gave up in de- 
 spair, and declining supper, went into the barn. 
 
 I could not get to sleep for a long time. 
 "Who is sheT' — I kept incessantly asking my- 
 self: — " a Russian? If a Russian, why does she 
 speak in Italian ( . . . . The Elder declares that 
 she is not young. . . . Rut he 's lying- • • • And 
 who is that happy man ;f . . Positively, I can com- 
 prehend nothing. . . Rut what a strange adven- 
 ture! Is it jDossible that thus, twice in succes- 
 sion Rut I will infallibly find out who 
 
 she is. and why she has come hither." . . . Agi- 
 tated by such disordered, fragmentary thoughts 
 as these, I fell asleej) late, and saw strange 
 visions. . . . X<)\\' it seems to me tliat 1 am 
 wandering in some desert, in the very blaze of 
 noonday — and suddenly, I behold in front of 
 me, a huge spot of shadow running over the red- 
 hot yellow sand. . . 1 raise my head — 't is she, 
 my beauty, whisking through the air, all white, 
 with long white wings, and beckoning me to 
 her. I dart after her; but she floats on lightly 
 
 1()2
 
 i IIKKK MKKT1N(;S 
 
 and swil'll), and 1 cannot rise from the ground, 
 and stretch out eager hands in vain. . . . " Ad- 
 dlo! " slie says to inc. as she flies away.—" Why 
 hast thou not wings ^ . . ^Iddiof ' . * . . ^Vnd 
 lo, from all sides, 'Addio!" resounds. Kvery 
 grain of sand shouts and squeaks at mc: " ^Id- 
 dio! "... then rings out in an intolerahle, 
 piercing trill. . . 1 hrush it aside, as T would a 
 gnat, 1 seek her with my eyes . . . and already 
 she has hecome a cloud, and is floating upward 
 softly toward the sun; the sun quivers, rocks, 
 laughs, stretches out to meet her long golden 
 threads, and now those threads have enmeshed 
 her, and she melts into them, hut T shout at the 
 top of my lungs, like a madman : " That is not 
 the sun, that is not the sun, that is an Italian 
 spider. A\nio gave it a pass])ort for Russia? I '11 
 show him up for what he is: I saw him stealing 
 oranges from other people's gardens." . . . Then 
 it seems to me that I am walking along a narrow 
 mountain path. . . I hurry onward: I must get 
 somewhere or other as (juickly as possihle, some 
 nnheard-of lui])piness is awaiting me. Suddenly 
 a vast cliff rears itself up in front of me. I seek a 
 passage; I go to the right, I go to the left — 
 there is no passage! And now hehind the cliff a 
 voice suddenly rings out: " Passa, j)assa quel 
 colli." ... It is calling me, that voice; it re- 
 ))eats its mournful summons. I fling myself 
 ahout in anguish, I seek even the smallest cleft. 
 
 163
 
 . . . ^Vlas! tilt' cliti' is jK*rj)(.'iuli('ular, there is 
 granite evervwliere. ..." Passu (/uci colli ." wails 
 the voice again. My heart aches, and I luirl my 
 breast against the smooth stone: 1 scratch it with 
 my nails, in my IVenzy. . . . A dark ))as.sage 
 suddenly o]>ens before me. . . Swooning with 
 iov. I dash forward. . . '" Nonsense! " some one 
 cries to me: — " thou shalt not pass through." . . 
 I look: Lukvtinitch is stan(bng in front of me 
 and threatening, and brandishing his arms. . . I 
 hastily fumble in my pockets: I want to bribe 
 him; but there is nothing in my pockets. . . . 
 
 " Lukyanitch," — I say to him. — " let me pass: 
 I will reward thee afterward. " 
 
 " You are mistaken, signor," Lukyanitch re- 
 plies to me, and his face assumes a strange ex- 
 pression: — " I am not a house-serf: recognise in 
 me Don Quixote de I>,a ^Mancha, the famous wan- 
 dering knight; all my life long I have been seek- 
 ing my Dulcinea — and I have not been able to 
 find her, and I will not tolerate it. that you shall 
 find yours." 
 
 " Passa f/uci colli " . . . . rings out again the 
 almost sobbing voice. 
 
 " Stand aside, signor! " — I shout wrathfully, 
 and am on the point of j)reci])itating myself for- 
 ward . . . but the knight's long spear wounds 
 me in the very heart. . . I fall dead, . . I lie 
 on my back. . . I cannot move . . . and lo, I 
 see that she is coming with a lamp in her hand, 
 
 10 J.
 
 TITKEK MKKT1X(;S 
 
 aiul elevating it with a fine gesture above iier 
 head, she ^^eers about her in the gloom, and creep- 
 ing cautiously up, bends over me. . . 
 
 " So this is he, that jester! " she says with a dis- 
 dainful laugh. — " This is he who wanted to know 
 wlio I am! " and the hot oil from her lanij) drips 
 straight upon my wounded heart. . . 
 
 "Psyche!" — I exclaim with an effort, and 
 awake. 
 
 All night long 1 slept badly and was afoot be- 
 fore daybreak. Hastily dressing and arming 
 myself, I Avended my A\ay straight to the manor. 
 My impatience w'as so great that the diiwu liad 
 only just begun to flush the sky when I reached 
 the familiar gate. Round me the larks were sing- 
 ing, the daws were cawing on the birches; but in 
 the house evervthinir was still buried in death- 
 like matutinal slumber. Kven the dog was 
 snoring behind the fence. With the anguish 
 of expectation, exasperated almost to the 
 point of wrath. 1 paced to and fro on the 
 dewy grass, and kept casting incessant glances 
 at the low-i'oofed and ill-favoured little house 
 which contained within its walls that mysterious 
 being. . . . 
 
 Suddenly the wickel-gatf creaked faintly, 
 opened, and Lukyanitch made his appearance 
 on the threshold, in some sort of strii)e(l kazak 
 coat. His bristling, loiig-drawn face seemed to 
 me more surly tha?i e\'ei-. (ia/.ing at nie not w itli-
 
 a 
 (( 
 
 a 
 
 THREE .MEETINGS 
 
 out siiri)ri.sc. lie was on tlic j)oiiit of sluiltiug the 
 wicket a^ain. 
 
 " ^ly good fello\\-, my good I'ellow! " — 1 cried 
 hastily. 
 
 " What do you want at such an earlv hour? " — 
 he returned slowly and dully. 
 
 " Tell nie, please, they say that your mistress 
 has arrived? " 
 
 Lukyanitch made no reply for a while. 
 She has arrived. . ." 
 Alone?" 
 With her sister." 
 
 " Were there not guests with ^'ou last night? " 
 
 " Xo." 
 
 And he drew the wicket toward him. 
 
 " Stay, stay, mv dear fellow. . . . Do me a 
 favour. ..." 
 
 Lukyiinitch coughed and shivered with cold. 
 
 " But what is it you want? " 
 
 " Tell me, please, how old is your mistress? " 
 
 Lukyanitch darted a suspicious glance at 
 me. 
 
 " How old is the mistress? I don't know. She 
 must he over forty." 
 
 " i)\vv forty! And how old is her sister? " 
 
 " \\'hy, she 's in the neighhourhood of foi'ty." 
 
 " You don't say so! And is she good-looking? " 
 
 " AVlio, the sister? " 
 
 " Yvs. tlie sister." 
 
 1 .iikvanitch grinned. 
 
 1(56
 
 TTT]n:K Mi:Kri\(;s 
 
 " 1 (loiTt know; tliat \s as a person f'aiR-ics. In 
 my o})ini()n, she is n't eoinelv." 
 '"Ilcnvsor' 
 
 " Heeause— she \s very ill-favoured. ^V hit 
 puny." 
 
 "You don't say so! And has no one exeej)t 
 them come hither? " 
 
 " No one. Who should eome ? " 
 
 " But that eannot he! ... I ... ." 
 
 "Eh, master! there 's no end of talking with 
 you, apparently,"— retorted the old man with 
 vexation. — " Whew, how cold it is! Good-bye." 
 
 " Stay, stay .... here 's something for 
 thee. . . ." And I held out to him a quarter of 
 a ruble which I had prepared beforehand: l)ut 
 my hand came into contact -with the swiftly 
 banged ^^'icket-gate. The silver coin fell to the 
 ground, rolled away, and lay at my feet. 
 
 "Ah, thou old rascal!" — I thought— " Don 
 Quixote de La ^Nlancha ! Evidently, thou hast re- 
 ceived orders to jiold thy tongue. , . . But wait, 
 thou shalt not trick me." . . . 
 
 1 promised myself tliat I would elucidate the 
 matter, at any cost. For about half an honi- I 
 paced to and fro, without knowing what decision 
 to adopt. At last I made up my mind first to 
 inquire in the village, precisely who had arrived 
 at the manor, and who she was, then to return, 
 and, as the saying runs, not desist until the matter 
 was cleared up. — And if the Unknown should 
 
 167
 
 come out of the house, I would, at last, see her by 
 daylight, near at hand, like a living woman, not 
 like a vision. 
 
 It was about a verst to the village, and I imme- 
 diately betook myself thither. ste})ping out lightly 
 and alei'tly: a strange aiidaeity was seething and 
 sparkling in my blood: the invigorating fresh- 
 ness of the morning excited me after the uneasy 
 night.- — In the village I learned from two peas- 
 ants, who were on their way to their work, every- 
 thing' which I could learn from them; namely: 
 I learned that the manoi-, together with the village 
 which I had entered, was called iNIikhailovskoe, 
 that it belonged to the widow of a Major, Anna 
 Feodorovna Shlykoff ; that she had with her her 
 sister, an unmarried woman, Pelageya Feodo- 
 rovna BadaefF by name; that both of them were 
 advanced in years, were wealthy, hardly ever lived 
 at home, were always travelling about, kept no 
 one in attendance on them exce])t two female 
 domestic serfs and a male cook; that Anna Feo- 
 dorovna had recently retiu'ned from Moscow with 
 no one but her sister. . . . This last circum- 
 stance greatly pertui'bed me: it was im])ossible 
 to assume that the ])easants also had been com- 
 manded to hold their peace about my Unknown. 
 But it was utterly impossible to concede that 
 Anna Feodorovna ShlykofF, a widow of five-and- 
 forty, and that young, charming woman, whom 
 I had seen on the previous evening, were one and 
 
 168
 
 TITKKK MEKTINGS 
 
 llic same person. Pelageya Feodoroviia, .judg- 
 ing from the deseription, was not distiiiguislied 
 for her beauty either, and, in addition to tliat, 
 at the mere tliouyht tliat the woman whom I had 
 seen at Sorrento eon Id l)ear the name of Pelageya, 
 and still more of Badaeff , I shrugged my shoul- 
 ders and laughed maliciously. And neverthe- 
 less, I had beheld her the night before in that 
 liouse. ... I had beheld her, beheld lier witli 
 my own eyes, I reflected. Irritated, enraged, l)ut 
 still more inclined to stand b}^ mj^ intention, 1 
 would have liked to return at once to the manor 
 . . . . but glanced at my watch; it was not yet 
 six o'clock. I decided to wait a while. Kvery 
 one was still asleej) at tlie farm, in all i)r()])a])ility 
 . . . and to prowl about the Iiouse at sucli an liour 
 would only serve to arouse ininecessary sus])ici<)n ; 
 and besides, in front of me stretclied buslies, and 
 beyond them an aspen M'ood was \'isible. . . 
 
 I must do myself the justice to say, tliat, not- 
 withstanding the thouglits wliich were exciting 
 me, the noble })assion for the hunt liad not yet 
 grown wholly mute within me; " perchance," I 
 thought, — " I sliall hit u])on a covey, — and that 
 will serve to pass away the time." I entered the 
 bushes. But, truth to tell, I walked in a very 
 careless way, quite out of consonance with the 
 rules of the art: I did not follow my dog con- 
 stantly witli my eyes, I did not snort over a 
 thick bush, in the hope that a red-browed black
 
 THREE .MEETINGS 
 
 .siiii)e would fly thence with a whin" ami a crash, 
 l)iit kept incessantly looking at my watch, whicli 
 never serves any pin'pose whatsoever. And, at 
 last, it was going on nine. — " 'T is time! " I ex- 
 claimed aloud, and was on the point of turning- 
 hack to the manor, when suddenlv a huge hlack 
 ^^■oodcock actually did hegin to flutter out of 
 the thick grass a couple of paces from me. I 
 fired at the magnificent hird, and wounded it 
 under the wing; it almost fell to the ground, hut 
 recovered itself, started off, fluttering its wings 
 swiftly and, diving toward the wood, tried to soar 
 ahove the first aspens on the edge, hut its strength 
 failed, and it rolled licadlong into the tliicket. It 
 would have heen utterly unpardonahle to ahandon 
 sucli a prize. I strode hriskly after it. entered 
 the forest, made a sign to Dianka, and a few 
 moments later I heard a feehle clucking and 
 flapping; it was tlie unlucky woodcock, strug- 
 gling under the paws of my quick-scented liouud. 
 1 picked it up, put it in my game-hag, glanced 
 round, and — remained rooted to the spot, as it 
 were. . . . 
 
 The forest wliich I liad entered was very dense 
 and wild, so that I had with (hfhculty made my 
 way to the spot wliere the hii'd had fallen: hut 
 at a short distance from me wound a cart-road, 
 and along this road wei-c riding on liorsehack 
 iii\ heauty and the man who had ()^crtaken me 
 ')ii the night heforc: I ix'cogniscd hiiu by his 
 
 170
 
 'IMIKKK MKi</ri\(;s 
 
 nioustuehe. They were riding softly, in silence, 
 holding each other by the hand; their horses were 
 barely ])ntting one foot before the other, lazily 
 swaying from side to side and handsonieh' 
 stretching out their long necks. \Vhen 1 had 
 recovered from my first alarm . . . ])recisely 
 tliat, alarm: I can give no other a])pellation to 
 the feeling which suddenly seized upon me. . . . 
 I fairly bored into her with my eyes. How beau- 
 tiful she was! how enchantingly her graceful 
 form moved toward me amid the emerald green! 
 Soft shadows, tender reflections glided over hei- 
 — ovei" her long grey habit, over her slender, 
 slightly-bent neck, over her faintly-rosy face, over 
 her glossy black hair, which escaped luxuriantly 
 from under her loA\-crowned liat. But how shall 
 1 transmit that expression of utter, passionate 
 bliss of a person passionate to the point of 
 s])eechlessness, \\hich breathed forth from her 
 features^ Her head seemed to be bending be- 
 neath the burden of it ; moist, golden sparks glit- 
 tered in her dark eyes, \\hich were half-concealed 
 by her eyelashes; they gazed nowhere, those ha])])y 
 eyes, and the slender brows drooped over them. 
 An irresolute, child-like smile — the smile of pro- 
 found happiness, strayed over her lips; it seemed 
 as though excess of ha])piness had wearied and 
 even broken her a little, as a flower in full bloom 
 sometimes breaks its own stem. Both her hands 
 lay ]X)werless: one, in the hand of the man who 
 
 171
 
 TUHKK MKKTIX(;S 
 
 was riding by her side, the other on her horse's 
 mane. 
 
 I succeeded in getting a good look at her 
 — and at him also. , . . He was a handsome, 
 stately man, with an un-]{ussian face. He was 
 gazing at her boldly and merrily, and, so far 
 as I was able to observe, was admiring her not 
 \\ithout secret pride. He was admiring her, the 
 villain, and was very well-satisfied with himself, 
 and not sufficiently touched, not sufficiently 
 moved, — precisely that, moved. . . And, as a mat- 
 ter of fact, what man does deserve sucli devotion, 
 what soul, even the most beautiful, is worthy of 
 furnishing another soul such hap])iness? I must 
 sav, that I was envious of him! .... In the 
 meantime, they had both arrived on a level with 
 me . . . mv dog suddenlv bounded out into the 
 road and began to bark. ]My Unknown started, 
 cast a swift glance around and, catching sight 
 of me, dealt her steed a violent blow on the 
 neck with her whi]). The horse snorted, reared 
 up on his hind legs, threw both his hoofs forward 
 simultaneously, and dashed off at a gallop. . . . 
 The man immediately gave the spur to his black 
 horse, and when I emerged by the road into the 
 ])order of the forest a few moments later, both 
 of them were already galloj)ing off into the 
 golden distance, across the fields, rising smartly 
 and regulaily in theii- saddles . . . and were not 
 galloping in tlic direction of tlic farm. . . . 
 
 172
 
 TUKKE MEETINGS 
 
 I gazed. . . . They speedily disappeared be- 
 hind a hilloek, brilliantly illuminated for the last 
 time by the sun against the dark line of the hori- 
 zon. I stood, and stood, then returned with slow 
 ste})s to the forest and sat down on the })ath, 
 eovering mv eves with mv hand. — I have ob- 
 served that after meeting strangers, all that is 
 necessary is to close the eyes — and their features 
 immediately start up before you; any one can 
 verify mv observation on the street. The m(n-e 
 familiar the faces, the more difficult is it for them 
 to present themselves, the more indefinite is their 
 impression; you recall them, but you do not see 
 them, .... and you can never possibly picture 
 to yourself your own face. . . . The very mi- 
 nutest separate featin-e is known to you, but the 
 entire image will not constitute itself. So then, 
 I sat down, closed my eyes — and inmiediately 
 beheld the Unknown and her companion, and 
 their horses, and everything. . . . The man's 
 smiling countenance stood before me ^\'ith par- 
 ticular sharpness and distinctness. I began to 
 stare intently at it ... it became confused, and 
 dissolved into a sort of crimson mist, and after 
 it, lur image also floated away and sank, and 
 would not return. 
 
 ''Well, never mind!"-I thought; — "at all 
 events, I have seen them, seen them both clearly. 
 . . . It remains for me no\\' to find out flieir 
 names." Endeavoui* to lind out their luuiies! 
 
 173
 
 THREE MEETINGS 
 
 A\'liat ill-judged, petty curiosity! Rut I swear 
 that it was not curiosity which had Hanied up in 
 nie. In truth, it simply seemed to me impossible 
 not to discover, eventually, ^^•llo they were, after 
 accident had so strangely and so persistently 
 brought us together. Moreover, my former im- 
 patient perplexity no longer existed; it had been 
 replaced by a certain confused, sorrowful feeling, 
 of A\hich I was somewhat ashamed. ... I was 
 jealous. . . . 
 
 I did not hasten back to the farm. I nmst 
 confess that I had become ashamed to pry into 
 the secrets of others. Moreover, the appearance 
 of the fond pair by daylight, in the light of the 
 sun, although it was unexpected and, I repeat, 
 strange, had not exactly soothed, but chilled me. 
 I no longer found anything supernatural, mirac- 
 ulous in this occurrence .... nothing resem- 
 bling an impossible dream. . . . 
 
 I began to hunt again with greater assiduity 
 than before; but still, there were no genuine rap- 
 tures. 1 hit upon a covey, which engaged my 
 attention for an hour and a half. . . The young 
 |)artridges did not res])ond to my whistle for a 
 long time, — probably because I did not whistle 
 with sufficient " objectivity." — The siui had al- 
 ready risen quite high (my watch indicated twelve 
 o'clock), when I directed my steps toward the 
 manor. I walked witliout haste. Vonder, at last, 
 I lie low-roofed little house peeped forth I'rom its
 
 T H RE K > I K K 1 1 X C i S 
 
 hill. I approached .... and not witliout 
 secret satisfaction beheld Lukyanitcli. As of 
 yore, he was sitting motionless on the bench in 
 front of the wing. The gate was closed— also 
 the sliutters. 
 
 "Good morning, uncle!" — I shouted to him 
 from afar. — " Hast thou come out to warm thy- 
 self^ " 
 
 Lukyanitcli turned his gaunt face toward me 
 and silently doffed his cap. 
 
 I went up to him. 
 
 " Good morning, uncle, good morning," — I 
 repeated, wishing to encourage him. — " Whj^" 
 — I added, unexpectedly descrying my <|uar- 
 terruble on the ground, — " didst not thou see 
 it?" 
 
 And I pointed out to him the silver circle, half 
 peeping from beneath the short grass. 
 
 " Yes, I saw it." 
 
 " Then whj^ didst thou not pick it up? " 
 
 " Because it was n't mv money, so I did n't 
 pick it up." 
 
 "What a fellow thou art, brother!" — I re- 
 turned, not witliout embarrassment, and picking 
 up the coin, I offered it to him again. — " Take 
 it, take it, for tea." 
 
 " Much obliged," — Lukyanitch answered me, 
 ^vith a com])osed smile. — " It is n't necessary; I 'II 
 manage to i)ull through ^^■ithout it. JNIucli 
 obliged." 
 
 175
 
 TIIKEE MEETINGS 
 
 " But I am ready to give you still more, with 
 pleasure! "—I replied in confusion. 
 
 " What for? Please don't disturb yourself— 
 much obliged for your good-will, but we still have 
 a crust of bread. And ])erha])s we sha'n't eat 
 that up— that 's as it may happen." 
 
 And he rose, and put out his hand to the wicket- 
 gate. 
 
 " Stay, stay, old man," — I began, ahiiost in 
 desperation; — "how unconmmnicative thou art 
 to-day, really. . . . Tell me, at least, has your 
 mistress risen j^et? " 
 
 " She has." 
 
 " And .... is she at home? " 
 
 " No, she 's not at home." 
 
 " Has she gone off on a visit, pray? " 
 
 " No, sir: she has gone to Moscow." 
 
 "To Moscow! How is that? Why, she was 
 here this morning! " 
 
 " She was." 
 
 " And she passed the night here? " 
 
 " She did." 
 
 " And she came hither recently? " 
 1 cs. 
 
 " AVhat next, my good man? " 
 
 " \Vhy, this: it must be about an Jiour since 
 she deigned to start back to Moscow." 
 
 " To ]Mosco>\'! " 
 
 I stared in petrificatio?! at Lukyjinitch: I had 
 not expected this, I admit. 
 
 17G
 
 THHKK MKKTINCiS 
 
 Lukyjiniteh stared at inc. ... A crafty, senile 
 smile distended liis withered lips and almost 
 beamed in liis melancholy eyes. 
 
 "And did she go away with her sister?" — I 
 said at last. 
 \ es. 
 
 " So that now there is no one in the honse? " 
 A'o one. . . . 
 
 " This old man is deceiving me," — flashed 
 throngh my head. — " 'T is not without cause that 
 he is grinning so craftily. — Listen, Lukyanitch," 
 — I said aloud; — "dost wish to do me one fa- 
 vour? " 
 
 " What is it you wish? "—he enunciated slowly, 
 evidently beginning to feel annoyed by my ques- 
 tions. 
 
 " Thou sayest that there is no one in the house; 
 canst thou show it to me? I should be very grate- 
 ful to thee." 
 
 " That is, you want to inspect the rooms? " 
 
 " Yes, the rooms." 
 
 Lukyanitch remained silent for a space. 
 
 " Very well," — he said at last. — " Pray, en- 
 ter. . . ." 
 
 And bending down, he stepped across the 
 threshold of the wicket-gate. I followed him. 
 After traversing a tiny courtyard, we ascended 
 the tottering steps of the porch. The old man gave 
 the door a push; there was no lock on it: a cord 
 with a knot stuck out through the key-hole. . . . 
 
 177
 
 rilHKK MKKTlXCiS 
 
 \A'e entered the lioiise. It consisted in all of live oi* 
 six low-ceiled rooms, and. so far as I could make 
 out in tile fainl li^iit. whieli streamed sparsely 
 through the rifts in the shutters, the furniture in 
 these rooms was extremely phiin and decrepit. 
 In one of them (namely, in the one which o])ened 
 on the o-arden) stood a small, anticjuated i)iano. 
 ... I raised its warj)ed lid and struck the keys: 
 a shrill, hissin"- sound ran"" out and died feeblv 
 away, as thou<»h complaining of my audacity. 
 It was impossible to discern from anythint^ that 
 peo])le had recently left the house; it had a dead 
 and stifling sort of smell — the odovn- of an unin- 
 habited dwelling; here and there, indeed, a dis- 
 carded paper gave one to understand, by its 
 whiteness, that it had been dropped there recently. 
 I picked uy> one such bit of paper; it proved to be 
 a sera]) of a letter; on one side in a dashing 
 feminine handwriting wei-e scrawled the woi'ds 
 ^' se tain? " on the other I made out the word 
 " honhcur." . . . On a small round table near the 
 window stood a nosegay of half- faded flowers 
 in a glass, and a g]-een. rumpled i-ibbon was lying 
 there also .... I took that ribbon as a somenir. 
 — Lukyanitch ojjcned a narrow door, pasted over 
 with Avall-])aper. 
 
 " Here," — said he, extending his hand: — " this 
 here is the bedroom, and vonder, beyond it. is 
 the room for the maids, and there are no other 
 chambers. . . ." 
 
 178
 
 rilKKK .MKKTIXGS 
 
 W'c rttuniLd by way of tlic corridor. - " iViid 
 what room is that yonder? " — I asked, pointing 
 at a broad, white door with a lock. 
 
 " That? " — Lukj'iinitch answered me, in a dull 
 voice. — " That 's notliing." 
 
 "How so?" 
 
 " Because. . . . 'T is a store-room. . ." And 
 lie started to go into the anteroom. 
 
 "A store-room? Cannot 1 look at it?" . . . 
 
 " What makes you want to do that, master, 
 really? !" — replied liukyanitch with displeasure. 
 
 — "What is there for you to look at? Chests, 
 old Crocker}' . . . 't is a store-room, and nothing 
 more. . . ." 
 
 " i\ll the same, show it to me, please, old man," 
 
 — I said, although I was inwardly ashamed of my 
 indecent persistence. — " 1 should like, 3'^ou sec 
 .... I should like to have just such a house my- 
 self at home, in mv village . . . ." 
 
 I was ashamed: I could not c()m])lete the sen- 
 tence 1 had begun. 
 
 Lukvaiiitch stood with his grev head bent on 
 liis breast, and stared at me askance in a strange 
 soi't of waj'. 
 
 " Show it," — 1 said. 
 
 " Well, as you like." — he replied at last, got 
 the key, and reluctant! v opened the door. 
 
 I fflanced into the store-room. Tliere reallv 
 was notliing noteworthy about it. On the walls 
 hung old portraits with gloomy, almost black 
 
 179
 
 TllKEK MKKllXCiS 
 
 countenances, and vicious eyes. The floor was 
 strewn with all sorts of rubbish. 
 
 " Well, have you seen all vou want? " — asked 
 Lukyanitch, gruffly. 
 
 " Yes; thanks! " — 1 hastily replied. 
 
 He slammed to the door. I went out into the 
 anteroom, and from the anteroom into the court- 
 yard. 
 
 Lukyanitch escorted me, muttering: " Good- 
 bye, sir! " and went off to his own wing. 
 
 " But who was the lady visitor at your house 
 last night? " — I called after him: — " I met her 
 this morning in the grove." 
 
 I had hoped to daze him with my sudden ques- 
 tion, to evoke a thoughtless answer. But the old 
 man merely laughed dully, and slanmied the door 
 behind him when he went in. 
 
 I retraced my ste^^s to Glinnoe. 1 felt awk- 
 ward, like a boy who has been put to shame. 
 
 " Xo,"-I said to mvself :-" evidentlv, I shall 
 not obtain a solution to this ])u///le. T '11 give it 
 up! 1 will think no more of all this.'" 
 
 An hour later, I set out on my homeward drive, 
 enraged and irritated. 
 
 A week ehij)se(l. 'I'ly as I might to banish 
 from me the memory of the l^nknown, of her 
 comj)anion, of my meetings with them, — it kept 
 constantly returning, and besieged me with all 
 the importunate persistence of an after-dinner 
 flv. . . . Lukvanitcb. with bis mvsterious looks 
 
 180
 
 'iiiim:i-: Misiyrixcjs 
 
 and reserved speeches, witli liis coldly-iiiournful 
 smile, also recurred incessantly to niv memory. 
 The house itself, when I thought of it, — that 
 house itself gazed at me cunningly and stupidly 
 tlirough its half-closed shutters, and seemed to 
 he jeering at me, as though it were saying to me: 
 " And all the same thou shalt not find out any- 
 thing! '' At last I could endure it no longer, an:^. 
 one fine day I drove to Glinnoe, and from Glfn- 
 noe set out on foot .... whither? The readei- 
 can easily divine. 
 
 I must confess that, as 1 approached the mys- 
 terious manor, I felt a decidedly violent agitation. 
 The exterior of the house had not undergone the 
 slightest change: the same closed windows, the 
 same melancholy and desolate aspect; only, on 
 the bench, in front of the wing, instead of old 
 Lukyanitch, sat some young house-serf or other, 
 of twenty, in a long nankeen kaftan and a red 
 shirt. He w^as sitting with his curly head resting 
 on his palm, and dozing, swaying to and fro from 
 time to time, and quivering. 
 
 " Good morning, hrotlier! "— I said in a loud 
 \'oice. 
 
 He immediately sj^rang to his feet and stared 
 at me with widely-opened, panic-stricken eyes. 
 
 "Good morning, brother!" — I repeated: — 
 " And where is the old man? " 
 
 "What old man?" — said the young fellow, 
 slowly. 
 
 181
 
 TIIKKK MEETINGS 
 
 " Liikyaiiitcli." 
 
 "Ah, Liikyaniteli! "— He darted a glance 
 aside. — "Do you want Lukyiinitch? " 
 
 " Yes, I do. Is lie at home:* " 
 
 " X-no," — enunciated the young fellow, hro- 
 kenlv, — " he, vou know . . . how shall I . . . 
 tell . . . you . . . ahout .... that . . . ." 
 
 "Is hem?" 
 
 " Xo." 
 
 '• What then?" 
 
 " Why, he is n't here at all." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " Because. Something .... unpleasant . . . 
 happened to him." 
 
 " Is he dead? " — I inquired with surprise. 
 
 " He strangled himself." 
 
 " Strangled himself! "—I exclaimed in af- 
 fright, and clasped my hands. 
 
 We both gazed in each other's eyes in silence. 
 
 " How long ago? "—I said at last. 
 
 " Why, to-dav is the fifth day since. They 
 ])uried him yesterday." 
 
 " But why did he strangle himself? " 
 
 " The I^ord knows. He was a freeman, on 
 wages; he did not know want, the masters petted 
 him as though he were a relation. For we have 
 such good masters — may God giye them health! 
 I sim}:)ly can't understand what came over him. 
 Evidently, the Evil One entra])])e(l him." 
 
 "But how did he do it?" 
 
 182
 
 THRKK MKiyilXGS 
 
 " W'liy, so. lie took iiiid stran<4"lL'(l hinisclf." 
 " And nothing of the sort had been previously 
 noticed in him? " 
 
 " How shall 1 tell you. . . . There was no- 
 thing' .... ])articular. He was always a very 
 melancholy man. He used to groan, and groan. 
 ' I 'm so bored,' he would say. Well, and then 
 there was his age. Of late, he really did begin 
 to meditate something. He used to come to us in 
 the village; for 1 'm his nephew. — ' Well, Vasya, 
 my lad,' he would say, ' prithee, brother, come and 
 spend the night with me! '— ' What for, uncle? ' 
 — 'Why, because I'm frightened, somehow; 
 't is tiresome alone.' Well, and so I 'd go to him. 
 He would come out into the courtyard and stare 
 and stare so at the house, and shake and shake 
 his head, and how he would sigh! . . . Just be- 
 fore that night, that is to say, the one on which 
 he put an end to his life, he came to us again, 
 and invited me. AVell, and so I went. ^Vhen 
 we reached his wing, he sat for a wliile on the 
 bench; then he rose, and went out. I wait, and 
 ' he 's ratliei" long in coming back ' — says I, and 
 went out into the courtyard, and shouted, ' Fn- 
 cle! hey, uncle! ' My uncle did not call l)ack. 
 Thinks I : ' Whither can he have gone? surely, not 
 into the liouse?' a?i(l J went into the house. 
 Twilight was already drawing on. ^Vnd as I was 
 passing the stoir-rooin. I heard something 
 scratching there, behind llie dooi-i so 1 took and 
 
 18a
 
 TIIKKK MEETINGS 
 
 opened the door. Beliold, there he sat doubled up 
 under the window. 
 
 AN'hat art tliou doing there, uncle? ' says 1. 
 But he turns round, and how lie shouts at me, and 
 his eves are so keen, so keen, tliev fairlv blaze, 
 like a cat's. 
 
 What dost thou want? Dost not see — I am 
 shavin"" mvself.' And his voice was so hoarse. 
 ]My hair suddenly rose upright, and 1 don't know 
 why I got frightened . . . evidently, about that 
 time the devils had already assailed him. 
 
 What, in the dark? ' — savs I, and mv knees 
 fairly shook. 
 
 Come,' says he, ' it 's all right, begone! ' 
 
 " I went, and he came out of the store-room 
 and locked the door. So we went back to the 
 wing, and the terror immediately left me. 
 
 " ' What wast thou doing in the store-room, 
 uncle? ' says I. — He was fairly frightened. 
 
 "'Hold thv tonaiie! ' savs he; 'hold thv 
 tongue!' and he crawled up on the oven-bench. 
 
 " ' Well,' thinks I to myself,-' 't will be better 
 for me not to speak to him: he surely must be 
 feeliiiQ- ill lo-dav.' So I went and lav down on 
 the o\en-bciich mvseli', too. And a ni<'ht-h<''ht 
 was bui-ning in a coi'iier. So, I am lying there, 
 and just dozing, you know . . . when suddeidy 
 r hear the door creaking softly . . . and it opens 
 — so, a little. i\nd my uncle was lying with his 
 hack lo the door, and, as you may ix'memljer, 
 
 184-
 
 tttri<:k mkk/ii\(;s 
 
 he was always a little hard of hearing'. Hut this 
 time he sprang up suddenly. . . 
 
 Wlio 's calling nie, hey? who is itJ* hast come 
 for nie, for nie^ !' and out he ran into the yard 
 without his hat. . . . 
 
 I thought: 'What's the mattei- \vitli liinif' 
 and. sinl'id man thai I am, 1 fell asleep imme- 
 diately. 'I'he next morning I woke up .... 
 and Lukyaniteh was not there. 
 
 " I went out of doors and hegan to call him — he 
 was nowhere. I asked the watchman: 
 
 Has n't niv uncle come out? ' savs I. 
 " 'Xo/ says he, ' I lun-e n't seen him.' . . . 
 
 Has n't something happened to him, ])ro- 
 ther? ' . . . . says I. . . 
 
 " ' ()i! ' . . . . We were hoth fairly frightened. 
 Come, Feodosveitch,' savs I, ' come on,' savs 
 I, — ' let 's see whether he is n't in the house.' 
 
 Come on,'— says he, ' Vasily Timofyeitch! ' 
 hut he himself was as w^hite as clay- 
 
 " We entered the house. . . I was ahout to 
 ])ass the store-room, hut 1 glanced and the pad- 
 lock w'as hanging open on the hasp, and I pushed 
 the door, hut the door was fastened inside. . . . 
 Feodosveitch inmiediately ran round, and pee2)cd 
 in at the window. 
 
 "'Vasily Timofyeitch!' he cries; — 'his legs 
 are hanging, his legs . . . ' 
 
 " T ran to the window. And they were his legs, 
 Lukyjiniteh's legs. And he had hanged himself 
 
 IS.-)
 
 TIIKKK MKKriX(;S 
 
 ill the niicklk- ol" tlie room. — Well, we sent for the 
 judge. . . . They took him clown from the rope; 
 the rope was tied witli twelve knots." 
 
 " Welk what did the court sayr" 
 
 "What did the court say^ Xothing. They 
 pondered and i)()n(ieic(l wluit tlie cause might 
 he. Tliere was no cause. And so they decided 
 that he must have keen out of his mind. 1 1 is head 
 had keen aching of late, he had keen complaining 
 very frequently of kis kead. . . ." 
 
 1 ckatted for akout kalf an kour longer witk tke 
 young fellow, and went away, at last, completely 
 disconcerted. I must confess tkat I could not 
 look at tkat rickety kouse witkout a secret, super- 
 stitious terror. ... A montk later I quitted my 
 countrv-seat, and little kv little all tkese korrors. 
 tkese mysterious encounters, vanisked from my 
 mind. 
 
 II 
 
 Three years passed. Tke greater part of tkat 
 time 1 spent in Peterskurg and akroad; and even 
 wken I (kd I'lin doww to niy pkice in tke country. 
 it was only for a few tlays at a time, so tkat I 
 never ckanced to he in (rlinnoe or in Mikkailov- 
 skoe on a single occasion. Xowkere kad I seen 
 mv keautv nor tke man. One dav, toward tke 
 end of tke tkird year, in Moscow, I ckanced to 
 meet Madame Sklykoff and lier sister, l*elageya 
 
 186
 
 TIIKKK .MKK'l IX(;S 
 
 Budiictt' — that same Pclagcva wlioiii I, sini'ul 
 man that I am, had liitlicrto regarded as a myth- 
 ical being— at an evening gathering in tlie house 
 of one of my acquaintances. Neither of the 
 hidies was any longer young, and both ])ossessed 
 pleasing exteriors; tlieii" conversation was cliar- 
 acterised by wit and mirth: tliev had travelled 
 a great deal, and travelled with profit; easy gaiety 
 was observable in their manners. But tliey and 
 my acquaintance had positively nothing in com- 
 mon. I was presented to tliem. ^Madame Shly- 
 kofF and I dropped into conversation (her sister 
 was being entertained by a passing geologist). 
 1 informed her that 1 had the pleasure of being 
 her neighbour in *** county. 
 
 " Ah! 1 really do possess a small estate there," 
 — she remarked, — " near (ilinnoe." 
 
 "Exactly, exactly," — I returned: — "1 know 
 your ^likhailovskoe. Do you ever go thither? " 
 
 "I?-Rarely." 
 
 " Were you tliere three years ago? " 
 
 " Stay! I tliink 1 was. Ves, 1 was, that is true." 
 
 " AA'^ith your sister, or alone? " 
 
 She darted a glance at me. 
 
 " \Vith my sister. We spent al)oul a Nveek 
 there. On business, you know. However, we 
 saw no one." 
 
 " H'm. ... I think there are very few neigli- 
 ])ours there." 
 
 Ves, \ cry lew . 1 'm not lond of iieiglibours." 
 
 187
 
 TllKEK MKKTlXCiS 
 
 " Tell nie, ' — 1 began; — " 1 believe you had a 
 eatastro])he there that same vear. Liikyji- 
 niteh . . . /' 
 
 JNIadaine Shlykoff' s eyes iininediately filled 
 with tears. 
 
 " And did you know him? " — she said with vi- 
 vaeity. — " Such a misfortune! He was a very 
 fine, good old man . . . and just fancy, without 
 any cause, you know . . . .'" 
 
 INIadame Shlykofi"s sister ajjproached us. She 
 was, in all probability, beginning to be bored by 
 the learned disquisitions of the geologist about 
 the formation of the banks of the Volga. 
 
 " Just fancy, Pauline," — began my compan- 
 ion; — " monsieur knew Lukyaniteh." 
 
 " Really? Poor old man! " 
 
 " I hunted more than once in the environs of 
 jNlikhailovskoe at that i)eriod, wjien you Mere 
 there three years ago," — I remarked. 
 
 "I?" — returned Pelageya, in some astonisli- 
 ment. 
 
 " Well, yes, of course! " — hastily interposed 
 her sister: " is it possibk- that tliou dost not re- 
 call it?" 
 
 iVnd she k)oked her intently in the eye. 
 
 " Akh, yes, yes . . . that is true!" — replied 
 Pelageya, suddenly. 
 
 " Ehe — he! " I thought: " I don't believe you 
 were in JNlikhailovskoe, my dear." 
 
 " \\'ill not you sing us something, Pelageya 
 
 1H8
 
 'I' 11 hi: Is .Mi:K/n\(;s 
 
 Feodorovna?" — suddenly began a tall young 
 man, Avith a crest of fair liair and turbidly-sueel 
 little eyes. 
 
 '' Keally, I don't know," — said Miss Jiadaeff. 
 
 " iVnd do you sing?" — I exclaimed with vi- 
 vacity, springing uj) hi'iskly from my seat. " Foi- 
 heaven's sake .... akli, for heaven's sake, do 
 sing us something." 
 
 " But what shall 1 sing to you? " 
 
 " Don't you know," — I began, using my ut- 
 most endeavours to im])art to my face an indif- 
 ferent and easy ex])ression, — " an Italian song 
 . . . it })egins this way: ' Passa (lucl colli ' ^ " 
 
 " Yes," replied Pelageya with ])erfect inno- 
 cence. "Do vou want me to sing that? Very 
 well." 
 
 And she seated herself at the piano. I, like 
 Hamlet, riveted my eyes on ^Madame Shlvkoff. 
 It seemed to me that at the first note she gave a 
 slight start; but she sat (juietly to the end. ^liss 
 Badaeff sang (juite well. The song ended, the 
 customaiy ])laudits resounded. They began to 
 urge her to sing something else; but the two sis- 
 ters exchanged glances, and a few minutes later 
 they took their departure. As they left the room 
 I overheard the word " imporlun." 
 
 " 1 deserved it! " 1 thought — and did not meet 
 them again. 
 
 Still another year ela])sed. I transferred mv 
 residence to Petersburg. AVinter arrived; the 
 
 180
 
 riiKKK .MKF/riX(;s 
 
 inas(jiicrades began. One day, as I emerged at 
 eleven oV'loek at niglit i'rom the house of a friend, 
 I felt invself in sneli a glooniv frame of mind that 
 I deeided to betake myself to the mascpierade in 
 the Assembly of the Xobilitv.' For -i U)\\<y time 
 I roamed about among the columns and past the 
 mirrors with a disereetly-l'atalistie ex])ressi()n on 
 my eountenanee — with that expression whieli, so 
 far as 1 have observed, makes its appearanee in 
 sucli cases on the faces of tlie most well-bred per- 
 sons — why, the Lord oidy knows. For a long- 
 time I roamed about, now and then parrying with 
 a jest the advances of divers shrill dominoes w ith 
 suspicious lace and soiled gloves, and still more 
 rarely addressing them. F'or a long time I sur- 
 rendered my ears to the blare of the trumpets and 
 the whining of the violins; at last, being pretty 
 well bored, I was on the point of going home 
 .... and .... and remained. I caught sight 
 of a woman in a black domino, leaning against a 
 column, — and no sooner had 1 caught sight of her 
 tlian I sto])])ed short, stepped up to her, and . . . 
 will tlie reader believe me? .... immediately 
 recognised in her my Unknown. How I recog- 
 m'sed her: wliether by tlie glance which she ab- 
 stractedly cast upon me through the oblong aper- 
 ture in her mask, or by the wonderful outlines of 
 her shoulders and arms, or by the peculiarly femi- 
 nine stateliness of her whole i'orm, or, in conclu- 
 
 ' I'hf! Nobles' Club. — Thansi.atok. 
 
 11)0
 
 rilKKK MKK'I i\(;s 
 
 sion, by some secret voice which suddeiil}' spoke in 
 me, — I cannot say .... only, recognise her I 
 did. Witli a qniver in my lieart, I walked ])ast her 
 several times. She did not stir; in her attitnde 
 tliere was something so liopelessly sorrowfnl tliat, 
 as I gazed at her, 1 involnntai"ily recalled two 
 lines of a Spanish romance: 
 
 Sov iin cuaflro do tristeza, 
 Arrinmdo a la pared.' 
 
 I stepped behind tlie column against wliich she 
 was leaning, and bending my head down to her 
 very ear, enunciated softly : 
 
 " Passu quci colli." ... 
 
 She began to tremble all over, and turned 
 swiftly round to me. Our eyes met at very 
 short range, and I was able to obser\ e how fright 
 had dilated her pupils. Feebly extending one 
 hand in perplexity, she gazed at me. 
 
 " On May 6, 184*, in Sorrento, at ten o'clock in 
 the evening, in della Croce Street," — I said in a 
 deliberate voice, without taking my eyes from her; 
 " afterward, in Russia, in the *** Government, 
 in the hamlet of Mikhailovskoe, on June 22, 
 184*." .... 
 
 I said all this in French. She recoiled a little, 
 scanned me from head to foot with a look of 
 
 ^ " I am a picture of sorrow. 
 Leaning against the wall." 
 
 191
 
 aniazenu'iil. and w liisjH'i'iiii>, " Vc'iici," swil'tly 
 left the room. I followed her. 
 
 We walked on in silenee. It is l)eyond my 
 power to express what I felt as I walked side by 
 side with hei'. It was as though a very beautiful 
 dream had suddenly beeome reality . . . as though 
 the statue of (ralatea had deseended as a living- 
 woman from its pedestal in the sight of the 
 swooning Pvgmalion. ... I eould not believe 
 it, I could hai'dly breathe. 
 
 We traversed several rooms. . . . At last, in 
 one of them, she ])ause(l in front of a small divan 
 near the window, and seated herself. I sat down 
 beside her. 
 
 She slowly turned her head toward me, and 
 looked intently at me. 
 
 " Do you .... do you come from him? " she 
 said. 
 
 Her voice was weak and unsteady. . . 
 
 Her question somewhat disconcerted me. 
 
 " Xo .... not from him," — I re])lied halt- 
 ingly. 
 
 " Do you know him? " 
 Yes," — I replied, with mysterious solemnity. 
 I wanted to kee]i up my role. — " ^'es, I know 
 him." 
 
 She looked distrustfully at me, started to say 
 something, and dropped her eyes. 
 
 ^"ou were waiting for him in Sorrento," — I 
 went on; — "you met him at Mikhailovskoe, you 
 rode on horseback with iiim. ..." 
 
 192
 
 TIIUKK MKKTIX(;S 
 
 " How could you . . . ." she began. 
 
 " 1 know . . . i know all. ..." 
 
 " Your face seems familiar to me, somehow,"— 
 she continued: — "hut no . . . ," 
 
 " No, I am a stran^ei' to you." 
 
 " Then what is it that you want!" " 
 
 " I know that also," — 1 persisted. 
 
 I understood very well that I must take advan- 
 tage of the excellent beginning to go further, 
 that my repetitions of " I know all, I know," 
 were becoming ridiculous — but my agitation was 
 so great, that unexpected meeting had thrown me 
 into such confusion, I had lost my self-control to 
 such a degree that 1 positively was unable to say 
 anything else. ^Moreover, I really knew nothing 
 more. I felt conscious that I was talkin.g non- 
 sense, felt conscious that, from the mysterious, 
 omniscient being which I must at first ap])ear to 
 her to be, 1 should sooii be converted into a sort 
 of grinning fool .... but there was no help 
 for it. 
 
 Yes, 1 know all," — I muttered once moir. 
 
 She darted a glance at me, rose (juickly to her 
 feet, and w^as on the point of departing. 
 
 But this was too cruel. I seized her hand. 
 
 "For God's sake," — 1 began, — "sit down, 
 listen to me. ..." 
 
 She retlected, and seated herself. 
 
 "I just told you,"—! went on feixently.^ 
 " that I knew exerything — that is nonsense. I 
 know nothing; I do not know eilhei- who you 
 
 193
 
 THKEK MEETINGS 
 
 are, or wlio he is, and if I have been able to sur- 
 prise you by what I said to you a while ago by 
 the coluiiHi, you must ascribe that to chance alone, 
 to a strange, incomprehensible chance, which, as 
 though in derision, has brought me in contact with 
 you twice, and almost in identically the same a\ ay 
 on both occasions, and lias made me the involun- 
 tary witness of that ^^•hich, perhaps, you would 
 like to keep secret. ..." 
 
 And thereupon, without the slightest circumlo- 
 cution, I related to her everything: my meet- 
 ings with her in Sorrento, in Russia, my futile 
 inquiries in ^likhailovskoe, even my conversa- 
 tion in ^loscow with ^ladame ShlvkofF and her 
 sister. 
 
 "Now you know everything,"' — 1 went on, 
 when 1 had finished my story. — " I will not under- 
 take to describe to you \\ hat an ()\ crw hehning im- 
 pression you made on me: to see you and not 
 to be bewitched bv you is impossible. On tlie 
 other hand, there is no need foi' me to tell you 
 what tlie nature of tliat imiiression was. Re- 
 member under what conditions I beheld you both 
 times. . . . Relieve me, I am not fond of indulg- 
 ing in senseless hopes, but you must understand 
 also that inexpressible agitation which has seized 
 upon me to-day, and you nmst pardon the awk- 
 ward artifice to which I decided to have recourse 
 in order to attract your attention, if oidy for a 
 moment . . . ." 
 
 194
 
 riiui^i: Mi'j'/i ix(;s 
 
 she listened to my confused explanations with- 
 out raisin «»• her head. 
 
 " \\'hat do yon watit of nie? " — she said at last. 
 
 " I ^ . . . I want nothing- ... I am happy 
 as I am. ... I haxc too much respect for such 
 secrets." 
 
 "Keally:' Hut, up to this point, apparently 
 . . . . However/' — she went on, — " I will not re- 
 ])roach vou. Any man would have done the same 
 in your ])lace. jNIoreover, chance really has 
 hrou^ht us together so persistently , . . that 
 would seem to give you a certain right to frank- 
 ness on my part. Listen: 1 am not one of those 
 uncomprehended and unhappy women who go 
 to mas((uerades for the sake of chattering to the 
 iirst man they meet ahout their sufferings, who 
 re(|uire hearts filled with sympathy. . . . I re- 
 (juire sympathy from no one; my own heart is 
 dead, and I have come hither in order to bury 
 it definitively." 
 
 She raised a handkerchief to her lips. 
 
 " I hope " — she went on with a certain amount 
 of effort — " that you do not take my words for 
 the ordinary effusions of a masquerade. You 
 must understand that T am in no mood for 
 that. . . .' 
 
 And. in truth, there was something terrible in 
 lier voice, despite all the softness of its tones. 
 
 " 1 am a Russian," — she said in Russian; — up 
 to that jioint she had expressed herself in the 
 
 10.>
 
 TITUKK MKKTIXGS 
 
 French lan<>iia«>e: — " nllliongli I have lived litllt' 
 in Russia. ... It is not necessary lor nie to 
 know your name. Anna Feodorovna is an old 
 friend of mine; I really did go to Mikliailovskoe 
 under the name of her sister. . . It was impos- 
 sihle at that time for me to meet him openly. . . 
 xVnd even without that, rumours had hegun to 
 circulate ... at that time, ohstaeles still existed 
 
 — he was not free. . . Those ohstaeles have dis- 
 appeared . . . hut he whose name should hecome 
 mine, he with whom you saw me, has ahandoned 
 me." 
 
 She made a gesture with iier hand, and ]iaused 
 awhile. . . . 
 
 Vou really do not know him :' Vou have not 
 met him? " 
 
 " Xot once." 
 
 " He has spent almost all this time ahroad. 15ut 
 he is here now, . . . That is my whole history,"' 
 
 — she added; — " j^ou see, there is nothing myste- 
 rious ahout it, nothing peculiar." 
 
 " And Sorrento (f " — I timidly interposed. 
 
 " I made his aeciuaintanee in Sorrento," — she 
 answered sio^\•ly. heeoming ])ensive. 
 
 Both of us licld our ])eace. A strange dis- 
 composure took ])ossession of me. 1 was sitting 
 heside her, l)eside that woman wliose image had 
 so often flitted through my dreams, had so toi-- 
 turingly agitated and irritated me, — I was sit- 
 ting hesidf her and felt a cold and a weight at 
 
 100
 
 TTIREK MKKTIXCiS 
 
 my heart, 1 knew tliat uotliiiio- would conic of 
 that nicctin<4, that hetween her and nic there was 
 a gulf, tliat when we parted mc should part f'oi- 
 cvcr. With her head howed forward and ])()th 
 hands lying in her lap, slie sat there indifferent 
 and careless. I know that carelessness of incur- 
 able grief, I know that indifference of irrecover- 
 able happiness! The masks strolled j)ast us in 
 couples; the sounds of the "monotonous and 
 senseless" waltz now reverberated dully in tlic 
 distance, now were wafted by in sharp gusts ; the 
 merry ball-music agitated me heavily and mourn- 
 fully. " Can it be," — I thought, — " that this wo- 
 man is the same who appeared to me once on a 
 time in the window of that little country house 
 far away, in all the splendour of triumphant 
 beauty? . . . ." And yet, time seemed not to 
 have touched her. The lower part of her face, un- 
 concealed by the lace of her mask, was of almost 
 childish delicacy; but a chill emanated from her, 
 as from a statue. . . . Galatea had returned to 
 her pedestal, and would descend from it no more. 
 
 wSuddenly she drew herself up, darted a glance 
 into the next room, and rose. 
 
 " (iive me your arm," — she said to me. " Let us 
 go away ([uickly, quickly." 
 
 We returned to the bfdl-rooni. She walked so 
 fast that I couhl barely keej) up with hei-. She 
 came to a standstill l)esi(le one oC the eohnnns. 
 
 " Let us wait here," — she whis|)ered. 
 
 197
 
 TIIKKE MEETINGS 
 
 " Are you looking for any one? "—I began. . . . 
 
 But slie paid no heed to me: her eager gaze was 
 fixed upon tlie jrowd. Languidly and menaeingly 
 did her great blaek eyes look forth from beneath 
 the black velvet. 
 
 1 turned in the direction of her gaze and un- 
 derstood eveiything. Along the corridor formed 
 by the row of columns and tlie wall, he was walk- 
 ing, that man whom I had met with her in the for- 
 est. I recognised him instantly: he had hardly 
 chano-ed at all. His golden-brown moustache 
 curled as handsomely as ever, his brown eyes 
 beamed with the same calm and self-confident 
 cheerfulness as of j'ore. He was walking without 
 haste, and, lightly bending his slender figure, was 
 narrating something to a woman in a domino, 
 whose arm was linked in his. As he came on a 
 level with us, he suddenly raised his head, looked 
 first at me, then at the woman with whom I was 
 standing, and probably recognised her eyes, for 
 his eyebrows quivered slightly, — he screwed up 
 his eyes, and a barely perceptible, but intolerably 
 insolent smile hovered over his lips. He bent 
 down to Ins (•onii)anion, and whispered a couple 
 of words in lier ear; she immediately glanced 
 round, her blue eves hastilv scanned us both, and 
 with a soft laugh she menaced him with her little 
 hand He slightly slirugged one shoulder, she 
 nestled up to him cocjuettishiy. . . . 
 
 1 turned to my Knknown. She was gazing 
 
 1J)8
 
 I'lIKKK MKKTIXCiS 
 
 after the receding pair, and suddenly, tearing her 
 arm from mine, she rushed toward the door. I 
 was alxnit to dasli after her; lint turning round, 
 she gave me sucli a look that I made lier a ])ro- 
 found how. and remained wliere I was. T under- 
 stood tliat to pursue her would he ])oth rude and 
 stupid. 
 
 " Tell me, please, my dear fellow,"— I said, 
 half an hour later, to one of my friends — the 
 living directory of Petershurg: — " who is that 
 tall, handsome gentleman with a moustache? " 
 
 " That ( . . . that is some foreigner or other, 
 a rather enio-matic individual, who verv rarelv 
 makes his appearance on our horizon. AVhy do 
 you ask ? " 
 
 " Oh, hecause! " . . . . 
 
 I returned home. Since that time I have never 
 met my Unknown anywhere. Had I known the 
 name of the man whom she loved, I might, prob- 
 ably, have found out, eventually, who she was, 
 but I myself did not desire that. I have said 
 above that that woman appeared to me like a 
 dream-vision — and like a dream-vision she went 
 past and vanished forever. 
 
 100
 
 i
 
 MUMtJ 
 
 (1852)
 
 1
 
 MUMlJ 
 
 IN one of the remote streets of IMoscow, in a 
 grey house with white pillars, an entresol, and 
 a crooked balcony, dwelt in former days a well- 
 born lady, a widow, surrounded })y numerous do- 
 mestics. Her sons were in the seryice in Peters- 
 burg, her daughters were married; she rarely 
 went out into society, and was liying out tlie last 
 years of a miserly and tedious old age in solitude. 
 Her day, cheerless and stormy, was long since 
 over; but her eyening also was blacker than niglit. 
 Among the ranks of her menials, the most re- 
 markable person was the yard-porter, Gerasim, 
 a man six feet five inches in height, built like an 
 epic hero, and a deaf-nmte from his l)ii'th. His 
 mistress had taken him from the yillage, where 
 he lived alone, in a tiny cottage, a])art from his 
 brethren, and was considered tlie most ])unctual 
 of the taxable serfs. Kndowcd witli reinarkable 
 strength, he did the work oi* four ])ersons. Mat- 
 ters made progress in his hands, and it was a 
 cheerful sight to watch liim when he |)l()uglR'(l 
 and, applying his huge hands to the j)rimitiv(' 
 nlough, seemed to be carving (![)e!» the elastic 
 
 203
 
 lH)S()in of IIr' viiv\h alone, without tlic aid of 
 his Httle nag; or about St. Peter's Day' wield- 
 ing the seythe so shatteriFigly that he might 
 even luiN e hewn off a voung hireh-wood from its 
 roots; or threshing briskly and nni'emittingly 
 with a chain seven feet in length, while the firm, 
 oblong muscles on his shoulders rose and fell like 
 levers. His uninterrupted muteness imparted to 
 his indefatigable labour a grave solemnity. He 
 was a splendid peasant, and had it not been for 
 his infirmity, any maiden would willingly have 
 married him. . . . But Genisim was brought to 
 ^NFoscow, ])oots were bought for him, a broom and 
 a shovel were ])ut into his hand, and he was ap- 
 pointed to be the yard-])orter. 
 
 At first he felt a violent dislike for his new 
 life. From his childhood he had been accustomed 
 to field-labour, to country life. Set apart by his J 
 infirmity fVom communion with his fellow-men, 
 he had grown up dumb and mighty, as a tree 
 grows on fruitful soil. . . . Trans])orted to the 
 town, he did not understand what was happening 
 to him; — he felt bored and puzzled, as a healthy 
 young bull is ])uzzled when he has just been taken 
 from the pasture, where the grass grew up to his 
 belly, — when he has been taken, and ])laced in a 
 rail way- wagon. — and, lo, with his robust body en- 
 \'elo))e(l now ^vith smoke and s])arks, again with. 
 l»illo\\s of steam, he is drawn headlong onward, 
 
 1 June 29 (O. S.)-July 13 (X. S.).-Thansi^tou. 
 
 204,
 
 MUMU 
 
 drawn v\'itli ruinblc and squeaking", and whitlier 
 — God only knows! (ienisini's occupations in his 
 new employment seemed to him a mere farce 
 after his onerous labours as a peasant: in half an 
 hour he had finished evervthini>-. and he was 
 again standing in the middle of tlie eom'tyai'd and 
 staring, open-mouthed, at all the passers-by. as 
 though desii'ous of obtaining from tliem the so- 
 lution oi' his enigmatic situation; or he would 
 suddenly go off' to some corner and, flinging his 
 broom or his shovel far from him, Mould throw 
 himself on the ground face downward, and lie 
 motionless on his breast for whole hours at a time, 
 like a captured wild beast. 
 
 But man grows accustomed to everything, and 
 Crerasim got used, at last, to town life! He 
 had not much to do; his entire duty consisted in 
 keeping the courtyard clean, fetching a cask of 
 water twice a day, hauling and chopping up 
 wood for the kitchen and house, ^ and in not ad- 
 mitting strangers, and keeping watch at night. 
 And it must be said that he discharged his duty 
 with zeal; not a chip was ever strewn about his 
 courtyard, nor anv dirt; if in muddv wcatluT 
 the broken-winded nag for hauling w ater and tiu- 
 barrel entrusted to his care got stranded any- 
 where, all he had to do Avas to apply his shoulder, 
 
 ' I'ormcrly ill Mosrow houses were obliged to ari tlicir w.itcr in 
 l)arrels on wheels fnnii the river or from publii- foiintaiiis. Hireh- 
 wood is still used lor eookinp: and heatiuf;:. -Tkansi^vtou. 
 
 20.)
 
 — and not only the cart, but the liorse also, would 
 he pried from the spot. If lie undertook to eho]) 
 wood, his axe would ring like glass, and splinters 
 and billets would flv in every direction; and as 
 for strangers — after lie had, one night, caught 
 two thieves, and had banged their heads together, 
 and mauled them so that there was no necessity 
 for taking them to the police-station afterward, 
 every one in the neighbourhood began to respect 
 him greatly, and even by day, passers-by who were 
 not in the least rascals, but sipiply strangers to 
 him, at the sight of the ominous yard-porter, 
 would brandish their arms as though in self-de- 
 fence, and shout at him as though he were able 
 to hear their cries. 
 
 With all the other domestics Gerasim sustained 
 relations which were not exactly friendly, — they 
 were afraid of him, — but gentle; he regarded 
 them as members of the family. They expressed 
 their meaning to him h\ signs, and he imder- 
 stood them, accurately executed all orders, but 
 :new his own rights also, and no one dared to 
 take his seat at table. On the whole, Gerasim 
 was of stern and serious dis])ositi()n, and was fond 
 of orderliness in all things; even tlie cocks did not 
 venture to fight in his presence— but if they did, 
 woe be to them! if he cauglit sight of them, he 
 would instantly seize them by the legs, whirl 
 them round like a w^heel half a score of times in the 
 air, and hurl them in npijosite directions. There 
 
 20G
 
 MUMU 
 
 were geese also in liis lady inistress's eourtyard, 
 but a goose, as every one knows, is a serious and 
 sensible bird; (ienisini felt res])eet for tbeni, 
 tended tlieni, and fed tbeni; be biniself bore a 
 reseniblanee to a stately gander. 
 
 lie was allotted a tiny ebaniber over tbe 
 kiteben; be arranged it biniself after bis own 
 taste, eonstrueted a bed of oaken ])lanks on four 
 bloeks — truly a bed fit for an epic bero; a bun- 
 dred puds ^ migbt bave been loaded upon it, — 
 it would not bave given way. Under tbe bed 
 Mas a stout cbest; in one corner stood a small table 
 of tbe same sturd}^ quality, and beside tbe table 
 a tbree-legged cbair, and so firm and squatty tbat 
 Gerasim bimself would pick it up, dro]) it, and 
 grin. Tbis little den was fastened witb a pad- 
 lock wbieb suggested a kaldtch - in sba])e, oidy 
 black ; Gerasim always carried tbe key to tbis lock 
 witb bim, in bis belt. He was not fond of baving 
 people come into bis room. 
 
 In tbis manner a year passed, at tbe end of 
 wbieb a small incident bap])ened to Gerasim. 
 
 Tbe old gentlewoman witb wliom be lived as 
 yar(l-])orter in all tbings followed tbe ancient 
 customs, and kept a numerous train of domestics; 
 sbe bad in ber bouse not only laundresses, seam- 
 stresses, carpenters, tailors, and dressmakers, but 
 
 ^ A pud is about thirty-six pounds, English. —Tuansi^vtou. 
 -' A peculiarly shaped and delicious wheaten roll, whicli is made 
 particidarly well in Moscow. —Tiiansi.atou. 
 
 •207
 
 MUMU 
 
 also one saddler, who set up to be a veterinary and 
 a medical man for the servants as well (there 
 was a house-physician for the mistress), and, in 
 conclusion, there was a shoemaker, by the name 
 of Kapiton Klimoff, a bitter drunkard. Klimoff 
 regarded himself as an injui-ed ])eing and not 
 appreciated at his ti-ne \alue. a cultured man 
 used to the ways of the capital, who ought not 
 to live in ^Moscow, without occupation, in a sort of 
 desert spot, and if he drank, — as he himself ex- 
 pressed it, with j^auses between his words, and 
 thumping himself on the bi*east, — he drank in re- 
 ality from grief. One dav he was under discus- 
 sion by the mistress and her head butlei-. Gavrila, 
 a man who would seem, from his little yellow 
 eyes and his duck's-bill nose, to have been desig- 
 nated by Fate itself us a commanding person- 
 age. The mistress was complaining about the 
 depraved morals of Kapiton. who had been 
 picked up somewhere in the street only the night 
 l^efore. 
 
 " AVell, Gavrila," — she suddenly remarked: — 
 " shall not we many him ^ \Vliat dost thou think 
 about it? Perhaps that will steady him." 
 
 " AVhy should n't we many him, ma'am ^ It 
 can be done, ma'am," — replied (iavrila; — " and it 
 would even be a very good thing." 
 
 " Yes; only who would many him?" 
 
 "Of course, ma'am. However, as yon like, 
 ma'am. He can always be put to some use, so to 
 
 208
 
 Mi'Mr 
 
 speak; you would n't reject liirn out of any ten 
 
 men." 
 
 "I think he hkes Tatyana?" 
 
 (ravri'la was al)<)ut to make some re])ly. l)ut 
 compressed liis lips. 
 
 " Yes! . . . let him woo Tatyana," — the mis- 
 tress announced her decision, as she took a pinch 
 of snufF with satisfaction: — " dost liear me? " 
 
 " I obey, ma'am." — enunciated Gavrila, and 
 withdrcAv. 
 
 On returning to his chamber (it was situated 
 in a wing, and was almost completely filled with 
 A\rought-iron coffers) , Gavrila first sent away his 
 wife, and then seated liimself by the window, and 
 became engrossed in meditation. The mistress's 
 sudden command had evidently dazed him. At 
 last he rose, and ordered Kapiton to be called. 
 Kapiton presented himself. . . . Rut before we 
 ]"epeat their conversation to the reader, we con- 
 sider it not superfluous to state, in a few words, 
 \vho this Tatyana was. whom Kapiton was to 
 marry, and why his mistress's command had dis- 
 concerted the major-domo. 
 
 Tatyana, who, as we have said above, served 
 as laundress (but, in her (juality of ex]3ert and 
 well-trained laundress, slie was given only the 
 delicate linen) ,was a woman of eight-and-twenty, 
 small, thin, fair-haired, with moles on her left 
 cheek. Moles on the left cheek are regarded as a 
 bad sign in Russia — as the presage of an unhappy 
 
 200
 
 life. . . . Tatyana could not boast of her luck. 
 From early youth she had been ill-treated; she 
 had ^^•orked for two, and had neyer receiyed any 
 caresses; she was badly clothed; she receiyed tlie 
 \vx\ smallest of wa(>es: she had ])ractically no 
 i-elatiyes; an old butlei- in the \ illage \\\\v> had been 
 discharged for uselessness was her uncle, and 
 her other uncles were common peasants, — that is 
 all. At one time she had been a beauty, but her 
 beauty soon left her. She was of extremely meek, 
 or, to put it more accurately, frightened disposi- 
 tion, felt the most complete indifference for her- 
 self, and was deadly afraid of other peo])le. Her 
 sole thought was as to how she might finish her 
 work by the appointed time. She neyer talked 
 with any one, and she trembled at the mere men- 
 tion of the mistress's name, although she hardly 
 knew her by sight. 
 
 When Gerasim was brou.ght from the country, 
 she almost swooned with terror at tlie sight of his 
 luige form, used all ])ossible efforts to avoid meet- 
 ing him, and eyen screwed up her eyes when she 
 was obliged to run past him, as she scurried from 
 the house to the laundry. At first, Gerasim paid 
 no special attention to her, then he began to laugh 
 when she crossed his path; then he began to gaze 
 at her with pleasure, and at last he neyer took his 
 eyes from her. Whether he had taken a liking 
 to her because of her gentle expression of coun- 
 tenance, or of the timidity of her movements — 
 
 210
 
 MUMU 
 
 God knows! And behold, one day, as she was 
 making her way across the conrtyard, cantioiisly 
 elevating' on her outspread fingers a starelicd 
 wrapper belonging to her mistress . . . someone 
 suddenly grasped her hy tlie elbow; she turned 
 round and fairly screamed aloud : behind her stood 
 Gerasim. I^aughing stu})idly, and bellowing af- 
 fectionately, he was offering her a gingerbread 
 cock with gold tinsel on its tail and wings. She 
 tried to refuse it, but he thrust it forcibly straight 
 into her hand, nodded his head, walked away, and, 
 turning roiuid, bellowed once more something of 
 a verv friendly nature to her. From that dav 
 forth he gave her no peace; \\herever she went, 
 he immediately came to meet her, smiled, bel- 
 lowed, waved his hands, suddenly drew a ribbon 
 from his breast and thrust it into her hand, and 
 cleaned the dust away in fi-ont of hei- \\ ith his 
 broom. 
 
 The poor girl siniply did not know how to take 
 it or what to do. The whole household speedily 
 found out about the ])ranks of the dunii) yard- 
 porter; jeers, jests, stinging remarks showered 
 down on Tatyjina. l?ut none of them could bring 
 himself to i-idieule Cienisim; the latter was not 
 fond of jests; and tliey k't hei- alone iii his ])res- 
 ence. AVilly-nilly the girl became his protegee. 
 Like all deaf and dumb people, he was very ])er- 
 spicacious, and understood perfectly \rell when 
 the}' were laughing at him or at her. One day, 
 
 211
 
 MUMU 
 
 at dinner, the keeper of the hnen, Tatyana's chief, 
 undertook, as the saying is, to banter her, and 
 carried it to sucli a pitch that tlie hitter, ])()()r 
 creature, did not know where to look, and ahnost 
 wept with vexation. Gerasim suddenly rose hali'- 
 wav, stretched out his enormous hand, laid it on 
 the head of the keeper of the linen, and glared 
 into her face with such ferocity that tlie latter 
 fairly bent over the table. All fell silent, (iera- 
 sini picked up his spoon again, and went on 
 eating his cabbage-soup. '' Just see that dumb 
 devil, that forest fiend!" all muttered under 
 their breaths, and the keeper of the linen rose 
 and went off to the maids' room. On anotliei- oc- 
 casion, observing that Kapiton — that same Kapi- 
 ton of whom we have just been speaking— was 
 chatting in rather too friendly a mannei- witli Ta- 
 tyana, Gerasim beckoned the man to him, led liim 
 awa}' to the carriage-house, and seizing by its end 
 a shaft wliich was standing in the corner, lie men- 
 aced liim slightly but significantly with it. From 
 that time forth no one dared to address a word 
 to Tatyjina. And all this ran smoothly in his 
 hands. Xo sooner had the linen-keeper, it is true, 
 run into the maids' hall than she fell down in a 
 swoon, and altogether behaved in such an artful 
 manner, that on that very same day she brought 
 to the knowledge of the mistress (ienisim's rude 
 behaviour; but the cai)ricious old lady merely 
 laughed several times, to the extreme offence of 
 
 212
 
 ]\IUMM 
 
 her liiien-keepci-, inadc hvv repeal, ' W'lial didst 
 thou say? Did lie bend thee down witli his lieavv 
 hand;*" and on tlie following" day sent a silver 
 ruble to Cienisim. She favoured him as a faithful 
 and powerful watchman. Gerasim held her in 
 decided awe, but, nevertheless, he trusted in her 
 graciousness, and was making ready to betake 
 himself to her with the request that she would 
 permit him to marry Tatyana. lie was only 
 M'aiting for the new kaftan promised him by the 
 major-domo, in order that he might present him- 
 self before his mistress in decent shape, when sud- 
 denly this same mistress took into her head the 
 idea of marrying Tai:yana to Kapiton. 
 
 The reader will now be able readily to under- 
 stand the cause of the perturbation which seized 
 upon Gavrila, the major-domo, after his conver- 
 sation with his mistress. " The mistress," — he 
 thought, as he sat by the window, — " of course, 
 favours Gerasim " (this was well known to Ga- 
 vrila, and therefore he also showed indulgence 
 to him) ; " still, he is a dumb brute. I can't in- 
 I'orm the mistress that Cxcrasim is courting Ta- 
 tyana. And, after all, 't is just; what sort of a 
 husband is he? And, on the other hand, Lord for- 
 give! for just as soon as that forest fiend finds 
 out that Tatyana is to be married to Ka})iton, 
 he '11 smash everything in the house, by Heaven 
 he will! For you can't reason with him yon 
 can't prevail upon him, the devil that he is, in any 
 
 213
 
 way whatsoever — sinful man tliat I am to have 
 said so wicked a thing .... tliat 's so! " . . . . 
 
 The appearance of Kapiton hroke the thread 
 of Gavrila's mechtations. Tiie giddy-pated shoe- 
 maker entered, threw his liands heiiind liim, and, 
 leaning up against a j)i-()jeeting corner of the 
 wall near the door, in a free-and-easv way he 
 stuck his right leg crosswise in front of the left 
 and shook his liead, as much as to say: " Here I 
 am. What 's yoin- will?" 
 
 Gavrila looked at Kapiton and began to drum 
 on the jamb of the window \v\i\\ his fingers. 
 Kapiton merely narrowed his leaden eyes a hit, 
 but did not lower them, even smiled slightly and 
 passed his hand over his whitish hair, which stood 
 out in disarray in all directions, as much as to say : 
 " Well, yes, 't is I. What are you staring for? " 
 
 " Good," — said Gavrila, and ])aused for a 
 space. 
 
 " Thou 'rt a nice one," — remarked Gavrila, and 
 paused awhile. — " A nice person, there 's no de- 
 nying that! " 
 
 Kapiton merely shrugged his shoulders. " And 
 art thou any better, pray? " he said to himself. 
 
 " Come, now, just look at thyself; come, look," 
 — went on Gavrila reprovingly;—" Well, art not 
 thou ashamed of thyself? " 
 
 Kapiton surveyed with a calm glance his 
 threadbare and tattered coat and his ])atched 
 trousers, scanned with particular attention his 
 
 21'4
 
 MUMU 
 
 shoes perforated witli lioles, e.si)eeially llie our 
 on whose toe his right foot rested in so (huuhfied 
 a manner, and again fixed his eyes on tlie nia.ior- 
 donio. 
 
 "What of it, sirT' 
 
 " What of it, sir? " — repeated Gavrila. — 
 " What of it, sir i And thon sayest : ' AVliat of it, 
 sir? ' to boot! Thon lookest hke the devil, — Lord 
 forgive me, sinful man that I am, — that 's what 
 thou lookest like." 
 
 Kapiton winked his little eyes briskly. 
 
 " Curse away, curse away, Gavrila Andreitch," 
 he thought to himself. 
 
 " Thou hast been drunk again, apparently," — 
 began Gavrila; — "drunk again, surely? Hey? 
 Come, answer." 
 
 " Owing to the feebleness of my health, I have 
 succumbed to spirituous beverages, in fact," — 
 returned Kapiton. 
 
 " Owing to feebleness of health? .... Thou 
 art not whipped enough, that 's what; and thou 
 hast served thine apprenticeship in Peter ^ to boot. 
 . . . ^Nluch thou didst learn in thine apprentice- 
 ship! Thou dost nothing but eat the bread of 
 idleness." 
 
 " In that case, Gavrila Andreitch, I have but 
 one judge, — the Lord God Himself, and no one 
 else. He alone knows what sort of a man I am 
 in this world, niid whether T r6allv do eat the bread 
 
 ^ St. Petcrshur^'-. — TiiANsi..vrou.
 
 MLxMU 
 
 ol' idkiicss. And as for thy refitctions concern- 
 ing" drunkenness, — in that case also I am not to 
 hhinie, hut rather one of my eonu'ades; for he 
 led me astray, and after he had aceom])lished his 
 crafty [)urpose, he went away; that is to say, 
 
 " xVnd thou didst remain hehind, thou <4"0()se, in 
 the street. ^Vkh, thou dissolute man! \Vell. but 
 that 's not the point," — Avent on the major-domo, 
 — " but this. The mistress . . . ." here he 
 paused for a moment, — " it is the mistress's 
 pleasure that thou shouldst marry. Hearest 
 thou? She thinks that thou wilt grow steady 
 when thou art married. 13ost understand ? " 
 
 " How can I help understanding, sir^ " 
 
 " Well, yes. In my o])inion, 't would be better 
 to take thee firndy in hand. Well, but that \s her 
 affair. How now^ Dost thou consents " 
 
 Kapiton displayed his teeth in a grin. 
 
 " ^Marriage is a good thing for a man, Gavrila 
 Andreitch: and I, on my part, agree with very 
 great })leasure." 
 
 " AN'ell. yes," — returned Gavrila. and thought 
 to himself: — " there \s no denying it, the man 
 talks with exactness." — " Only, see here," — he 
 went on, aloud:—" an inconvenient bride has been 
 jjicked out for thee." 
 
 " AVho is she, })ermit me to inquire? "... 
 1 atyana. 
 latvanaf 
 
 21G
 
 MTMI 
 
 Ai\d Kapilons eyes i'airly popped out of his 
 head, and he started away from the wall. 
 
 " Well, what art thou scared at? ... Is n't 
 siie to thy tasted ' 
 
 "To my lasle. forsooth, (Tavrila iVndreiteh! 
 Tlic girl herself is all ri<4ht; she "s a <i()od worker, 
 a meek lass. . . . Hut you know yourself, (ia- 
 vrila iVndreiteh, that that forest fiend, that spec- 
 tre of the steppes, is courting" her, you know . . . ." 
 
 " I know, hrother, I know all," — the major- 
 domo interru])te(l him, with vexation: — " hut, 
 seest thou . . . ." 
 
 " But, good gracious, Gavrila Andreitch! why, 
 he 11 nun-der me; hy Heaven, he '11 murder me, 
 he 11 mash me like a flv! \Vhv, he has a hand— 
 just look for yourself wliat a hand he has: why, 
 he simply has the hand of Minin and Po/harsky.' 
 For he 's deaf, he 11 kill me, and not hear that 
 he is killing! He flourishes his huge fists exactly 
 as though he were asleep. And there 's no pos- 
 sil)ility of stopping him. AVhy^ Because, you 
 know yourself, (iavrila Andreitch, he s deaf, 
 and stupid as an owl into the hargain. \Vhy, he 's 
 a sort of wild heast, a heathen idol, (Tavrila An- 
 dreitch, — worse than an idol ... he 's a .sort of 
 aspen-hlock: why should I now suffer from him? 
 
 ^ Miiiin, the burgher of N'fzhni \()Vfrorod, .iihI l^iiicc Pozhfirsky, 
 who led the Uiissiaiis ag.-iinst the iiivadinji- Toles in Kii .', and expelled 
 them from Russia. Their expulsion was followed by the eleetion to 
 the throne of the first Roni.anoff Tzar, Mikliail Feddorovit<-h.— Trans- 
 i.Aion. 
 
 217
 
 ^\\y\v 
 
 Of course nothing matters to me now; 1 liave en- 
 dured, 1 have practised patience, I have smeared 
 myself witli oil like a glazed Kolomna jug, — all 
 the same. T 'ni a man, and not some sort of insig- 
 nificant }uy^, as a mattci" of fact." 
 
 " 1 know. I know, dont give a description. . . ." 
 " O Lord, my (rod! '' — went on the shoemaker, 
 hotlv: — "when will the end come^ When, O 
 Lord ! I 'm a miserable wretch, a hopeless wretch. 
 'T is fate, my fate, when you come to think of 
 it! In mv younger years I was thi-ashed by a 
 German master: in the best period of my life 
 I was beaten by my own brother; and at last, in 
 
 m.' ^- 
 
 my riper j'ears, to what have I come ? . . ." 
 
 " Ekh, limp linden-bast soul! " — said Gavrila. 
 — " Why dost thou dilate on the matter, really, 
 now f 
 
 " AVhat do you mean by ' why,' Gavrila Andre- 
 itch? I 'm not afraid of blows, Gavrila Andre- 
 itch. Ijtt the master thrash me within doors, but 
 give me a greeting before folks, and still I 'm 
 numbered among men: but in this case, from 
 whom must I . . . ." 
 
 "Come, now, begone! " — Gavrila interrupted 
 him, im])atient]y. 
 
 Kapiton turned and took himself off. 
 
 "And supposing there were no question of 
 him," — shouted Die major-domo after him; — 
 " do.st thou consent?" 
 
 •218 
 
 I
 
 INIUMU 
 
 " T announce my assent," — replied Kapiton, 
 and lu relied out of the room. 
 
 His eloquence did not abandon him even in ex- 
 tremities. 
 
 The major-domo paced the length of the room 
 several times. 
 
 " AVell, now summon Tatyana/' — he said at 
 last. 
 
 In a few moments Tatyana entered almost in- 
 audihly, and halted on the threshold. 
 
 " A¥hat is your command, Gavrila Andreitch? " 
 — she said in a quiet voice. 
 
 The major-domo gazed tixedly at her. 
 
 " Come," — said he, — " Taniusha, wouldst thou 
 like to marry?" The mistress has hunted up a 
 bridegroom 'it^x thee." 
 
 I obey, (ravrila Andreitch. Hut who has 
 been ap|)ointed as my bridegroom^ " — she added 
 with hesitation. 
 
 " Kapiton, the shoemaker." 
 
 " I obey, sir." 
 
 "He is a reckless man — that "s a fact. But 
 the mistress pins her ]u)])es on thee in that re- 
 spect." 
 
 1 obey, sir. 
 
 " It 's a pity al)out one thing: .... tliere \s 
 that deaf man, Garaska, who 's ])aying court to 
 thee. And how hast thou bewitclied that bear? I 
 do believe he '11 kill thee, the bear that he is. . . ." 
 
 210
 
 MUMtr 
 
 " lie will, Gavrila Aiulreitch, he '11 infallibly 
 kill nie." 
 
 " He will. . . . Well, we '11 see about that. 
 \Miat makes thee say, " He '11 kill me ( Has he 
 the right to kill thee, pray? Judge for thyself." 
 
 " ^Vhy, I don't know, Gavrila Andreiteh, whe- 
 tiier he has a ri<>'ht or not." 
 
 " What a girl! 1 suppose thou hast not made 
 him any promise. . . ." 
 
 " What do you mean, sir? " 
 
 The major-domo ])aiised for a A\hile, and 
 thought : 
 
 "Thou art a meek soul!" — "Well, very 
 good," — he added: "we will have another talk 
 about it, and now, go thv wav, Tatvana: I see 
 that thou really art an obedient girl." 
 
 Tatyana turned, leaned lightly against the 
 door-jamb, and left the ro.om. 
 
 " But perha])s the mistress will have forgotten 
 about this wedding by to-morrow," — meditated 
 the major-domo. " AVHiy have 1 been alarmed? 
 ^Ve 11 ])ini()n that insolent fellow if he makes 
 any tiouble — we '11 send word to the ])oliee. . . . 
 I'stinya Feodorovna! " — he shouted in a loud 
 A oiee to his wife, " prepare the samovar, njy good 
 ^voman. . . ." 
 
 All that day, Tatyana hardly quitted the laun- 
 dry. At first slie wept, then she wi])ed away her 
 tears, and set to work as of yore. Ka})iton sat un- 
 til the dead of night in a drinking establishment 
 
 220
 
 :\ruisru 
 
 with a IViciul ol' gloomy a.s[)ccl, aiul luiiralcd to 
 him in detail how lie had lived in Peter with a 
 eertaiii gentleman who had everything that heart 
 eould desii'e, a!id was a great stieklei- for ordei', 
 and withal pei-mitted himsell' one little delin- 
 (jueney: he was wont to get awf'nily f'nddled, and 
 as for the I'eminine sex. he sim))ly had all the 
 (jnalities to attraet. . .His gloomy eonirade 
 merely expressetl assent: hnt when Kapi'to?! an- 
 nonneed, at last, that, owing to certain eirenm- 
 stances, he mnst lay violent hands upon himself 
 on the morrow, the gloomy conn-ade remarked 
 that it was time to go to hed. And they parted 
 churlishly, and in silence. 
 
 Jn the meantime, the major-domo's expecta- 
 tions were not realised. The idea of Kai)iton\s 
 M'edding had so captivated the mistress, that even 
 during the night she had talked of nothing else 
 with one of her com])anions, whom she kept in the 
 house •solely in case of sleeplessness, and who, 
 like night cahmen, slept hy day. When Gavrila 
 entered her room after tea with his re])ort, her 
 first question was: 
 
 " And how about our wedding? " 
 
 He replied, of course, that it was progressing 
 famously, and that Ka])iton would i)resent him- 
 self to her that same day to thank her. 
 
 The mistress was slightly indisposed: she did 
 not occupy herself long with hnsiness. The 
 major-domo returned to his own I'oom and called 
 
 221
 
 Ml.Ml^ 
 
 a council. The matter rcall\' did retjuirc partic- 
 ular consideration. Tatvana did not make any 
 objection, of course; but Ka])iton declared, in the 
 hearin<>- oi' all, that he had but one head, and not 
 two oi" tlu-ee lieads. . . . Gcnisim i»azed surlily 
 and swil'tly at e\erybody, ne\er left the maids' 
 porch, and, apparently, divined that something 
 unpleasant for him was brewing. The assembled 
 company (among them ^vas ])resent the old butler, 
 nicknamed Uncle Tail, to whom all res])ectfully 
 turned for advice, although all tlie\- heard from 
 him was " Yes! yes! yes! ves!") began, by wav 
 of precaution, for safety, by locking Kapiton up 
 in the lumber-room witli the filtering-machine 
 and set to thinking hard. Of course, it was easy 
 to resort to force; but God forbid! there would 
 be a row, the mistress would get uneasy — and a 
 calamity would ensue! What was to be done? 
 
 They thought and thought, and eventually they 
 hit upon something. It had been repeate(Hy no- 
 ticed that Gerasim could not abide intoxicated 
 persons. . . . As he sat at the gate, he turned 
 away angrily whenever any man ^\ ith a load of 
 drink aboard passed him with unsteady steps, and 
 the visor of his ca]) over his ear. They decided 
 to instruct Tatyana to ])retend to be intoxicated, 
 and to walk past (rcrjisim reeling and staggering. 
 The pool- girl would not consent for a long time, 
 l)ut tiuy ])revailed upon her; moreover, she her- 
 self saw that otherwise she would not be able to 
 
 999
 
 ^cl rid ol' lic'i" adorer. Slic did it. Ivapilon was 
 released from the liiinber-rooni; the affair eoii- 
 ceriied liiin, anyhow. Gerasini was sitting on the 
 guard-stone at the gate and jabbing the ground 
 with liis shovel. . . . There were j^eople staring 
 at him from round all the corners, from behind 
 the window-shades. . . . 
 
 The ruse was completely successful. When 
 first he caught sight of Tatyana, he nodded his 
 head with an affectionate bellow; then he took 
 a closer look, dro])ped his shovel, S2:)rang to his 
 feet, stepped up to her, put liis face close down 
 to her face. . . She reeled worse than ever with 
 terror, and closed her eves. . . . He seized her bv 
 the arm, dashed the whole length of the courtyard, 
 and entering the room where the council was in 
 session with her, he thrust her straight at Kapiton. 
 Tatyana was fairly swooning. . . . Gerasim stood 
 there, glared at her, Avaved his hand, laughed, and 
 departed, clumping heavily to bis little den. . . . 
 For four-and-twenty hours he did not emerge 
 thence. Antipka, the postilion, related afterward 
 how, peeping through a crack, he had beheld 
 Gerasim seated on his bed, with his head resting 
 on his hand, quietly, peaceably, and only bellow- 
 ing from time to time; then he would rock him- 
 self to and fro, cover his eves, and shake his 
 head, as ])ostilions or stevedores do when they 
 strike up their melancholy chanteys. iVnti])ka 
 was frightened, and he retreated from the crack. 
 
 223
 
 .AIIMU 
 
 Hiil wlitn, on tlic rollowln*^' day, G«mslni 
 emerged from liis den, no particular eliange was 
 iiotieealile in him. He merely seemed to liave 
 heeome more surly, and paid not the slightest at- 
 tention to Tatyana and Kapiton. On that same 
 evening, hoth of them, with geese under theii" 
 arms, wended theii" way to the misti'ess, and a 
 week later they were married. On the wedding- 
 day itself, (ierasim did not alter his demeanour 
 in the slightest degree; only, he returned from 
 the river without water: somehow , he had smashed 
 tlie cask on Ihe I'oad ; and at night, in the stahle, 
 he so y.ealously curried his horse that the animal 
 reeled like a hlade of grass in a gale, and shifted 
 from foot to foot under his iron fists. 
 
 AH this took ])lace in the spring. ^Vnother 
 year passed, in tlie course of which Ka])fton finally 
 hecame a thorough-going drunkard, and as a man 
 utterly unfit for anything, was des])atched with 
 the train of freight-sledges to a distant \illage, 
 togetlier with his wife. On the day of departure 
 he made a great show of coui-age at first, and de- 
 clared that, no niatter where they might send him, 
 even to the j)lace where the ])easant-wives wasli 
 shirts and put their clothes-heaters in the sky, he 
 would not come to gi'ief: ])nt afterwai'd he he- 
 came low-sj)ii'ite(l, hegan to complain that he was 
 heing taken to uncivilised peo])le, and finally 
 weakened to such a degree thai he was unahle even 
 to put his own cap on his head. Some compas- 
 
 22Jj
 
 MUISIU 
 
 sioiuite soul j)iillecl it down on his brow, ad.justed 
 the visor, and l)ani>c'd it down on toj). iVnd wlicn 
 all was ready, and the peasants were already 
 
 I * * 
 
 holding' the reins in their hands, and oidy waitin«>* 
 for the word: " AVith (xod's hlessin<>! " Cxerasini 
 emerged from his tiny ehamber, a])])roaehed Ta- 
 tyana, and piesented her with a souvenir con- 
 sisting of a red cotton kerchief, which he had 
 bought ex[)ressly for her a year before. Tatyana, 
 who up to that moment had borne all the vicissi- 
 tudes of her life with great ecjuanimity, could hold 
 out no longer, and then and there burst into tears, 
 and, as she took her seat in the cart, exchanged 
 three kisses with Gerasim, in Christian fashion.^ 
 He wanted to escort her to the town barrier, and 
 at first walked alongside her cart, but suddenly 
 iialted at the Crimean Ford, waved his hand and 
 directed his steps along the river. 
 
 This happened toward evening. lie walked 
 quietly, and stared at the water. Suddenly it 
 seemed to him as though something were floun- 
 dering in the ooze close to the bank. He bent 
 down, and behcltl a small pui)py, white witli black 
 spots, which, despite all its endea\()urs, utterly 
 unable to crawl out of the water, was struggling, 
 sli})ping, and (juivering all over its wet, gaunt 
 little body. Gerasim gazed at the unfortunate 
 ])up})y, picked it u]) with one hand, thrust it into 
 his breast, and set out with great strides home- 
 
 ^These kisses are bestowed on tlir tlK-eks, alternately.— Tkansi^tor. 
 
 '1-15
 
 MU.ML 
 
 Avard. He entered his little den. laid tlic reseued 
 puppy on his bed, covered it with liis heavy coat, 
 ran first to the stable for straw, then to the 
 kitchen for a cup of milk. Cautiously thr6wing 
 back the coat and spreading out the straw, he 
 jjlaced the milk on the bed. The poor little dog 
 was only three weeks old ; it had only recently got 
 its eyes open, and one eye even appeared to be a 
 little larger than the other; it did not yet know 
 how to drink out of a cup, and merely trembled 
 and blinked. Gerasim grasped it lightly with 
 two fingers by the head, and bent its muzzle doMii 
 to the milk. The dog suddenly began to drink 
 greedily, snorting, shaking itself and la])ping. 
 Cierasim gazed and gazed, and then suddenly be- 
 gan to laugh. . . . iVll night he fussed over it, 
 put it to bed, wiped it off, and at last fell aslec]) 
 himself beside it in a joyous, tran(|uil slumber. 
 
 Xo mother tends her infant as (ierasim tended 
 his nursling. (The dog proved to be a bitch.) 
 In the beginning she was very weak, ])uny, and ill- 
 favoured, but little by little she improved in health 
 and looks, and at the end of eight months, thanks 
 to the indefatigable care of lier rescuer, she liad 
 turned into a very fair sort of a dog of wSj)anish 
 breed, with long ears, a feathery tail in the form 
 of a trumpet, and large, expressive eyes. She 
 attached herself passionately to Gerasim, never 
 left him by a pace, and was always followiiig him, 
 wagging liei- tail. And he had gi\en her a name, 
 
 22()
 
 Air MIT 
 
 too, — the chinib know llial tlicir bellow in^- attracts 
 other people's attention to them: — he ealled her 
 Mnnin. All tlie people in the house took a liking 
 to her, and also eaUed hci- dear Httle Mninn. 
 Slie was extremely intelligent. I'awned npon every 
 one. l)nt lo\ ed (renisim alone. (ieiVisim himself 
 loved her madly .... and it was disagreeable 
 to him wlien others stroked her: whether he was 
 afraid for her, or jealous of her— God knows! 
 She waked him up in the morning by tugging at 
 his coat-tails; she led to him by the reins the old 
 water-horse, with wliom she dwelt in great amity; 
 with importance de])icted on her face, she went 
 with him to the river; she stood ffuard over the 
 brooms and shovels, and allowed no one to enter 
 his room. He cut out an ajK'rture in his door 
 expressly for her, and she seemed to feel that only 
 in Gerasim's little den was she the full mistress, 
 and therefore, on entering it, with a look of satis- 
 faction, she immediately leaped upon the bed. At 
 night she did not slee]) at all, but she did not 
 bark without discernment, like a stupid watch- 
 dog, which, sitting on its haunches and elevating 
 its mu///le, and shutting its eyes, l)arks simply 
 out f)f tedium, at the stars, and usually three 
 times in succession; no! Alumii's shrill voice never 
 resounded without cause! Kither a stranger was 
 a])proaching too close to the fence, or some sus- 
 picious jioise or i-nstling had arisen somewhere. 
 ... In a word, she ke])t capital watch. 
 
 227
 
 MVMV 
 
 Truth to ttll. lliire was. in addition to her, an 
 old dog in the courtyai'd. yellow in hue speekled 
 with dark hrown, Pe<4-to{) hy name [Volichnk) ; 
 hut that doi»' was never unehained, ex tii l)y ni«>ht, 
 and he himself, owin^' to liis deere])itude, did 
 not demand freedom. l)ut lay there, eurled \\\) in 
 his kennel, and only no^^ and then emitted a 
 hoarse, almost soundless hark, whieh he immedi- 
 ately hroke off short, as thouoh himself conseious 
 of its utter futility. 
 
 ]Mumu did not enter the manor-house, and when 
 Gerasim carried wood to the rooms she always 
 remained hehind and impatiently awaited liini, 
 with ears prieked up, and her head turniuiJ- now 
 to the riffht, then suddenly to the left, at the 
 slightest noise indoors. . . . 
 
 In this manner still another year passed. Gera- 
 sim continued to discharge his avocations as yard- 
 jjorter and was very well satisfied with his lot, 
 when sudderdy an unexpected incident occurred. 
 . . . Namely, one fine summer day the mistress, 
 with her hangers-on, was walking ahout the draw- 
 ing-room. She Mas in good spirits, and was laugh- 
 ing and jesting; the hangers-on were laughing 
 and jesting also, hut felt no ])artieular mirth; the 
 people of the household were not very fond of see- 
 ing the mistress in merry mood. ])ecause, in the 
 iirst place, at such times she demanded instan- 
 taneous and com])lete symi)athy IVom every one, 
 and flew into a rage if ihei-e was a face which 
 
 228
 
 MUMU 
 
 did not beam witli satisfaction; and, in tlit* sec- 
 ond place, these fits did not last very lon^-, and 
 were generally succeeded by a gloomy and cross- 
 grained frame of mind. On that day, slie seemed 
 to have got uj) ha]>})ily; at cards, slie held four 
 knaves: the fulfilment of desire (she always told 
 fortunes with the cards in the morning), — and 
 her tea struck her as particularly delicious, in 
 consequence whereof the maid received ])raise in 
 words and ten kopeks in money. With a sweet 
 smile on her wrinkled lips, the lady of the house 
 strolled about her drawing-room and approached 
 the window. A flower-garden was laid out in 
 front of the window, and in the very middle of the 
 border, under a rose-bush, lay Mimui assiduously 
 gnawing a bone. The mistress caught sight of 
 her. 
 
 " ]My (rod!" — she suddenly exclaimed; — 
 " what dog is tliat? " 
 
 The hanger-on whom the mistress addressed 
 floundered, poor creature, with that ])ainful un- 
 easiness wliich generally takes possession of a 
 dependent person when he does not quite know 
 how he is to understand his su])erior's excla- 
 mation. 
 
 " 1 . . . (1 . . do .... on t know , ma am," 
 she stammered; " 1 think it belongs to the dumb 
 man." 
 
 '' jNIv (iod!" — liei" uiistfcss iiilrri-iii)t((i lirr: — 
 "why, it is a xvvy pi'elly dog! ()i(i(i- it to be 
 
 *■ *• i/
 
 MU^NIU 
 
 broii|^lit liitlicr. Has he had it loii^-^ TTow is it 
 that I liavt' not seen it before!' . . . Order it to 
 be brought liither.'' 
 
 The haimer-on ininie(hatelv fluttered out into 
 the anteroom. 
 
 " jNIan, man! " — she screamed, — " brint^' ^lumi'i 
 here at once! She is in the flower-garden." 
 
 " And so her name is ^Iimu'i," — said tlie mis- 
 tress; — "a very nice name." 
 
 " Alvh, very nice indeed, ma'am!" — replied 
 the dependent. — "Be quick, Stepan!" 
 
 Stepan, a sturdy young fellow, who served as 
 footman, rushed headlong to the garden and tried 
 to seize ]Mumu; but the latter cleverly slipped out 
 of his fingers, and elevating her tail, set off at 
 full gallop to Gerasim. who was in tlie kitchen 
 beating out and shaking out the water-cask, twirl- 
 ing it about in his hands like a child's drum. Ste- 
 pan ran after her, and tried to seize her at the very 
 feet of her master; ])ut the agile dog would not 
 surrender herself into the hands of a stranger, 
 and ke])t k'a])ing and evading him. (rcnisim 
 looked on at all this tumult with a <»i-iii: at last 
 Ste])an rose in wrath, and hastily gave him to 
 understand by signs that the misti'ess had ordered 
 the dog to be brought to hei". (xei-asim was some- 
 what surprised, but he called Mumu, lifted her 
 from the ground, and handed her to Ste|)an. Ste- 
 pan carried her into the diawing-room. and |)Iace(l 
 her on the polished wood floor. Tlie mistress 
 
 230 
 
 i
 
 MTMU 
 
 bewail lo call tlic do^ lo her in a carcssinp^ voice. 
 Miimu, wlio had never in liei- life heen in sneh 
 nia<4nilieenl i-oonis, was extremely f'i'i<4htene(l, 
 and tried to dai-t thr()u<>ii the door, hut. rehufVed 
 hy the obsequious Stepan, fell to trembling, and 
 crouched against the wall. 
 
 " Mimiu, Mumu, come hither to me," — said 
 tbe mistress; — "come, thou stu))i(l ei-eatnre . . . . 
 don't be afraid. . . ." 
 
 "Come, INlumu, come to the mistress," -re- 
 peated the dependents; — " come! " 
 
 But INIumu looked anxiously about and did not 
 stir from the spot. 
 
 " Bring her something to eat," — said the mis- 
 tress. — " AVhat a stupid thing she is! wShe won't 
 come to the mistress. AVhat is she afraid of? " 
 
 " She feels strange still," — remarked one of the 
 dependents, in a timid and imploring voice. 
 
 Stepan brought a saucer of milk and set it in 
 front of ]Mumii, but INlumu did not even smell of 
 the milk, and kept on trembling and ga/ing about 
 her, as before. 
 
 " Akh, who ever saw such a creature!" — said 
 the mistress, as she approached her, bent down 
 and was on the point of stroking hei-; but INlumu 
 turned her head and displayed her teeth in a snarl. 
 — The mistress hastily drew back her hand. 
 
 A momentary silence ensued. INIuniii whined 
 faintly, as though complaining and excusing hei-- 
 self. . . The mistress retreated and frowned. 
 
 231
 
 riie (log's sudden movement had fiiglilened 
 her. 
 
 "Akh!" — cried all the dependents witli one 
 accord: — "She did n't ])ite you, did she? (rod 
 f'or})id!'' (Mumii had never hitten anv one in 
 her life.) ''Akhlakli!" 
 
 '■ Take hei- away," — said the old woman, in an 
 altered voice, — " the horrid little dog! What a 
 vicious heast she is! " 
 
 And slowly turning, she went toward her bou- 
 doir. The dependents exchanged timorous 
 ghinees and started to follow her, hut she 
 paused, looked coldly at them, said: " AVhy do 
 you do that? for 1 have not hidden you," and left 
 the room. 
 
 The dependents waved their hands in despair at 
 Stepan; the latter picked up ]Mumu and flung 
 her out into the yard as speedily as possible, 
 straight at Gerasim's feet ; and half an hour later 
 a profound stillness reigned in the liouse, and the 
 old gentlewoman sat on her divan more loweriiig 
 than a thunder-cloud. 
 
 ^Vhat trifles, when one comes to think of it, can 
 sometimes put a person out of tune ! 
 
 The lady was out of sorts until evening, talked 
 with no one, did not play cards, and passed a bad 
 night. She took it into her liead that they had 
 not given lier the same can dc cologne whicli they 
 usually gave her, that lier pillow smelled of soap, 
 and made the keeper of the linen-closet smell 
 
 232
 
 MUMU 
 
 all the bed-linen twice, — in a word, she was 
 upset and extremely incensed. On the follow- 
 ing morning she ordered Gavrila to l)e sum- 
 moned to her presence an hour earlier than 
 usual. 
 
 "Tell me, please," — she began, as soon as the 
 latter, not without some inward quaking, had 
 crossed the threshold of her boudoir, — " why that 
 dog was barking in om- courtyard all night long? 
 It prevented my getting to sleep! " 
 
 " A dog, ma'am . , . . which one, ma'am? . . . 
 Perhaps it was the dumb man's dog," — he uttered 
 in a voice that was not altogether firm. 
 
 " I don't know whetlier it belongs to the dumb 
 man or to some one else, only it interfered with 
 my sleep. And I am amazed that there is sucli a 
 horde of dogs! I want to know about it. \Ve 
 have a Match-dog, have we not? " 
 
 " Yes, ma'am, we have, ma'am, Peg-top, 
 ma'am." 
 
 " AVell, what need have we for any more dogs? 
 Thev only create disorder. There 's no head to 
 the house, — that 's wliat 's tlie matter. xVnd what 
 does the dumb juan want of a dog? AN'ho lias 
 given him permission to keep a dog in my court- 
 yard? Yesterday I went to the window, and it 
 was lying in the garden; it had brought some 
 nasty thing there, and was gnawing it, — and I 
 have roses planted there. . . ." 
 
 The lady paused for a wliile.
 
 MUMU 
 
 " See that it is removed this vei\ day .... 
 dost hear me? " 
 
 " I obey, ma'am." 
 
 " This ^•e^y day. And now, go. 1 will have 
 thee called for thy report later." 
 
 Gavrila left the room. 
 
 As he passed throuoh the drawing-room, the 
 major-domo transferred a small hell from one 
 table to another, for show, softly blew his duek's- 
 bill nose in the hall, and went out into the ante- 
 room. In the anteroom, on a locker, Stepan ^^•as 
 sleeping in the attitude of a slain warrior in a 
 battalion picture, with his bare legs ])rojecting 
 from his coat, which served him in lieu of a cov- 
 erlet. 
 
 The major-domo nudged him, and im|)arted 
 to him in an undertone some order, to which 
 Stepan replied witii a half -yawn, half-laugh. The 
 major-domo witlulrew, and Stepan sprang to his 
 feet, drew^ on his kaftan and his boots, went out 
 and came to a stajidstill on the porcli. Five min- 
 utes had not elapsed ])efore (rerasim made his ap- 
 pearance with a huge fagot of firewood on his 
 back, accompanied by his inseparable Mumu. 
 (The mistress had issued oi'dei's that her bed- 
 room and boudoir were to be heated even in sum- 
 mer.) (ierasim stood sideways to the door, gave 
 it a push with his shoulder, and ])reci])itate(l him- 
 self into the house with his bnrden. Mumu, ac- 
 cording to her wont, remained behind to wait for 
 
 234
 
 MTMr 
 
 liiin. Tlicn Stcpan, seizing a favourable mo- 
 ment, made a sudden dash at her, like a hawk 
 pouncing on a eliiekejj, crushed her to the ground 
 with his breast, gathered her up in his arms, and 
 M'itliout stop])ing to don so mucii as his ea]), ran 
 out into tlie street with her, jum])ed into the first 
 drozhky that eame to hand, and gallo|)e(l off to 
 the (ianie ^Market. There he speedily hunted up 
 a purchaser, to whom he sold her f'oi- half a ruble, 
 stipulating only that the latter should keep her 
 tied up for at least a week, and immediately re- 
 turned home; but before he reached the house, 
 he alighted from the drozhky, and making a cir- 
 cuit of the house, he lea]ied ovei* the fence into 
 the yard from a back alley; he was afraid to enter 
 by the wicket, lest he should encounter Gerasim. 
 But his anxiety was wasted; Gerasim was no 
 longer in the courtyard. On coming out of the 
 house he had instanth' bethought himself of 
 jNIumu ; he could not remember that she had ever 
 failed to await his return, and he began to run 
 in every direction to hunt for her, to call her after 
 his own fashion ... he dashed into his little 
 chamber, to the hay-loft: he darted into tiie street, 
 — hither and thither. . . . She was gone! Pleap- 
 ])ealed to the domestics, with the most despairing- 
 signs inquired about her: pointing fourteen inches 
 from the ground, he drew her form with liis 
 hands. . . . Some of them really did not know 
 what had become of JNIumu, and only shook their 
 
 23.5
 
 MIMT 
 
 heads; otliers did know and grinned at liini in 
 reply, but the major-domo assumed a very pom- 
 pous mien and began to sliout at the coachmen. 
 Then Gerasim fled far away from the coiu'tyard. 
 
 Twihght was ah'cady falhng wlicn lie retui'ned. 
 One was justified in assuming, from his exhausted 
 aspect, from his unsteady gait, from liis dusty 
 clothing, that he had wandered over the half of 
 Moscow. Pie halted in front of the mistress's 
 windows, swept a glance over the porch on which 
 seven house-serfs were gathered, turned away, 
 and bellowed once more: " ^Mumii! " — Mumii did 
 not res})ond. He went away. All stared after 
 him, but no one smiled, no one uttered a word 
 . . . and the curious postilion, Anti])ka, narrated 
 on the following morning in the kitchen, that the 
 dumb man had moaned all night long. 
 
 All the following day Gerasim did not show 
 himself, so that Potap the coachman was obliged 
 to go for water in his stead, which greatly dis- 
 pleased coachman Potap. The mistress asked 
 Gavrila whether her command had been executed. 
 Gavrfla replied that it had. The next morning 
 Gerasim emerged from his chamber to df) his 
 work. He came to dinner, ate and went off 
 again, without having exchanged greetings with 
 any one. His face, which was inanimate at the 
 best of times, as is the case with all deaf and 
 dumb persons, now seemed to have become abso- 
 lutely petrified. iVfter dinner he again quitted 
 
 2;3()
 
 xMUMl 
 
 the courtyard, hut not for long, returned and 
 inime(hately chrected liis steps to the hay-l)arri. 
 Night eanie, a elear, niooiilight night. Sigliing 
 heavily and ineessantlv tossing from side to side, 
 (rerasiiH was lying there, ^vhen he sud(leid\' 
 felt as though something were tugging at the 
 skirts of his garments; he treml)le(l all over, hut 
 did not raise his head, nevertheless, and even 
 screwed his eyes up tight; hut the tugging was 
 re})eated, more energetically than hefore; he 
 sprang to his feet .... hefore him, with a frag- 
 ment of rope ahout her neck, oNIumu was ca])ering 
 ahout. A prolonged shriek of joy hurst from his 
 speechless hreast; he seized Mumu and clasped 
 her in a close emhrace; in ojie moment she had 
 licked his nose, his eyes, and his heard. . . lie 
 stood still for a while, ])on(lering, cautiously 
 slij)ped down from the hay-mow, cast a glance 
 round him, and having made sure that no one was 
 watching him, he safely regained his little 
 chamher. 
 
 Kven hefore this Cierasim had divined that the 
 dog had not disappeared of her ow n volition; that 
 she must have heen eai'ried away hy the mistress's 
 command; for the domestics had exj)laine(l to 
 him hy signs how his Mumu had sna])ped at her 
 — and he decided to take precautions of his own. 
 First he fed ^Fumu with some hi-ead, caressed her, 
 and j)u1 her lo hed ; then he hi'gan to consider how 
 he might hest conceal her. At last he hit upon 
 
 237
 
 JNIUMU 
 
 tlie idea of leaving her all day in his room, and 
 only looking in now and then to see how she was 
 getting along, and taking her ont for exercise 
 at night. lie closed the opening in his door com- 
 j)actly hy stnffing in an old coat of his, and as 
 soon as it was daylight he was in the courtyard, 
 as tliough nothing had happened, even ])reserving 
 (innocent guile!) his former dejection of coun- 
 tenance. It could not enter the head of the poor 
 deaf man that ^Nluniu would hetray herself by her 
 ^^•hining; as a matter of fact, every one in the 
 house was speedily aware that the dumb man's dog 
 had come back and Avas locked up in his room; 
 but out of compassion for him and for her, and 
 ])artly. perhaps, out of fear of him, they did not 
 give him to understand that his secret had been 
 discovered. 
 
 The major-domo alone scratched the back of 
 his head and waved his hand in des])air, as much 
 as to say: " ^Vell, I wash my hands of the mat- 
 ter! Perhai)s the mistress will not get to know 
 of it!" And never had the dumb man worked 
 so zealously as on that day; he swept and scra])ed 
 out the entire courtyard, he rooted u|) all the 
 blades of grass to tlie very last one, with his own 
 hand ])ulled up all the ])rops in the garden-fence, 
 with a view to making sure that they were suffi- 
 ciently firm, and then hammered them in again, 
 — in a word, he fussed and bustled al)out so, that 
 even the mistress noticed his zeal. 
 
 238
 
 Twice in the course of the day (Tenisiin went 
 stealthily to his captive; and when night came, 
 he lay down to slee]) in her coni])any. in the little 
 room, not in the hay-barn, and only at one o'clock 
 did he go out to take a stroll with her in the fresh 
 air. ITaA ing walked quite a long time with her 
 in the courtyard, he was i)re])aring to return, 
 when suddenly a noise resounded outside the 
 fence in tlie direction of the alley. Mumu ])ricked 
 up her ears, began to growl, approached the fence, 
 sniffed, and broke fortli into a loud and piercing 
 bark. Some drunken man or other had taken 
 it into his head to nestle down there for the night. 
 At that \ery moment, the mistress had just got 
 to sleep after a prolonged " nervous excitement " ; 
 she always had these excited fits after too hearty 
 a su])per. The sudden barking woke her; her 
 heart began to beat violently, and to colla])se. 
 
 " Maids, maids! " — she moaned. — " Maids! " 
 
 The frightened maids Hew to her bedroom. 
 
 " Okli. okh, I 'm dying! " — said slie, throwing 
 her hands apart in anguish. — " Tliere s that dog 
 again, again! . . . Okh, send for the doctor! 
 They want to kill me. . . The dog, the dog again ! 
 Okh!" 
 
 iVnd she Hung back her head, which was in- 
 tended to denote a swoon. 
 
 They ran for the doctor, that is to say, for the 
 household medical man, Khariton. The whole 
 art of this healer consisted in the I'Mct thai he wore
 
 MUMU 
 
 boots with soft soles, understood how to feel the 
 pulse delicately, slept fourteen hours out of the 
 twenty-four, spent the rest of the time in sighing, 
 and was incessantly treating the mistress to laurel 
 drops. This healer immediately hastened to lier, 
 fumigated with burnt feathers, and when the mis- 
 tress opened her eyes, immediately ])resented to 
 her on a silver tray a wine-glass with the inevitable 
 drops. 
 
 The mistress took them, but immediately, with 
 tearful eyes, began to complain of the dog, of 
 Gavrila, of her lot, that she, a poor old woman, 
 had been abandoned bv everv one, that no one had 
 any pity on her, and that every one desired her 
 death. In the meantime the imluck}' JMumii con- 
 tinued to bark, while Gerasim strove in vain to call 
 her away from the fence. 
 
 " There . . . there .... it goes again! . . ." 
 stammered the mistress, and again rolled up her 
 eyes. The medical man whisjDered to one of 
 the maids; she rushed into the anteroom, and 
 explained matters to Step<in: the latter ran to 
 awaken Gavi-fla, and Gavrila, in a passion, gave 
 orders that the whole household should be roused. 
 
 Cienisim turned round, beheld the twinkling- 
 lights and shadows in the windows, and, fore- 
 boding in his heart a catastro|)he, lie caught up 
 iSIumu under his arm, ran into his room and 
 locked the dooi*. A few moments later, five men 
 were thumping at his dooi-, I)iit I'eeliiig the re- 
 
 2 Li)
 
 MUMI"^ 
 
 sistance of the bolt, (k'slstcd. (Tavrila ran iij) in a, 
 frightful hurry, ordered them all to remain there 
 until morning and stand guard, while he liimself 
 hurst into the maids' hall and gave orders thi'ough 
 the eldest eom])anion, Liuhoff' ' Liuhimovna, - to- 
 gether with whom lie was in the habit ol' stealing 
 and enjoying tea, sugar, and other groceries, — 
 that the mistress was to be informed that the dog, 
 unfortunately, had run home again from some- 
 where or other, but that it would not be alive on 
 the morrow, and that the mistress must do them 
 the favour not to be angry, and must calm down. 
 The mistress probably would not have calmed 
 down very speedily, had not the medical man, in 
 liis haste, poured out forty drops instead of 
 twelve. The strength of the laurel took its effect 
 — in a quarter of an hour the mistress was sleep- 
 ing soundly and peacefully, and Gerasim was 
 lying, all pale, on his bed, tightly compressing 
 ^Nlumii's mouth. 
 
 On the following morning the mistress awoke 
 (piite late. Gavrila was waiting for her awaken- 
 ing in order to make a decisive attack upon Geni- 
 sim's asylum, and was himself ])repared to endure 
 a heavy thundei'-storm. I^ut the thunder-storm 
 did not come off. As she lay In bed, the mistress 
 ordered the eldest de])endent to be called to her. 
 
 " Ijiuboff Liuhimovna," — she began in a soft, 
 iveak voice: she sometimes liked to pretend to 
 
 ^ Amy or Charity- — Tkaxslaimk. 
 
 241
 
 MTMr 
 
 be a 2^<-*i"s<-'<^iite(l and (k-rcncclcss sufferer: It is 
 needless to state that at sueh times all the peoi)le 
 in the liouse felt vciy uneonii'ortahlc: " I.inbofi' 
 Liul)iniovna, you see what my eondition is: 
 <>•(), inv dear, to (ia^■rlla Andreiteh. and liave 
 a talk with him: it eannot he possible that some 
 nasty little dog or other is more preeious to 
 him than the ti-an()nillity. the very life of his 
 mistress! I should not like to believe that," — 
 she added, with an expression of ])rofound emcv 
 tion: — " Go, my dear, be so good, go to Gavrila 
 Andreiteh." 
 
 Liuboff I.iubimovna betook herself to (ra- 
 vrila's room. A\'hat eonversation took ])laee be- 
 tween them is not known ; but a while later a 
 whole throng of domesties marelied tlirough the 
 courtyard in the direction of Gerasims little den: 
 in front walked Gavrila, holding on his ca]) w ith 
 his hand, although there was no wind: around 
 him M'alked footmen and eooks: T"^ncle Tail gazed 
 out of the window, and issued orders — tliat is to 
 say, he merely spread his hands a]3art: in the rear 
 of all, the small urchins leaped and cajDered, one 
 half of them being strangers wlio had run in. On 
 the narrow stairway leading to the den sat one 
 sentry: at the door stood two others with clubs. 
 They began to ascend the staircase, and occujiied 
 it to its full length, (ravrila went to the door, 
 knocked on it with his fist, and shouted: 
 
 ''Open!" 
 
 242
 
 A suppressed bark made itself aiidil)le; bui 
 there was no reply. 
 
 " Open, I say! " — he repeated. 
 " But, Gavrila Andreiteb," — remarked Ste))aii 
 from below: — " he 's deaf, you know — he does n't 
 I) ear. 
 
 All burst out laujibiiig. 
 
 " What is to be done? " — retorted Gavrila from 
 the top of the stairs. 
 
 " Why, he has a hole in his door," — replied 
 vSte^Jan; — " so do you wiggle a stick around in it 
 a bit." 
 
 Gavrila bent down. 
 
 " He has stuffed it up with some sort of coat, 
 that hole." 
 
 " But do you poke tlic coat inward." 
 xVt this j)oint another dull bark I'ang out. 
 " wSee there, see there, she 's giving herself 
 away!" — some one remarked in the crowd, and 
 again there was laughter. 
 
 Gavrila scratched behind liis ear. 
 " Xo, brother," — he went on at last; — '' do tliou 
 poke the coat throiigli thyself, ii' llion \vishest." 
 "AVhy, certainly!'' 
 
 And Stepiin scrambled u]), took a stick, thiiist 
 the coat inside, and began to wiggle tlic slick 
 about in the o])ening, saying: " Come forth, come 
 forth!" He was still wiggling the stic-k when 
 the door of the little chamber Hew suddenlv and 
 swiftly open — and the whole train of menials 
 
 24-3
 
 Ml.MU 
 
 rolled head over heels down the stairs, Gavrila in 
 the lead. Uncle Tail shut the window. 
 
 " Come, come, come, come! "—shouted Gavrila 
 from the courtyard; — " just look out, look out! " 
 
 Gerasim stood motionless on the threshold. 
 The crowd assembled at the foot of the stiiircase. 
 Gerasim stared at all these petty folk in their 
 foreign kaftans from above, \vith his arms lightly 
 set akimbo; in his scarlet peasant shirt he seemed 
 like a giant in comparison with them. Gavrila 
 advanced a pace. 
 
 "See here, brother," — said he: — "I '11 take 
 none of thy impudence." 
 
 And he began to explain to him by signs: " The 
 mistress insists upon having thy dog: hand it over 
 instantly, or 't will be the worse for thee." 
 
 Gerasim looked at him, pointed to the dog, 
 made a sign with his hand at his own neck, as 
 though he were drawing up a noose, and cast an 
 inquiring glance at the major-domo. 
 
 " Yes, yes," — replied the latter, nodding his 
 head; — " yes, she insists." 
 
 Gerasim dropped his eyes, then suddenly 
 shook Jiimself, again pointed at JNlumu, who all 
 this time had been standing by his side, innocently 
 wagging her tail and moving her ears to and fro 
 with curiosity, repeated the sign of strangling 
 over his own neck, and significantly smote him- 
 self on the breast, as though declaring that he 
 would take it u]ion himself to annihilate Munii'i. 
 
 24i
 
 Ml Ml' 
 
 " Rut tlioii wilt deceive,"— waved (iavrila tc 
 liiin in reply. 
 
 Genisini looked at him, laughed disdainfully, 
 smote himself again on the breast, and slammed 
 the door. 
 
 All ])resent exchanged glances in silence. 
 
 " AVell, and what 's the meaning of this? "— 
 began Gavnla. — " He has locked himself in." 
 
 " I^et him alone, Gavrila Andreitch," — said 
 Stepan; — "he '11 do it, if he has promised. 
 That 's the sort of fellow he is. ... If he once 
 promises a thing, it 's safe. He is n't like us 
 folks in that respect. Wind is true is true. 
 
 es. 
 
 " Yes," — repeated all, and wagged their heads. 
 — " That 's so. Yes." 
 
 Uncle Tail opened the window and said " Yes," 
 also. 
 
 " Well, we shall see, I suppose," — returned 
 Gavrila; — " but the guard is not to be removed, 
 notwithstanding. Hey, there, Eroshka!"— he 
 added, addressing a ])oor man in a yellow nankeen 
 kazak coat, who was reckoned as the gardener: — 
 " what hast thou to do? Take a stick and sit here, 
 and if anything ha])pens, run for me on the in- 
 stant." 
 
 Kroshka took a stick and sat down on the last 
 step of the staircase. The crowd dispersed, witli 
 the exception of a few curious bodies and the 
 small urchins, while Gavrila returned home, and 
 
 '2i5
 
 AFTMr 
 
 lliioiigli TJubofl' TJii])iiii()\ na gave orders that tlie 
 mistress should he informed that everythiii<>' had 
 been done, and tliat he himself, in order to make 
 quite sure, liad sent the postilion for a policeman. 
 The mistress tied a knot in her jiandkerehief, 
 poured can de cologne on it, sniffed at it, wiped 
 her temples, sipped her tea and, being still under 
 the influence of the laurel drops, fell asleep again. 
 
 iVn hour after all this commotion, the door of 
 the tiny den o])ened and Gerasim made his aj)- 
 pearance. He wore a new holiday kaftan; he 
 was leading ^Nlimiii by a string. Eroshka drew 
 aside and let him pass. Gerasim directed his way 
 toward the gate. All the small boys who were 
 in the courtyard followed him with their eyes 
 in silence. He did not even turn round; he did 
 not put on his cap until he reached the street. 
 Cravrila despatched after him that same Eroshka. 
 in the capacity of observer. Eroshka, perceiving 
 from afar that he had entered an eating-house in 
 company with his dog, awaited his reappearance. 
 
 In the eating-house thev knew Gerasim and 
 understood his signs. He ordered cabbage-soup 
 with meat, and seated himself, with his arms 
 resting on the table. Mumu stood beside his 
 chair, calmly gazing at him with her intelligent 
 eyes. Her coat was fairly shining with gloss: it 
 was evident that she had recently been brushed. 
 They brought the cabbage-soup to (rcrasim. He 
 ci'umbled u]) liread in it, Cut the meat up into 
 
 24-6
 
 MUxMU 
 
 small pieces, aiul set the plate on thcflooi-. Mimiu 
 began to eat with her eiistoinarv politeness, liardly 
 touching hei- luuzzle to the food; (iei'asini stared 
 long at hei-; two heavy tears rolled suddenly from 
 his eyes; one fell on the dog-'s sloping I'oreliead, 
 the other into the sou]). lie covered his face with 
 his hand, ^lumi'i ate half a j)lateful and retired, 
 licking liei- chops, (rerasim rose, paid foi- the 
 soup, and set out, accompanied by the somewhat 
 astounded glance of the waiter. Kroshka, on 
 catching sight of Genisim, sprang round the cor- 
 ner, and allowing him to pass, again set out on his 
 track. 
 
 Genisim walked on without haste, and did not 
 release ^lumu from the cord. On reaching the 
 'corner of the street he halted, as tliough in 
 thouglit, and suddeidy directed his course, with 
 swift strides, straight toward the Crimean Ford. 
 On the way he entered the yard of a house, to 
 which a wing was being built, and brought thence 
 two bricks under his arm. From the Crimean 
 Ford he turned along the bank, advanced to a 
 certain s])ot, where stood t^o boats with oars, tied 
 to stakes (he had ah-eady noted them |)r(\ iously) , 
 and sprang into one of them, in company with 
 Mumu. A lame litlk' old man emerged from 
 l)ehind a hut ])laced in one eornei- of a vege- 
 table-garden, and shouted at him. Hut (ierasim 
 only no(hled his head, ajid set to I'owing so \ ig 
 orouslv, althongli against the cinrciit. that in an
 
 MLMU 
 
 instant he had darted oft' to a distance of a 
 Imndred fatlionis. The old man stood and stood, 
 scratched his back, first with the left hand 
 then with the right, and retnrned, limping, to 
 his hut. 
 
 But Gerasim rowed on and on. And now he 
 had left Moscow behind him. Now, already mea- 
 dows, fields, groves stretched along the shores, and 
 peasant cottages made their a])pearance. It 
 smacked of the country. He flung aside the oars, 
 bent his head dow^n to jNIumu, who was sitting in 
 front of him on a dry thwart, — the bottom was 
 inundated with water, — and remained motionless, 
 with his mighty hands crossed on her back, while 
 the boat drifted a little backward with the current 
 toward the town. At last Gerasim straightened' 
 up hastily, with a sort of painful wrath on his 
 face, wound the rope around the bricks lie had 
 taken, arranged a noose, put it on ^lumu's neck, 
 lifted her over the river, for the last time gazed 
 at her. . . . She Q-azed back at him confidinolv 
 and without alarm, waving her little tail slightly. 
 He turned away, shut his eyes, and o))ene(l his 
 hands. . . (xerasim heard nothing, neither the 
 swift whine of the falling Munui, nor the loud 
 splash of the watei-; for him the noisiest day 
 was silent and sj)eeehless, as not e\en the quiet- 
 est niglit is to ns, and when he opened his eyes 
 again, the little \\M\ts were huiTying down the 
 river as before; as befoi-e they were plashing
 
 MTMr 
 
 al)oiil the sides of the boat, and only I'ar astern 
 toward tlie sliore c-ci'tain liroad circles were 
 s])readinti'. 
 
 Kr(')slika, as soon as (leiasini vanished from liis 
 sight, retni-iK'd home and reported what he liad 
 seen. 
 
 " AVell. yes," — remarked Stei)an;— " lie will 
 drown her. Von may he easy ahont that. I f he 
 has once promised a thing . . . ." 
 
 Thronghont the day no one saw Gerasim. He 
 did not dine at home. Evening came; all, except 
 him, assemhled for sn])])er. 
 
 " \Vliat a (|neer fellow that Gerasim is!" — 
 sqnealed a fat lanndress. " The idea of making 
 snch a fnss over a dog! . . . Really!" 
 
 " Bnt Gerasim has heen here," — suddenly ex- 
 claimed Stepiin, as he scooped up his huckwheat 
 groats with his spoon. 
 
 ''What? When?" 
 
 " Why, a couple of hours ago. Certainly he 
 has! I met him at the gate; he has gone away 
 from hei-e again ; he went out of the courtyard. 1 
 wanted to ask him ahout his dog, hut he evidently 
 Mas out of sorts. \\^ell. and he jostled me; it 
 must have heen done hy accident, he only wanted 
 to ffct me out of the wav; as much as to sav : 
 'Don't hother me! ' — hut he gave me such a dig 
 in the spine, that 61, 6V, 61! " — And Stepan 
 shrugged his shoulders with an inxoluntary grim- 
 ace, and ruhhed the na])e of his neck. — " Ves," 
 
 249
 
 — he added; — '' his hand is an apt one, there 's no 
 denying that! " 
 
 All langhed at Stepaii and. alter siipjXT, dis- 
 persed to their heds. 
 
 And in the nieantinie, oji that same night, on 
 the T* • * highway, a giant was marching onward 
 diligently and nnreniittinglv. with a sack on his 
 shoulders, and a long staff' in his hands. It was 
 Gerasini. Tie was hurrying on, without look- 
 ing heliind him. hui'iving home, to his own 
 house in the eountry, to his native place. After 
 drowning poor ^Nlumu, he had hastened to his 
 little den. had hriskly put together a few articles 
 of clothing in an old horse-cloth, had tied it up 
 with a knot, slung it across his shoulder, and 
 taken himself off. He had noted well the road 
 when he had heen hrought to ^loscow; the A'illage 
 from which his mistress had taken him lay at 
 most five-and-twenty versts fi'om the highway. 
 He walked along it with a certain invincible har- 
 dihood, with despairing, yet joyful firmness. 
 He strode onward, his breast ex])an(led broadly; 
 his eyes were bent eagerly straight ahead. He 
 hastened omvard as though his aged mother were 
 waiting for him in his native place, as though she 
 had' summoned him to her after long wanderings 
 in foreign lands, among strange peo])les. . . The 
 summer night, which liad only just descended. 
 M'as warm and tranquil; on the one hand, in the 
 direction whei'e the sun had gone down, the rim 
 
 2.50
 
 ISIUMIT 
 
 of the sky was still white, witli a crimson ^leam 
 from the last reflection of the vanished day, — on 
 the othei' hand, the hlue-^^iey gloom was rising'. 
 Xight had come thence. Hundreds of (jnail were 
 M'histling all around, corn-crakes were vying with 
 each other in their calls. . . . Gerasim could not 
 hear them, he could not hear even the delicate 
 nocturnal rustling ol' the ti'ees ])ast which he 
 was hearing his mighty feet, but lie discerned the 
 familiar scent of the ripening rye, which was 
 exhaled from the dark fields; he felt the breeze 
 wafting to meet him, — the breeze from his native 
 place, — beating on his face, playing with his hair 
 and beard; he beheld in front of him the road 
 homeward, gleaming white, straight as an arrow; 
 he beheld in the sky innumerable stars, which 
 illuminated his path, ajid like a lion he ste])pe(l out 
 ])owerfully and alertly, so that when the I'ising 
 sun lighted up with its moistly-crimson rays tlie 
 gallant fellow who had just been driven to ex- 
 tremities, three-and-thirty versts already lay be- 
 tween him and iNloscow. . . . 
 
 At the end of two days he was at home in his 
 own little cottage, to the great amazement of the 
 soldier's wife who had removed thither. iVfter 
 praying before the holy pictures, he immediatel\' 
 betook himself to the overseer. The overseer was 
 astonnded at first; but the haying was only just 
 l)eginning. Gerasim, being a capital workman, 
 immedi-iUly had a scythe |)ut into his hand — 
 
 2.51
 
 MUMU 
 
 and he went off to mow as of yore, to mow in 
 such fashion tliat tlie peasants simply sweated 
 throu<jh and through as they watched his swings 
 and strokes. . . . 
 
 But in ^Moscow , on the day following Gera- 
 sim's flight, they discovered it. They went into 
 his room, ransacked it, and told Gavrila. The 
 latter came, made an inspection, shrugged his 
 shoulders, and decided that the dumh man had 
 either run away or drowned himself along with 
 his stupid dog. The police were informed, and 
 the matter was reported to the mistress. The 
 mistress flew into a rage, fell to weeping, or- 
 dered him to be hunted up at any cost, asserted 
 that she had never ordered the dog to be made 
 away with, and, at last, so berated Gavrfla, 
 that the latter did nothing all day but shake 
 his head and add: "AVell!" until" Uncle Tail 
 brought him to his senses bv savin;>- to hini: 
 "We-ell!" xVt last news came from the Ail- 
 lage of Gerasim's arrival there. The mistress 
 calmed down somewhat ; at first she was minded 
 to issue an order demanding his immediate re- 
 turn to Moscow, but at'tt'i'w ard she announced 
 that she wanted nothing to do with so ungrateful 
 a man. Moreover, she died herself soon after, 
 and her heirs had other things to think about be- 
 sides Gerasim ; and they dismissed the rest of their 
 mother's serfs on (|uit-rent. 
 
 i\Tid Gerasim is living yet, poor, \\rclclie(l i'cl-
 
 Ml MF 
 
 low, ill his lonely liut; he is healthy and poweilul 
 as of yore, and, as of yore, he does the work of 
 four men, and, as of yore, he is staid and dignified. 
 Hut the neif>hl)()urs have noticed that ever since 
 his return iVoni Moscow he lias entii'cly ceased 
 to have anything' to do N\ith woiiieii. lie docs not 
 even look at them, and he keeps not a sin<>lc do^' 
 on his ])remises. — " However," — say the pea- 
 sants, — " 't is lucky for him that he needs no wo- 
 man; and as for a dog — what should he do with 
 a dog? you could n't drag a thief into his yard 
 with a noose!" Such is the fame of the duml 
 man's heroic strength. 
 
 253
 
 THE IVX 
 
 (1852)
 
 THE INN 
 
 Ox the great B*** highway, ahiiost equidis- 
 tant from the two county towns througli 
 which it passes, there was still standing, not long- 
 since, a spacious inn, very well known to drivers 
 of tro'ika-teams, to freight-sledge peasants, to 
 merchants' clerks, to traders of the petty-hurgher 
 class, and, in general, to all the numerous and 
 varied travellers, who at all seasons of the year 
 roll along our roads. Everyhody used to dro]) 
 in at this inn; except only some landed ])roi)rie- 
 tor's carriage, drawn by six home-bred horses, 
 would glide solemnly past, which, liowever, did 
 not prevent the coacliman and tlie lackey on the 
 foot-board from looking with |)articular feeling 
 and attention at the ])orch but too familiar to 
 them; or some very poor fellow, in a rickety cart, 
 with fifteen kopeks in the purse stuffed into his 
 bosom, on coming to the Hue inn. would urge on 
 his weak nag, hastening to his night's lodging in 
 the suburb on the great liiglnvay, to the house of 
 the peasant-host, where you will find nothing ex- 
 cept hay and bread, but, on the other liand, will 
 not be obliged to pay a k()])ek too much. 
 
 In addition to its advantageous situation, the 
 
 257
 
 THE IXN 
 
 iiiii of u hidi w c liave just sjjoken possessed many 
 attractions: capital water in two dee]) wells with 
 creaking' wheels and iron buckets on chains; a 
 spacious stable-yard uitli plenty of board slieds 
 on stout pillars ; an abinidant supply of good oats 
 in the cellar; a warm liouse, with a huge Russian 
 stove, into which, as upon the shoulders of an 
 epic hero, long logs were thrust ; two fairly -clean 
 little chambers with reddish-lilac pa])er on tlie 
 walls somewhat tattered at the bottom, with a 
 painted wooden divan, chairs to match, and two 
 pots of geranium in the windows, which, how- 
 ever, were never w\ashed and were dim with the 
 dust of many years. This inn offered other com- 
 forts: — the blacksmith's shop was near at hand, 
 and the mill was situated almost alongside of it; 
 in conclusion, good food was to be had in it, 
 thanks to the fat and rosy-cheeked peasant-wo- 
 man wlio was the cook, and who prepared the 
 viands in a savoury manner and with ])lenty of 
 fat, and was not stingy of her stores; the nearest 
 dram-shop was only half a verst distant ; the land- 
 lord kept snufF, which, altliougli mixed with 
 ashes, was extremely heady, and tickled the nose 
 agreeably: in a word, there were many reasons 
 why guests of every sort were not lacking in 
 that inn. Travellers had taken a fancy to it — that 
 is the principal tiling; without that, as is well 
 known, no })usiness will tlu'ive; and it was liked 
 most of all because, as people said in tlie countrj'^- 
 
 258
 
 THE TXX 
 
 side, the landlord himself was ver}- lueky and suc- 
 ceeded in all his enterprises, although lie httle 
 deserved his luck, and it was evident that if a 
 man is destined to be lucky he will be. 
 
 This landlord was a petty burgher, Naiim Ivii- 
 nofF by name. He was of medium stature, thick- 
 set, stooping and broad-shouldered; he had a 
 large, round head, hair whicli was wavy and al- 
 ready grizzled, altliough in appearance he was not 
 over forty years of age; a plump and rosy face, 
 a loA^% but white and smooth brow, and small, 
 bright blue eyes, with which he gazed forth \'ery 
 strangely— askance, and, at the same time, inso- 
 lently, which is a combination rarely encountered. 
 He always held his head in a drooping position, 
 and turned it with difficulty, perhaps because his 
 neck was very short; he talked briskly and did 
 not SAving his arms, but opened liis clenched fists 
 as he walked. \Mien he smiled, — and be smiled 
 frequently, but without laughter, as though to 
 himself,— his large lips moved ajjart in an un- 
 pleasant way, and displayed a row of compact 
 and dazzling teeth. He spoke abru])tly, and 
 with a certain surly sound in his voice. He 
 shaved off his beard, but did not adopt tlie for- 
 eign dress. His garments consisted of a long, 
 extremely-threadbare kaftan, ample bag-trousers, 
 and shoes worn on the bare feet. He often ab- 
 sented himself from home on business, — and he- 
 had a great deal of business: he was a jobbei- of 
 
 259
 
 THE IXX 
 
 horses, lie hired land, he raised vegetables for the 
 market, he purchased gardens, and in general oc- 
 cu2)ied himself with various commercial specula- 
 tions, — but his absences never lasted long; like the 
 hawk, to whom in particular, especially as to the 
 expression of his eyes, he bore a strong resem- 
 blance, he kept returning to his nest. He under- 
 stood how to keep that nest in order; he kept 
 track of everything, he heard everything, and 
 gave orders about everything; he dealt out, he 
 served out, and calculated everything himself, 
 and while he did not reduce his price a kopek to 
 any one, yet he did not overcharge. 
 
 The lodgers did not enter into conversation 
 with him, and he himself was not fond of wasting 
 words without cause. " I need vour money, and 
 you need my victuals," he was wont to explain, 
 as though he were tearing off each separate word : 
 " you and I have n't got to stand godparents to 
 a child and become cronies; the traveller has 
 eaten, 1 have fed him his fill, let him not outstay 
 his welcome. And if he is sleepy, then let him 
 sleep, not chatter." He kept sturdy and healthy, 
 but tame and submissive labourers; they were 
 extremely afraid of him. He never took a drop 
 of intoxicating liquor into his mouth, but he gave 
 each of them ten kopeks for vodka on festival 
 (lavs; on other days they did not dare to drink. 
 People like Naum speedily grow rich; .... but 
 Xaum Ivanoff had not reached the brilliant con- 
 
 260
 
 THE IXX 
 
 ditioii in which lie I'omul liiinself— aiul he was 
 reckoned to be wortli forty or fifty thousand 
 rubles — by straightforward ways. . . . 
 
 Twenty years previous to the date at which we 
 have set the beginning of our story, an inn existed 
 on that same site upon the highway. Truth to 
 tell, it had not that dark-red plank roof which 
 imparted to Naum Ivanoff's house the aspect of 
 a nobleman's manor-liouse ; and it was poorer iji 
 its construction, and the sheds in the stable-yard 
 were thatched, and the walls were made of wat- 
 tled boughs instead of boards; neither was it 
 distinguished by a triangular Greek jjediment 
 on turned columns; but it was a very decent 
 sort of inn, nevertheless, — spacious, solid, and 
 warm,— and travellers gladly frequented it. Its 
 landlord at that time was not Xaum Ivanoff, but 
 a certain Akim SemyonofF, the serf of a neigh- 
 bouring landed proprietress, Lizaveta Prokho-', 
 rovna Kuntze— the widow of a staff -officer. 
 This Akini was an intelligent ])easant, with good 
 business capacity, who, having started with two 
 wretched little nags as a carrier, in his youth, i-e- 
 turned a year later with three good horses, and 
 from that time forth spent the grejiter ])art of his 
 life in roaming along the highways, visited Kazan 
 and Odessa, Orenburg and Warsaw, and went 
 abroad to " Lipetzk," - and travelled toward the 
 last with two troVkas of huge and powerful st;i) 
 
 ^ Leipzig. 
 
 '2in
 
 THE IXN 
 
 lions liarnessed to two tiiornious carts. Wlietlier 
 it was that he became bored by this homeless, 
 roving life, or whether he was seized with the 
 desire to set up a family (in one of his absences 
 his wife had died; the children which he had had 
 died also), at all events he decided, at last, to 
 abandon his former avocation and set up an inn. 
 
 AVith the permission of his mistress, he estab- 
 lished himself on the highway, purchased in her 
 name half a desyatina ^ of land, and erected 
 thereon an inn. The venture proved a success. 
 He had more than enough money for the installa- 
 tion; the experience which he had acquired in his 
 prolonged wanderings to all parts of Russia was 
 of the greatest advantage to him: he knew how 
 to please travellers, especiall}' men of his own 
 former calling, — three-horse-team carriers, — with 
 many of whom he was personally acquainted, and 
 whose patronage is particular!}^ valued by the 
 tavern-keepers: so much do these people eat and 
 consume for themselves and their robust horses. 
 ^Vkim's inn became known for lumdreds of versts 
 round about. . . . People were even fonder of 
 patronising him than they were of patronising 
 Xaum, who afterward succeeded him, although 
 xVkim Mas far from being com])arable to Xaiim 
 in his knowledge of the landlord's business. 
 
 ^Vkim had everything established on the old- 
 
 1 A (h-xynthia is 2.10 acres. He- was ohlij^ed to buy the land in liis 
 owner's name: serfs could not hold landed property. — Tuansi.ator. 
 
 262
 
 THE INN 
 
 lashioned footing, — warm but not (|uite clean; 
 and it sometinits lui])])ent'{l that his oats turned 
 out to be hghi, or (hunp, and the food also was 
 prepared in rather indifferent fashion; such vic- 
 tuals were sometimes served on his table as had 
 been better left in the oven for good, and that 
 not because he was stingy with material, but just 
 because it haj)pened so — his wife had not looked 
 after things. On the otlier liand, he was ready 
 to deduct from the price, and he would even not 
 refuse to give credit. In a word, he was a good 
 man and an amiable landlord. He Avas liberal 
 also with his conversation and standing t^'eat; 
 over the samovar he would sometimes get to )ab- 
 bling so that you would prick up your ears, es- 
 pecially when he began to talk about Peter,^ 
 about the Tcherkessian steppes, or about foreign 
 parts; well, and as a matter of course, he was 
 fond of drinking with a nice man, only not to 
 excess, and more for the sake of sociability — so 
 travellers said of him. 
 
 Merchants bore great good-will toward him, 
 as, in general, did all those people who call them- 
 selves old-fashioned — those people who do not 
 set out on a journey without having girded 
 themselves and who do not enter a room with- 
 out crossing themselves,^ and who will not en- 
 ter into conversation with a man without hav- 
 
 ^ St. Petersburg. Tuansi.atoh. 
 2 To the holy pictures.- 'rit a nsi.atob. 
 
 263
 
 THE IXX 
 
 ing preliminarily 1)i(l(U'n liim " good morning." 
 Akim's mere personal ap])earance disposed one 
 in his favour; he was tall, rather gaunt, hut 
 very well built, even in his mature years; he 
 liad a long, comely and regular face, a high, open 
 brow, a thin, straight nose, and small lips. The 
 glance of his prominent brown eyes fairly beamed 
 with gentle cordiality, his thin, soft hair curled in 
 rings about his neck: very little of it remained 
 on the crown of his head. The sound of Akim's 
 voice was very agreeable, although weak; in his 
 youth he had been a capital singer, but his long 
 journeys in the open air, in winter, had impaired 
 liis lungs. On the other hand, he spoke very flu- 
 ently and sweetly. When he laughed, ray-like 
 wrinkles, A'ery pleasant to behold, spread them- 
 selves out aiHDund his eyes; — such wrinkles are to 
 be seen only in kind people. Akim's movements 
 were generally slow and not devoid of a certain 
 self-confidence and sedate courtesy, as was befit- 
 ting a man of experience who had seen much in 
 his day. 
 
 In fact, Akim would have been all right, — or, 
 as they called him even in the manor-house, 
 whither he was wont to go frequently, as well as 
 unfailingly on Sundays after the morning service 
 in church, Akim Semyonovitch,' —would have 
 been all right in every respect had he not had one 
 failing, which has ruined many men on this earth, 
 
 1 See note on p. 273.— Translatob. 
 
 264
 
 THE TNX 
 
 and ii) the end ruined him also -a weakness lor 
 the female sex. Akim's amorousness went to ex- 
 tremes: his lieart was utterly unable to resist a 
 feminine glanee; he melted in it, as the first au- 
 tumnal snow melts in the sun .... and he had 
 to pay dearly i'or his superfiuous sensil)ility. 
 
 In the eourse of the first year after he had set- 
 tled down upon the highway, Akim was so oe- 
 cupied with the building of his inn, with the in- 
 stallation of his establishment, and with all the 
 worries which are inseparable from all new house- 
 holds, that he positively had not time to think 
 of women, and if any sinful thoughts did enter 
 his head, he promptly ex[)elle(l them by the ])eru- 
 sal of divers holy books, for which he cherished a 
 great respect (he had taught himself to read and 
 write during his first trip as carrier) , by chanting 
 the Psalms in an undertone, or by some other ])i- 
 ous occupation. ISIoreover, he was already in his 
 forty-sixth year, — and at that age all passions 
 sensibly calm down and grow cool: and the time 
 for marrying was past. Akim himself had begun 
 to think that that folly, as he expressed it, had 
 broken loose from him . . . but evidently no man 
 can escape his fate. 
 
 Akim's former owner, Lizaveta Prokhoiox na 
 Kuntze, who had been left a widow by hei- hus- 
 band, a staff -officer of German extraction, was 
 herself a native of the town of Mittau, wheie she 
 had passed the early days of lier childhood, and 
 
 265
 
 THE IXN 
 
 where she still had a very nunierons and needy 
 family, concerning whom, however, she troubled 
 herself very little, especially since one of her bro- 
 thers, an officer in an army infantry regiment, 
 had unexjDectedly presented himself at her house 
 and on the following day had raised such an up- 
 roar that he had all but tliraslied the mistress of 
 the house herself, and had addressed her, into the 
 bargain, as " du LumpcumamseU! " while on the 
 preceding evening he had himself called her in 
 broken Russian: " sister and benefactress." Liza- 
 veta Prokhorovna hardly ever left the nice little 
 estate acquired by the efforts of her spouse, who 
 had been an architect ; ^ she herself managed it, 
 and managed it far from badly. Lizaveta Pro- 
 khorovna did not let slip the smallest source of 
 profit; she derived advantage to herself from 
 everything; and in this point, as well as in that 
 of remarkable cleverness in making one kopek 
 serve instead of two, her German nationality be- 
 trayed itself; in everything else she had become 
 extremely Russified. She had a considerable 
 number of domestic serfs; in particular, she ke])t 
 a great many maids, who, however, did not eat the 
 bread of idleness: from morning until night their 
 backs were bowed over work." She was fond of 
 
 1 He had been a staff-officer in the civil service, accordinff to Peter 
 the Great's Table of Ranks. Tkaksi.atoii. 
 
 ^ These numerous maids, in the old serf days, were emploj'ed in 
 making the most exquisite linen, lace, embroidery, and so forth. — 
 Translator. 
 
 266 
 
 ^
 
 TTTE TXX 
 
 driving out in her c'arria<>e with hvcricd hickeys 
 on the foot-board; siu- was fond of havin<r peo- 
 ple retail gossip to licr and play tlie syc'()|)liant; 
 and she herself was a first-rate gossij); she was 
 fond of loading a man down with her favours, 
 and suddenly stunning him with disgrace — in 
 a word, IJzaveta I'rokliorovna conducted herself 
 exactly like a nohly-lxjin dame. — She favoured 
 Akim, — he paid her a good round (|ult-i-ejit with 
 punctuality, — she chatted graciously with him, 
 and even, in jest, invited him to be her guest . . . 
 but it was precisely in the manor-house that ca- 
 lamity awaited Akim. 
 
 Among the number of Lizaveta Prokhorovna's 
 maids, there was one young girl of twenty, an 
 orphan, Dunyasha by name. She was not ill- 
 favoui'ed, was well formed and clever; her fea- 
 tures, although not regular, were calculated to 
 please; her fresh com]dexion, her thick, fair hair, 
 her red lips, and a certain dashing, half-sneer- 
 ing, half -challenging expression of face, were 
 all quite charming in their way. ^loreover, in 
 spite of her orphaned state, she bore herself 
 staidly, almost haughtily; she was descended from 
 an ancient line of house-serfs; her late father, 
 Arefy, had been major-domo i'oi- thirty years, 
 and her grandfather, Stepan, had served as valet 
 to a gentleman long since deceased, a sergeant 
 of the Guards and a prince. She dressed neatly, 
 and was j^roud of her hands, which really were ex- 
 
 267
 
 THE IXX 
 
 tremelv handsome. Duiivaslia sliowed cfreat dis- 
 (lain for all her admirers, listened to their sweet 
 savino's with a eonceited smile, and if she an- 
 swered them, it was ehiefly hy exclamation only, 
 in the nature of: " Yes! certainly! catch me doing 
 that! the idea! "... These exclamations scarcely 
 ever left her tongue. Dunyasha had spent ahout 
 three years in Moscow, under instruction, where 
 she had acquired those peculiar grimaces and 
 manners which characterise chambermaids who 
 have sojourned in the capitals. People spoke of 
 her as a conceited girl (a great encomium in the 
 mouths of domestics) who, although she had seen 
 much of life, had not lowered her dignity. She 
 sewed far from badly, moreover; but, neverthe- 
 less, Lizaveta Prokhorovna had no particular 
 liking for her, thanks to the head maid, Kiril- 
 lovna, a woman no longer young, sly, and fond of 
 intrigue. Kirillovna profited by her great in- 
 fluence over her mistress, and contrived very art- 
 fully to keep rivals out of the way. 
 
 And it was with this Dunyasha that Akim fell 
 in love! And in a way such as he had never 
 loved before. He iK'lield her for the first time 
 in church; she had only just returned from ISIos- 
 cow; .... then he met her several times in the 
 manor-house; at last he spent a whole evening 
 with her at the overseer's, whither he had been 
 invited to tea, along with other honourable per- 
 sonages. The house-serfs did not look down 
 
 208
 
 TIIK IX \ 
 
 on liim, altlK)ii<>l) lit- did not he-long to llicii- social 
 class, and wore a beard; ' l)nt he was a cultured 
 man, could read and write, and — chief thing of 
 all— he had money; mo!"eovei\ he did not dress 
 in peasant fashion, hut ^v()re a long kaftan of 
 black cloth, boots of dressed calf-leather, and a 
 small kerchief round his neck. To tell the truth, 
 some of the house-serfs did make remarks among 
 themselves to the effect, " 't is plain, neverthe- 
 less, that he is not one of us," but to his face they 
 almost flattered him. That evening at the over- 
 seer's, Dunyasha completed the concjuest of 
 Akim's amorous heart, although she positively did 
 not reply by a single word to all his ingratiating- 
 speeches, and only now and then cast a side- 
 long glance at him, as though astonished at see- 
 ing that peasant there. All this only inflamed 
 Akim the more. He went off home, thought, and 
 thought, and made up his mind to obtain her 
 hand. . . . So tho)-oughly had she " bewitched " 
 him. 15ut how shall we describe Dunyasha's 
 wrath and indignation when, five days later, Ki- 
 rillovna, affectionately calling her into her room, 
 announced to her that iVkfm (and evidently he 
 had understood how to set about the business) , 
 — that that beard-wearer and peasant .Vkim, to 
 sit beside whom she had regarded as an insult,— 
 was courting lier! 
 
 At first Dunyasha flushed hot all o\ er, then she 
 
 'The beard was regarded as a mark of peasant orijrin.— Tuassi vtdii. 
 
 269
 
 THE IXX 
 
 emitted a forced laugh, tlien fell to weeping; 
 but KiriUovna conducted the attack so artfully, 
 so clearly made her feel her position in the house, 
 so cleverly hinted at Akim's decent appearance, 
 wealth, and blind devotion, and, in conclusion, so 
 significantly alluded to the mistress's own wishes, 
 that Dunyasha left the room with hesitation 
 depicted on her face, and encountering Aki'm, 
 merely gazed intently into his eyes, but did not 
 turn away. The fabulously hnish gifts of this 
 enamoured man dispelled her last doubts. . . . 
 Lizaveta Prokhorovna, to whom Akim, in his joy, 
 had presented a hundred peaches on a large sil- 
 ver salver, gave her consent to his marriage with 
 Dunyasha, and the wedding took ])lace. Akim 
 spared no expense— and the bride, who on the 
 eve of the wedding had sat in the maids' room like 
 one on the verge of expiring, and had done no- 
 thing but cry on the very morning of the wed- 
 ding, while KiriUovna was dressing her for the 
 ceremony, was speedily comforted. . . . Her 
 mistress gave her her own shawl to wear in church 
 — and that very same dav Akim gave her another 
 of the same sort, only almost better. 
 
 So then Akim married, and transported his 
 young wife to his inn. . . . They began to live. 
 Dunyasha proved to be a bad housekeeper, a 
 poor helpmeet for her husband. She never looked 
 after anything, she grieved, was bored, unless 
 some passing officer was attentive to her and paid 
 
 270
 
 TIIK IXN 
 
 court to licr, as lie sat behind tlic caj)ac'ious 
 samovar; she freciuently absented hersell*, sonie- 
 tinies going to the town to sho]j, sometimes to the 
 mistress's manor-house, whieh lay four versls dis- 
 tant from tile inn. In the manor-house she re- 
 freshed herself; there people of her own soi-t sur- 
 rounded her; the maids envied her smart attire; 
 Kirillbvna treated her to tea; Lizaveta l^rokho- 
 rovna lierself chatted with her. . . . lint even 
 these visits did not pass off without bittei- emo- 
 tions for Dunyasha. . . . For instance, being a 
 house-serf, she was not allowed to wear a bonnet, 
 and was obhged to muffle her head u]) in a ker- 
 chief . . . . " hke a merchant's wife," as the 
 crafty Kirillovna said to her. ..." Like the 
 wife of a petty burgher," thought Uunyiisha to 
 herself. 
 
 INIoi-e than once there recurred to xVkim's mind 
 the words of his only relative, an aged uncle, an 
 inveterate ])easant, a man without familv or land: 
 " Well, brother, Akfmushka," he had said to him, 
 when he met him in the street, " I have heard that 
 thou 'rt a-courting. . . ." 
 
 " ^Vell, yes, I am; what of it? " 
 
 " Kkh, Akim, Akim! Thou 'I't no mate i'or us 
 peasants now, there 's no denying it ; neither is she 
 a mate for thee." 
 
 " But why is n't she a mate lor me:* " 
 
 " \\'hy, for this reason, at least," — re tuiiied IJu' 
 other, pointing to Akim's beard, which he, to 
 
 271
 
 THE IX X 
 
 please his bride, had begun to cHp close — he 
 would not consent to shave it off entirely. . . . 
 Akini dropped his eyes; and the old man turned 
 away, wrapped about him the skirts of his slieep- 
 skin coat, which was ragged on the shoulders, and 
 went his way, shaking his head. 
 
 Yes, more than once did Akim grow pensive, 
 grunt and sigli. . . . But his love for his pretty 
 wife did not diminisii; he was proud of her, 
 especially when lie compared her, not only with 
 the other peasant women, or with his former 
 wife, whom he liad married at the age of sixteen, 
 but with the other maids of the house-serf class: 
 as much as to say: " Just see what sort of a bird 
 we 've captured!" .... Her slightest caress 
 afforded him great pleasure. . . " Perhaps," he 
 thought to himself, " she '11 get used to me, she '11 
 grow accustomed to hei- new life. . ." ^Moreover, 
 she conducted lierself very well, and no one could 
 say an evil word concerning her. 
 
 Several years j^^issed in this manner. Dunya- 
 sha really did end by becoming used to her exis- 
 tence. The older Akim grew, the more attached 
 he became to hei-, and the more he trusted lier; her 
 friends, who had married men not of the j^easant 
 class, suffered dire need, or were in distress, or 
 had fallen into evil hands. . . . 15ut Akim con- 
 tinued to wax richer and richer. He succeeded in 
 everything — he was lucky; only one tliiii"' "rieved 
 him: (Jod luid not given him any cliildi-eii. Dun- 
 
 272
 
 TITK TXX 
 
 vaslui was already in hvv I wc'iitv-fiftli year; every 
 one had coiik' to call licr Avdotya Arefyeviia.' 
 Nevertheless, she had not heeoiiie a good house- 
 wife. — But she had conic to love her home, she 
 attended to the stores of ])rovisions, she looked 
 after the servant-niaids. . . . Tiiith to tell, she 
 did all this in an indifFerent way, and did not ex- 
 ercise the proper oversi<>Jit as to cleanliness and 
 order; hut. on the other hand, in the principal 
 room of the iiui, alongside the portrait of Akim, 
 hung* her portrait, painted in oils and ordered 
 by her from a home-bred ai"tist, the son oi' the 
 ])arish deacon. — She was rej)resented in a white 
 gown and a yellow shawl, with six rows ol' large 
 pearls on her neck, long earrings in her ears, and 
 rings on every finger. . . It was possible to recog- 
 nise her, — although the painter had depicted her 
 as extremely corpulent and rosy-cheeked, and 
 had painted her eyes black instead of grey, and 
 even a trifle squinting. . . He had not succeeded 
 at all with Akini: the latter had, somehow, turned 
 out very dark — a la N c in hrandt. — so that a trav- 
 eller wouhl sometimes step up and stare at it, and 
 merely bellow a bit. 
 
 Avdotya bad begiui to dress with a good deal 
 of carelessness; she would throw a large kerchief 
 over her shoulders, and the gown under it would 
 
 ' Neither field-serfs nor the superior house-serfs were addressed bj' 
 their patronymic (like the nobility). Dunyasha is the diminutive 
 
 of Avdoty. — 'I'HANSI.ATOR. 
 
 273
 
 THE IX X 
 
 fit anyhow ; iiuloleiicc had taken possession of her, 
 that si(>hing. languid, sleepy indolence to which 
 Russians are but too greatly inclined, especially 
 when their existence is assured 
 
 Nevertheless, the affairs of Akim and his wife 
 throve verv well; thev lived in concord, and bore 
 the reputation of being an exeni])lary married 
 pair. But, like the squirrel which is cleaning its 
 nose at the very moment when the arrow is 
 aimed at it, a man has no foreboding of his own 
 disaster— and suddenly down he crashes, as 
 though on the ice. . . . 
 
 One autumn evening a merchant with dry- 
 goods stopped at Akim's inn. He was making 
 his wav, bv devious roads, with two loaded 
 kibitkas, from JNIoscow to Kharkoff; he was 
 one of those peddlers whom the wives and 
 daughters of landed proprietors sometimes await 
 with so much impatience. With this peddler, al- 
 ready an elderly man, were travelling two com- 
 rades, or, to put it more accurately, two work- 
 men — one pale, thin, hump-backed, the other a 
 stately, handsome young fellow of twenty. They 
 ordered supjjer, then sat down to drink tea; the 
 |)eddler invited the landlord and landlady to 
 drink a cup with him — and they did not re- 
 fuse. A conversation was speedily under way 
 between the two old men (Akim had seen his 
 iifty-sixth birthday) ; the peddler was making in- 
 quiries concerning the neighbouring landed x^ro- 
 
 2rJ.
 
 TlIK IX N 
 
 priclurs, — and no one could impart to liiiii all 
 necessary details about them better than could 
 Akim. The hump-backed labourer kept continu- 
 ally going out to look at the carts, and at last took 
 himself oft' to sleep; Avdotya was left to chat with 
 the other labourer. . . . She sat beside him and 
 talked little, and chieHy listened to what he nar- 
 rated to her; l)ut evidently his remarks ])leased 
 her; her face grew animated, a flush ])layed over 
 her cheeks, and she laughed cpiite often and 
 readily. The young labourer sat almost motion- 
 less, with his curly head bent toward the table; he 
 spoke softly without raising his voice, and without 
 haste; on the other hand his eyes, not large, but 
 audaciously bright and blue, fairly bored into 
 Avdotya; at fii-st she turned away from them, 
 then she began to gaze into his face. The young- 
 fellow's face was as fresh and smooth as a Cri- 
 mean apple; he smiled frequently and drummed 
 his white fingers on his white chin, already cov- 
 ered with sparse, dark down. He ex])ressed him- 
 self after the merchant fashion, but with great 
 ease, and with a certain careless self-confidence — 
 and kept staring at her all the M'hile with the 
 same insistent and insolent look. . . . Suddenly 
 he moved a little closer to her, and without chang- 
 ing the expression of his face in the least, he said 
 to her: " Avdotya /Vrefyevna, there 's nobody in 
 the world nicer than yoii; 1 'm ready to die i'or 
 you, 1 do believe." 
 
 275
 
 THE IXX 
 
 Avdotva lauylicd loiidlw 
 
 " AVliat 's the matter with thee? " — Akim asked 
 her. 
 
 " \\'hy, tliis man liere is telhiig such absurd 
 things," — she said. l)ut witliout any special con- 
 fusion. 
 
 The old peddler grinned. 
 
 " He, he, yes, maam ; tliat Xaiim of mine is 
 such a joker, sir. But you must n't listen to 
 him, ma'am." 
 
 " Yes, certainly! as if I would listen to him," 
 — she replied, and shook her head. 
 
 " He, he, of course, ma'am," — remarked the 
 old man. — " Well, but," — he added in a drawl, — 
 " good-bye, I 'm much obliged, ma'am, but now 
 't is time to go to roost, ma'am. . . ." And he 
 rose to his feet. 
 
 " And we are much obliged, sir, too, sir," — said 
 Akim also, — " for the entertainment, that is to 
 say; but now we wisli you good night, sir. Rise, 
 Avdotj^ishka." 
 
 Avdotya rose, as thougli reluctantly, and after 
 lier Xaiim rose also .... and all dis])ersed. 
 
 The landlord and landhidy l)etook themselves 
 to the small, closet-like room wliich served tliem 
 as a bedroom. Akim set to snoring instantly. 
 Avdotya could not get to slee]) for a long time. 
 . . . At first she lay still, with her face turned 
 to the wall, then she began to toss about on the 
 hot feather-bed, now throwing off, now drawing 
 
 276
 
 TTTK TXX 
 
 up till' f()\crlc't .... Hull slu' IVll iiilo a liolit 
 doze. iVll of a sucUltn, a man s loud voice re- 
 sounded in the yard; it was singiu*^' some slow hut 
 not mournful soni^-. the words of which could not 
 be distinguished. Avd(')tya opened her eyes, 
 raised hersell' on her elbow, and began to listen. 
 . . . The song still went on. ... It poui'cd 
 i'orth sonorously on the aiitniiinal aii-. 
 
 .Vkim raised his head. 
 
 " Who s that singing? " — he inquired. 
 
 " I don't know," — she replied. 
 
 " He sings well," — he added, after a hrlei' 
 pause. — " Well. What a strong voice. I used to 
 sing in my day," — he continued, — " and I sang 
 well, but my voice is ruined. But that s a fine 
 singer. It must be that young fellow singing. 
 Naiim is his name, I think." — And he turned 
 over on his other side — drew a deep breath, and 
 fell asleep again. 
 
 The voice did not cease for a long time there- 
 after. . . . Avdotya continued to listen and lis- 
 ten; at last it suddenly broke off' short, as it were, 
 then uttered one more wild shout, and slowly died 
 away. Avdotya crossed herself, and laid her head 
 on the })illow. . . . Half an hour ela])sed. . . . 
 She raised herself and began softly to get out of 
 bed. ... 
 
 "Whither art thou going, wife?"— Akim 
 asked her through his sleep. 
 
 She stopped short. 
 
 277
 
 THE INN 
 
 ■ To adjust the shrine-lamp," ^ — she answered; 
 *' somehow or other 1 can't sleep.'' 
 
 " Thou hadst ])etter say thy prayers," — stam- 
 mered Akini as he fell asleep. 
 
 Avdotya went to the slirine-lamp, began to ad- 
 just it, and incautiously extinguished it; she re- 
 turned and lay down in bed. Silence reigned. 
 
 Early on the following morning the merchant 
 set out on liis way with his companions. Avdotya 
 was sleeping. Akim escorted them for about 
 half a verst; he was obliged to go to the mill. 
 On returning home he found his wife already 
 dressed, and no longer alone; with her was the 
 young fellow of the previous evening, Xaum. 
 Thev were standing bv the table, near the win- 
 (low, and talking together. On catching sight 
 of Akim, Avdotva silentlv left the room, but 
 Naiim said that he had returned for his master's 
 mittens, which the latter had forgotten on the 
 bench, and he also left the room. 
 
 We shall now inform our readers of that which 
 thev, no doubt, have alreadv divined without our 
 aid: Avdotya had fallen passionately in love with 
 Xaum. How this could come to pass so quickly, 
 it is difficult to explain ; it is all the more difficult, 
 in that, up to that time, she had behaved in an 
 irreproachable manner, notwithstanding numer- 
 ous opportunities and temptations to betray her 
 
 1 It is customary to have a holy picture, with a shrine-lamp filled 
 with olive-oil burning before it, in l)e(lrooras. — Tkansi.atoh 
 
 278
 
 THE IXX 
 
 marital vows. Later on. wluii licr relations with 
 Xauni became pnblie. many [)ersons in tlie coun- 
 tryside declared thai on that \ erv first eveninu" 
 he had put some mau:ic iierh into her tea (peo- 
 ple witli us still believe firmly in the efficacy of 
 this method^ , and that this was very readily to be 
 discerned in Avdotva. who. thev said, very soon 
 
 • • * 
 
 thereafter began to grow thin and bored. 
 
 However that may be. at all events Xaiim be- 
 gan to be frequently seen at Akim's inn. First, 
 he journeyed past with that same merchant. Init 
 three months later he made his appearance alone, 
 witli his own wares: then a rumour became cur- 
 rent that he had taken u]) his residence in one 
 of the near-by towns of the county, and from that 
 time forth not a ^^•eek passed that his stout, 
 painted cart, drawn by a pair of plump horses 
 which he drove himself, did not make its appear- 
 ance on the highway. 
 
 There was no great friendship between him and 
 Akim. but no hostility between them was ajjpar- 
 ent: Akim paid no great attention to him, and 
 knew nothing about him. except that he was an 
 intelligent young fellow, who had started out 
 boldly. He did not suspect Avdotya's real feel- 
 ings, and continued to trust her as before. 
 
 Thus ])assed two years more. 
 
 Then, one sunmier day. before dinner, about 
 one o'clock, Lizaveta Prokhorovna, who precisely 
 during the course of those two years had some 
 
 279
 
 THE IXN 
 
 how siKklciily grown wrinkled and sallow, de- 
 spite all sorts of massage, rouge, and powder, — 
 Lizaveta Prokhorovna. with her lap-dog and her 
 folding })arasol, strolled forth lor a \\alk in her 
 neat little German park. Lightly rustling her 
 starched gown, she was walking with minc- 
 ing steps along the sanded path, between Uvo 
 rows of dahlias drawn up in military array, 
 when suddenly she was overtaken by our old 
 acquaintance, Kirillovna, who respectfully an- 
 nounced that a certain merchant from B*** de- 
 sired to see her on a very important matter. 
 Kirillovna, as of yore, enjoyed the mistress's 
 favour (in realit}^ she managed the estate of 
 jNIadame Kuntze), and some time previously had 
 received permission to wear a white mob-cap, 
 which imi)arted still more harshness to the thin 
 features of her swarthy face. 
 
 " A merchant? " — inquired the lady. " What 
 does he want? " 
 
 " 1 don't know, ma'am, what he wants," — re- 
 plied Kirillovna in a wheedling voice; — "but, 
 apparently, he wishes to purchase something 
 from you, ma'am." , 
 
 Lizaveta I'rokhorovna returned to the draw- 
 ing-room, seated herself in her customary i)lace, 
 an arm-chair with a canopy, over which ivy me- 
 andered prettily, and ordered the merchant from 
 B*** to be summoned. 
 
 Xaum entered, made his bow, and halted at 
 the door. 
 
 280
 
 TITK TXX 
 
 I h;\\v lu'ard llial you \\ isli to hiix soinclliiii^ 
 from UK'." — bc'crnn LizavcHa Pi-(')kli()i()\ iia, and 
 tli()u«»lil ((• iR-rscir the while: — " \\'hal a haiid- 
 sonie man tliis iiuTchaTit is! " 
 
 " Exactly so, nuraiii." 
 
 " And precisely what is it? " 
 
 " Will you not deif>n to sell vour inn!' " 
 
 "What inn?" 
 
 " ^Vhy, the one which stands on the hi<>h\\ay, 
 not far from here. ' 
 
 ■ JUit that inn does not belon<i- to me. That is 
 Akim's inn." 
 
 " Why is n't it yours? Tt stands on your laiid, 
 ma'am." 
 
 " Assuming that the land is mine .... ])ought 
 in my name; still the inn is his." 
 
 " Just so, ma'am. So then, won't yon sell it 
 to us, ma'am? " 
 
 " I am to sell it? " 
 
 " Just so, ma'am. And we would i)ay a good 
 price for it." 
 
 Lizaveta Prokhorovna maintained silence for 
 a while. 
 
 "Really, this is strange," — she began again: 
 " what are vou saving;' Hut how nineh would vou 
 give?" — she added. '" 'i'hat is to say. I am not 
 askiuii' for mvself. but foi' Akfm." 
 
 " Why, with all the buildings and. ma'am, <le- 
 pendencies, ma'am . . . well . . . and. of eour.se, 
 with the land attached to the inn. we would give 
 two thousand rubles, ma'am." 
 
 281
 
 THE I XX 
 
 " Two thousand rubles! That 's very httle," 
 — rephed Lizaveta Prokhorovna. 
 
 " Tliat 's the proper price, ma'am." 
 
 " But, have you talked it over with Akim? " 
 
 " Why should we talk witli him. ma'am? The 
 inn is yours, so we have tliought ])est to discuss 
 it with you, ma'am." 
 
 " But I liave alreadv told vou .... reallv, 
 this is astonishing! How is it tliat you do not 
 understand me? " 
 
 " Why don't we understand, ma'am? We 
 do." 
 
 Lizaveta Prokhorovna looked at X^aum, X'^aiim 
 looked at Lizaveta Prokhorovna. 
 
 " How is it to be, then, ma'am? " — he began: 
 — " what i)roposal have you to make on your side, 
 that is to say, ma'am? " 
 
 " On my side . . . ." Lizaveta Prokhorovna 
 fidgeted about in her easy-chair. — " In the first 
 place, I tell you that two thousand is not enough, 
 and in the second ])lace . . . ." 
 
 " We '11 add a hundred, if you like." 
 
 Lizaveta Prokhorovna rose. 
 
 " I see that you are talking at cross-pur])oses. 
 and I have already told you tliat I camiot and 
 will not sell tliat inn.' I cannot .... that is to 
 say, I will not." 
 
 X'aum smiled and made no reply for a while. 
 
 " Well, as you like, ma'am . . . ." he remarked, 
 with a slif^ht shruq' of the shoulders: — " I will 
 
 282
 
 rilK INN 
 
 bid you good-day, ni;rani." — iViid ]\v iiiadc liis 
 bow, and grasjK'd Ww Inoi-liaiidlL'. 
 
 liizaveta Pioklioiox iia Imncd toward biiii. 
 
 " However, ...."' she said, with barely per- 
 eeptible liesitation, — " you need not ^yn just yet. ' 
 — She rang the })ell; Kin'llovna made her aj)pear- 
 anee from the boudoir. 
 
 " Kin'llovna, order the servant.s to give the iner- 
 eliant tea. — 1 will see you later on," — she added, 
 with a slight inclination of her head. 
 
 Naiim bowed again, and left the room in com- 
 pany with Kirillovna. 
 
 Lizaveta Prokliorovna })aeed uj) and down the 
 room a couple of times, then rang the bell again. 
 This time a page entered. She ordered him to 
 summon Kirillovna. In a few moments Kiril- 
 lovna entered, ^\ ith l)arely a squeak of her new 
 goat's-leather shoes. 
 
 "Didst thou hear," — ])egan Lizaveta I'rokho- 
 rovna, with a constrained smile, —" wjiat that 
 merchant is pr()])()sing to me? Such a (pieer man, 
 really ! " 
 
 " No, ma'am, 1 did n"t hear. . . . AN'^hat is it, 
 ma'am?" — And Kirillovna slightly nanowed her 
 little, black, Kalmyk eyes. 
 
 " He wants to buy Aki'm's inn from me." 
 
 " And what of that, ma'am ' "' 
 
 " Why, seest thou .... \hi\ how about 
 Akim? I ]]-<\\v gi\(ii il io Aki'm." 
 
 " And, good gracious, my lady, w hat is il you 
 
 •JS.'J
 
 THE INN 
 
 are pleased to sayi' Is ii't tliat inn yours? Are n't 
 we your property, pray? And everytliing we 
 have, — is n't that also the property of the mis- 
 tress? " 
 
 " INIercy nie, what 's that thou 'rt saying, Ki- 
 rillovna?" — Lizaveta Prokhorovna got out her 
 batiste handkerchief and nervously blew her nose. 
 — " Akim bought that inn out of his own money." 
 
 " Out of his own money? And where did he 
 get that money? — Was n't it through your kind- 
 ness? And, then, see how long he has enjoyed 
 the use of the land. . . . Surely, all this is through 
 your kindness. And do you think, madam, that 
 even so he will not have more money left ? AVhy, 
 he 's richer than you are, as God is my witness, 
 ma am ! 
 
 " All that is so, of course, but, nevertheless, I 
 cannot. . . . How am I to sell that inn? " 
 
 " But why not sell it, ma'am? " — went on Ki- 
 rillovna. — " Luckily, a purchaser has turned up. 
 Permit me to inquire, ma'am, how much does he 
 offer you? " 
 
 " Over two thousand rubles," — said IJzaveta 
 l'r(')khorovna, softly. 
 
 " He '11 give more, madam, if he offers two 
 tliousand at the first word. i\nd you can set- 
 tle with Akim afterward; you can reduce his quit- 
 rent, I su])pose. — He will still be grateful." 
 
 " Of course, his (juit-rent must be reduced. 
 But no, Kirillovna; how can I sell? . . ." And 
 
 28-1
 
 THE IXX 
 
 Lr/a\c'l;i I*i"(')kli()i()\ ii.i j)a('C'(l up and down the 
 room. . . . " \(). il is iinpossibk-: it isn't ri^iit ; 
 . . . . no: pK'asc say no more to mc al)()nt il . . , 
 or I sliall get an«^ry. . . . " 
 
 liiit in s])itc of the j)r()liil)ition of the excited 
 I^izaveta Piokliorox na, Kirillovna continued to 
 talk, arid half an Iiour later she returned to 
 \auin, whom she had left in the hiitlei-'s |)a!itrv 
 Avith the samovar. 
 
 " AVhat have you to tell me, my most re- 
 spected? " — said Xaum. foppishly turning' his 
 empty cuj) upside down on his saucer. 
 
 " This is what 1 have to tell you," — returned 
 Kirillovna: — " that you are to go to the mistress; 
 she bids you come." 
 
 " I obey, ma'am," — replied Xaum, rising, a?id 
 followed Kirillovna to the drawing-room. 
 
 The door closed behind them. . . . AVhen, at 
 last, that door o})ened again and Xaum backed 
 out of it bowing, the matter was already settled: 
 Akim's inn belonged to him; he had ae(|uired it 
 for two thousand eight hundred i-nhies in bank- 
 bills.' They had decided to complete the deed 
 of sale as prom])tly as possil)le. and not to an- 
 nounce the sale until that was accomplished: 
 Lizaveta Prokhorovna had received one hundred 
 rubles as deposit, and two hundred rubles went to 
 Kirillovna as commission. 
 
 'The diflFerencc in value hitwt'cn paper and silver money was con- 
 siderable in those days, and the sort of currency is jfenerally specified. 
 — Thansi.atoiu 
 
 285
 
 THE IXX 
 
 " 1 liave got it at a bargain," — tlioiiglit Xaum 
 as he climbed into liis cart; " T 'ni glad it tnrned 
 out well." 
 
 At tliat \ ery time, when the bargain wliieh we 
 have described was being effected at the manor- 
 house, Akim was sitting alone on the wall-bench 
 under the window, in his own room, and stroking 
 his beard with an air of dis])leasure. . . . We 
 have stated above tliat he (Hd not suspect his 
 wife's fondness for Xaum. altliough kind persons 
 had, more tlian once, hinted to liim that it was 
 liigh time for liim to listen to reason; of course, 
 he himself was sometimes able to observe that 
 his housewife, for some time ])ast, had become 
 more restive; but tlien, all the world knows that 
 the female sex is vain and capricious. Even when 
 it really seemed to liim that something was wrong, 
 he merely waved it from him ; he did not wish, as 
 the saying is, to raise a row; his good-nature had 
 not diminished with the years, and, moreover, 
 indolence was making itself felt. But on that day 
 he was very much out of sorts; on the previous 
 evening he had unexpectedly overheard on the 
 street a conversation between his maid-servant 
 and another woman, one of his neighbours. . . . 
 
 The woman had asked his maid-servant wJiy 
 she had not run in to see her on the evening of 
 the holiday. " I was expecting thee," she said. 
 
 " Why, I would have come," — replied the 
 maid-servant, — " but, shameful to say. I caught 
 
 286
 
 TIIK I\\ 
 
 the niistri'ss ;il liir cajHTs .... had luck to 
 her!" 
 
 " 'I'iioii didst calcli lui" . . . /' rcj)L'atc(l thf 
 ])easant-\vilV in a jKculiarly-drawling' tone, prop- 
 inntr licr cheek on lier hand. — " And where (hdst 
 tliou catch her. my mother? " 
 
 " A\'hv, hchind the hemp-patches— tlie priest's 
 hemp-patches. Tlie mistress, seest tliou, had gone 
 out to tlie hemp-patches to meet that feHow of 
 hers, tliat Xaum, and I could n't see in tlic dark, 
 whether because of the moonlight, or what not, 
 the Lord kno\\'s, and so I ran right against them." 
 
 " Thou didst run against them," — rei)eated 
 the peasant-wife again. — " Well, and what was 
 she doing, mv mother? Was slie standing with 
 him?" 
 
 " Slie was standing, right enough. He was 
 standing and she was standing. She caught 
 sight of me, and says slie: ' Whither art thou 
 running to? Take thyself off home.' Sol went." 
 
 " Thou wentest." — The peasant-wife was si- 
 lent for a space. — " Well, good-bye, Fetfin'u- 
 shka," — she said, and went her way. 
 
 This conversation had ])roduce(l an uni)leasant 
 effect on iVkfni. His love for Avdotya luid al- 
 ready grown cold, but, ncvertlieless, the maid- 
 servant's words dis])leased him. And she had 
 told the tiuth: as a matter of fact, Avdotya had 
 gone out that evening to nieet Xaum, who had 
 waited for her in the dense shadow which fell 
 
 287
 
 THE IXX 
 
 upon the road from the tall and motionless hemp- 
 l)atcli. Tiie dew had drenched its every stalk 
 from top to bottom; the scent, ])owerfid to 
 the point of oppressiveness, lay all around. The 
 moon had only just risen, huge and crimson, in 
 the dim and the blackish mist. Xaiim had heard 
 Avdotya's hasty footsteps from afar, and had ad- 
 vanced to meet her. She reached him all ])ale 
 with running; the moon shone directly in her face. 
 
 " Well, how now; hast thou brought it? " — he 
 asked her. 
 
 " Yes, I have," — she rephed in an irresolute 
 tone: — " but, Xaiim Ivanovitch, what . . . ." 
 
 " Give it here, if thou hast brought it," — he 
 interrupted her, stretching out his hand. 
 
 She drew from beneath her kerchief on her 
 neck some sort of packet. Xaum instantly 
 grasped it and thrust it into his breast. 
 
 " Naum I vanitch," — enunciated Avdotya, 
 slowly, and without taking her ej^es from him. 
 ..." Okh, Xaum I\'anitch, I am ruining my 
 soul for thee. . . ." 
 
 At that moment the maid-servant had come 
 upon them. 
 
 So, then, Akim was sitting on the wall-bench 
 and stroking his beard with his dissatisfaction. 
 Avdotya kept entering the house and leaving it. 
 He merely followed her with his eyes. At last 
 she entered yet again, and taking a warm wadded 
 jacket from the little room, she was already cross- 
 
 288 
 
 J
 
 TITK I\X 
 
 ing the thivshold : l)iit lie could fiuhnr it no 
 longer, and l)egan to talk, as though to hiinsell': 
 
 " I wonder," — he began, — " what makes tliese 
 women-folks always so fidgety!' That they 
 should sit still in one spot is something that can't 
 be demanded of them. Tliat 's no affair of theirs. 
 But what thev do love is to be runnin"- off some- 
 wliere oi' other, morning or evening. — Yes." 
 
 Avdotya heard her husband's s])eech out to the 
 end without changing her attitude; only, at the 
 word " evening," she moved lier head a mere tri- 
 fle, and seemed to become th(jughtful. 
 
 " Well, Semyonitch," — she said at last, with 
 irritation, — " 't is well known that when thou be- 
 ginnest to talk, why. . . ." 
 
 She waved her hand and departed, slamming 
 the door behind her. Avdotya did not, in fact, 
 hold Akim's eloquence in high esteem, and it 
 sometimes happened, wlien he undertook of an 
 evening to argue with tlie travellers, or began to 
 tell stories, she would yawn quietly or walk out 
 of the room. Akim stared at the closed door. . . . 
 " Wlien thou beginnest to talk," he repeated in 
 an undertone . . . . " that \s exactly it. tliat 1 
 have talked "Very little witli thee. . . . ^Vnd who 
 art thou? My equal, and, moreover . . . ." And 
 he rose, meditated, and dealt himself a blo^v on 
 the na])e of his neck with his clenched fist. . . . 
 
 A few days passed after this day in a de- 
 cidedly queer manner. Akfm ke])t on staring at 
 
 •JSl)
 
 THE IXN 
 
 liis wife, as tliough he were preparing to say 
 something to her; and she, on her side, darted 
 suspicious glances at him : moreover, both of them 
 maintained a constrained silence; this silence, 
 however, was generally broken by some snappish 
 remark from Akim about some neglect in the 
 liousekeeping, or on the subject of women in 
 general ; Avdotya, for the most part, did not an- 
 swer him with a single word. But, despite all 
 Akim's good-natured weakness, matters would 
 infallibly have come to a decisive explanation be- 
 tween him and Avdotya had it not been for the 
 fact that, at last, an incident occurred, after which 
 all explanations would have been superfluous. 
 
 Xamely, one morning, Akim and his wife were 
 just preparing to take a light meal after the 
 noon hoin* (there was not a single traveller in the 
 inn, after the summer labours), when suddenly 
 a small cart rumbled energetically along the 
 road, and drew up at the porch. Akim glanced 
 through the small window, frowned, and dro])])ed 
 liis eyes; from the cart, with(nit haste, Xaum 
 alighted. Avdotya did not see him, but when 
 liis voice resounded in tlie anteroom, the spoon 
 trembled weakly in her liand. He ordered 
 the hired man to put his horse in the yard. iVt 
 last tlie door flew wide open, and he entered 
 the room. 
 
 " Morning," — he said, and doff*ed his cap. 
 
 " ]\Iorning," — repeated .^Vkfm through his 
 teeth. — " W'lience has (iod brought thee? " 
 
 290
 
 THE IXX 
 
 " From lilt' iK'i^^lihoinliood,"— returned the 
 otiiei", seatin«4- liiinseH' on llic \\all-l)eneh. " I 
 come from the hi(l\ -mistress." 
 
 " From the mistress," — said Akini, still inA 
 rising from his seat. — " On husiness, pray? ' 
 
 " Yes, on husiness. Avdotya Arefyevna, our 
 respects to you." 
 
 " Good morning, Xaum," — she re])lied. 
 
 All remained silent for a space. 
 
 " What have you there — some sort of ])orridge, 
 I suppose?" — began Naum. . . . 
 
 " Yes, porridge," — retorted xVkim, and sud- 
 denly paled: — " but it is n't for thee." 
 
 Naum darted a glance of astonishment at 
 Akim. 
 
 "Why is n't it forme?" 
 
 " Why, just because it is n't for thee." — 
 Akim's eyes began to flash, and he smote the 
 table with his fist. — " There is nothin"- in mv 
 house for thee, dost hear me? " 
 
 " What ails thee, Semyoniteh, what ails thee? 
 What 's the matter with thee? " 
 
 " There 's nothing the matter with me, but I 'm 
 tired of tJtcc, Xaum Ivaniteh, that "s what." — The 
 old man rose to his feet, trembling all over. — 
 " Thou hast taken to haunting my house alto- 
 gether too much, that 's what." 
 
 Naiim also rose to his fe^ 
 
 " Thou hast gone crazy, brother, T do believe," 
 — he said with a smile. — " Avdotya ^Vrefyevna, 
 what 's the matter with him? "... 
 
 291
 
 THE IXX 
 
 " I tell thee," — yelled Akiiii, in a quivering 
 voice. — " get out. Dost hear me? .... AVhat hast 
 thou to do with Avdotya Arefyevna? .... Be- 
 gone, I tell thee! Dost hear me? " 
 
 "What 's that thou art saying to me? "—in- 
 quired Xaiim, significantly. 
 
 " Take thyself away from here ; that 's what 
 I 'm saying to thee. There is God, and there is 
 the threshold .... dost understand? or 't will 
 be the worse for thee! " 
 
 Xaum strode forward. 
 
 " Good heavens, don't fight, my dear little 
 doves," — stammered Avdotya, who until then 
 had remained sitting motionless at the table. . . . 
 
 Naiim cast a glance at her. 
 
 " Don't worrv, Avdotva Arefvevna, whv 
 
 ^ • * ' * 
 
 should we fight! Ek-sta, brother," — he con- 
 tinued, addressing Akim: — " thou hast deafened 
 me with thy yells. Really. What an inso- 
 lent fellow thou art! Did any one ever hear of 
 such a thing as expelling a man from another 
 man's house," — added Xaiim. with deliberate 
 enunciation: — " and the master of the house, into 
 the bargain? " 
 
 " What dost thou mean by another man's 
 house? " — muttered Akim. — " What master of 
 the house? " 
 
 " Why, me, for examj)le." 
 
 And X^aum screwed u]) his eyes, and displayed 
 his white teeth in a grin. 
 
 292
 
 THE I XX 
 
 "Thee, forsooth:' yMiTt 1 tlie master of* the 
 luHise? " 
 
 " Wliat a stupid fellow thou art, my good 
 fellow. — I am the master of the house, I tell 
 thee." 
 
 Akim opened his eyes to their widest. 
 
 " What nonsense is that thou art prating, as 
 though thou hadst eaten mad-wort? " — he said 
 at last. — " How the devil dost thou come to be 
 the master? " 
 
 " Well, what 's the use of talking to thee," — 
 shouted Xaum, impatiently. — " Dost see this 
 document," — he added, jerking out of his ])ocket 
 a sheet of stamped ])aper folded in four: — " dost 
 see it? This is a deed of sale, understand, a deed 
 of sale for thy land, and for the inn; I have 
 bought them from the landed proprietress, I^iza- 
 veta Prokhorovna. We signed the deed of sale 
 yesterday, in B***— consequently, I am the mas- 
 ter here, not thou. (Tather ui^ thv duds this very 
 day," — he added, putting the paper back in his 
 pocket; — " and let there be not a sign of thee here 
 by to-morrow; hearest thou? " 
 
 xVkim stood as though he had been struck by 
 lightning. 
 
 " Brigand! " — he moaned at last; — "the brig- 
 and. . . Hey, Fedka, ^Iitka, wife, wife, seize 
 him, seize him — hold him!" 
 
 He had com])letely lost his wits. 
 
 "Look out, look out," — ejaculated Xaiiin 
 
 21)3
 
 THE INN 
 
 I will go myself. I 
 . . . but why 
 
 menacingly: — " look out, old man, don't play the 
 fool. . . ." 
 
 " But beat him, beat him, wife! "— Akim kept 
 repeating in a tearful voice, vainly and impo- 
 tently trying to leave his place. — " The soul- 
 ruiner, the brigand. . . She was n't enough for 
 thee . . . tliou wantest to take my house away 
 from me also, and everything. . . . But no, stay 
 .... that cannot be. . . 
 will tell her myself . . . how 
 sell? . . . Stop .... stop. . . ." 
 
 And he rushed hatless into the street. 
 
 " AVhither art thou running, Akim Ixanitch. 
 ^vhither art thou running, dear little father^ ' — 
 cried the maid-servant Fetinya, M'ho colhded M'ith 
 him in the doorway. 
 
 "To the mistress! let me go! To the mis- 
 tress. . . ." roared Akim, and catching sight of 
 Xaum's cart, M'hich the servants had not yet had 
 time to put in the stable-yard, he si)rang into it, 
 Keized the reins, and lashing the horse witli all 
 his might, he set off at a gallo]) to the lady's 
 manor-house. 
 
 " Dear little mother, Lizaveta Prokhorovna," 
 —he kept repeating to himself all the way,— 
 " why such unkindness? I have shown zeal, me- 
 Ihinks!" 
 
 And, in the meantime, he kept on beating the 
 horse. Those w bo met him drew aside and i»azed 
 long after him. 
 
 294
 
 THE IXN 
 
 Jii a ({iiartci- of* an liom- Akim had iraclu-d 
 Lizavt'ta l^rokliorox na's manor, had (hishcd iij) 
 to the porch, liad leaped from the eait, and hurst 
 straight into the anteroom. 
 
 " Wliat dost thovi want? " -muttered the star- 
 tled footman, who was sweetly dozing on the 
 locker. 
 
 " The mistress— I must see the mistress," vocif- 
 erated Akim loudly. 
 
 The lackey was astounded. 
 
 " Has anything happened? " — he hegan. 
 
 " Nothing has happened, hut I must see the 
 mistress." 
 
 "What, what?" — said the lackey, more and 
 more astounded, straightening liimself up. 
 
 Akim i-ecovered himself. . . It was as though 
 he had been drenched with cold water. 
 
 " Announce to the mistress, Piotr Evgrafitch," 
 — he said, with a low obeisance, — " that Akim 
 wishes to see her. ..." 
 
 " Good, ... 1 will go ... . I will an- 
 nounce thee .... but evidently thou art 
 drunk. \Vait,"— grumbled the lackey, and w itli- 
 drew. 
 
 ^Vkim dropped his eyes and became confused, 
 as it were. . . . His l)o]diiess had swiftly al)an- 
 doned him from the very moment he had entered 
 the anteroom. 
 
 liizaveta Prokhorovna was also disconcerted 
 when Akim's arrival was announced to her. She 
 
 295
 
 THE IXX 
 
 iiiiiiR'diately gave orders that Kirillovna should 
 be called to her in her boudoir. 
 
 " I cannot receive him," — she said hurriedly, 
 as soon as the latter made her appearance; — " I 
 cannot possibly do it. \Vhat can I sav to him? 
 Did n't I tell thee that he would be sure to come 
 and would com]dain :" " — she added, a\ ith vexa- 
 tion and agitation; — " I said so. . . ." 
 
 " \Vhv should vou receive him, ma'am?" — 
 calmly replied Kirillovna; — "that is not neces- 
 sarv, ma'am. Wh^• should vou disturb vourseli, 
 pray ? 
 
 "But what am I to do?" 
 
 " If you will permit me, I will talk with him." 
 
 Lizaveta l^rokhorovna raised her head. 
 
 " Pray, do me the favour, Kirillovna. Do talk 
 with him. Do thou tell him .... there — well, 
 that I found it necessary . . . and, moreover, 
 that I will make it up to him .... well, there 
 now, thou knowest what to say. Pray, do, Kiril- 
 lovna." 
 
 " Please do not fret, madam," — returned Ki- 
 rillovna, and withdrew, with squeaking shoes. 
 
 A (juarter of an hour had not elapsed when 
 their squeaking became audible again, and Ki- 
 rillovna entered the ])oudoir with the same com- 
 posed expression on her face, with the same 
 crafty intelligence in her eves. 
 
 " Well," — iiKjui red her mistress, — " how about 
 Akim?" 
 
 296 
 
 J
 
 TTTE TXN 
 
 " 'T is all right, iiia'aui. He says, ma'am, that 
 everytliing is in your power, he suhmits himself 
 wholly to the ^\ill of your (rraciousness, and if 
 only you keep well and i)ros])erous, he will for- 
 ever be satisfied with his lot." 
 
 " And he made no complaint? " 
 
 " None whatever, ma'am. What was there 
 for him to c()m])lain about?" 
 
 " But why did he come, then? " — said I^izaveta 
 Prokhorovna, not \\'ithout some surprise. 
 
 " Why, he came to ask, ma'am, until he receives 
 compensation, whether you will not be so gracious 
 as to remit his quit-rent for the coming year, that 
 is to say . . . ." 
 
 "Of course I \\ill! I will remit it," — put 
 in Lizaveta Prokhorovna, with vivacity; — "of 
 course. And, tell him, in general terms, that I 
 will reward him. \\^ell, 1 thank thee, Kirillovna. 
 And he is a good peasant, I see. Stay," — she 
 added: — "here, give him this from me." — And 
 she took out of her work-table a three-ruble bill. — 
 " Here, take this and give it to him." 
 
 " I obey, ma'am," — replied Kirillovna, and 
 coolly returning to her own room, she coolly 
 locked up the bank-bill in an iron-bound casket 
 which stood by the head of her bed; she kept in 
 it all her ready money, and the amount was not 
 small 
 
 Kirillovna by her report had sootlied her la(i\-. 
 but the conversation between her and Aki'm had. 
 
 21)7
 
 THE IXX 
 
 in realitj', not been jjreciselv as she represented 
 it, but to wit: she had ordered him to be sum- 
 moned to her in the maids' liall. At first he re- 
 fused to go to her, declaring that he did not wish 
 to see Kirillovna, but Lizaveta Prokhorovna her- 
 self; nevertheless, at last, he submitted, and 
 wended his way tlirough the back door to Kiril- 
 lovna. He found her alone. On entering the 
 room he came to a halt at once, leaned against the 
 wall near the door, and made an effort to speak 
 .... and coidd not. 
 
 Kirillovna stared intently at him. 
 
 " Do you wish to see the mistress, Akim Se- 
 myonitch? "—she began. 
 
 He merely nodded his head. 
 
 " That is impossible, Akim Semyonitch. And 
 what is the use? AVhat is done can't be undone, 
 and you will only worry her. She cannot receive 
 you now, Akim Semyonitch." 
 
 " She cannot,"— he repeated, and paused for 
 a space.—" Then how is it to be,"— he said at 
 last; — " that means that I must lose my house? " 
 
 " Hearken, Akim Semyonitch. I know that 
 you have always been a reasonable man. This is 
 the mistress's will. iVnd it cannot be chano'ed. 
 You cannot alter it. There is nothing for you 
 and me to discuss, for it will lead to no result. 
 Is n't that so?" 
 
 Akim put his hands behind liis back. 
 
 " But you had better consider," — went on Ki- 
 
 298
 
 TIIK IXN 
 
 nllovna, "wlictlitr yon ought not to ask the 
 mistress to remit your (juit-i-ent, had n't you? . . ." 
 
 " That means that 1 must lose the house," — 
 repeated .iVkim, in the same tone as before. 
 
 " Akim Semyoniteh, 1 've told you already 
 't is impossible to change that. You know that 
 yourself even better than I do." 
 
 " Yes. But tell me, at any rate, how much 
 my inn sold for? " 
 
 " I don't know that, Akim Semyoniteh; I can't 
 tell you. . . . But whv^ do vou stand there?" — 
 she added. — " Sit down. . . ." 
 
 " I 11 stand as I am, ma'am. I 'm a peasant. 
 I thank you humbly." 
 
 " Why do you say that you are a peasant, 
 Akim Semyoniteh ? You are the same as a mer- 
 chant; you cannot be compared even with the 
 house-serfs; why do you say that? Don't decry 
 yourself without cause. Won't you luive some 
 tea?" 
 
 " Xo, thanks; I don't require it. And so mj'' 
 dear little house has l)ecome your ])roperty," — 
 he added, (juitting tlie wall. — " Thanks for that, 
 also. I will bid you good day, my little madam." 
 
 Thereupon he wlieeled round, and left the 
 room. Kii illovna smoothed ilown her apron, and 
 betook herself to her mistress. 
 
 " So it appears that I actually have become a 
 merchant," — said Akim to himself, as he paused 
 in thouglit before the gate. — " A fine merchant! " 
 
 299
 
 THE IX X 
 
 He waved his liand and laughed a bitter hiugh. 
 — " Well, I might as well go home! " 
 
 And utterly oblivious of X'^aiim's horse, which 
 he had driven thither, he trudged along the road 
 to the inn. Before he had covered the first verst, 
 he heard the rattle of a cart alongside of him. 
 
 " Akim, Akini Semyonitch! " — some one called 
 to him. 
 
 He raised his eyes and beheld his acquaintance, 
 the chanter of the parish church, Efrem, nick- 
 named " The jNlole," a small, round-shouldered 
 man, with a shar])-pointed little nose, and pur- 
 blind eyes. He was sitting in a rickety little cart 
 on a whisp of straw, with his breast leaning on 
 the driver's seat. 
 
 " Art thou on thy way home, pray? " — he asked 
 Akim. 
 
 Akim halted. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I '11 drive you there, — shall I? " 
 
 " All right, do." 
 
 Efrem moved aside, and Akim clambered into 
 the cart. Efrem, who was jolly with drink, it 
 appeared, set to lashing his miserable little nag 
 with the ends of his rope reins ; the horse advanced 
 at a weary trot, incessantly twitching her un- 
 bridled muzzle. 
 
 They drove about a verst, without saying one 
 word to each other. Akim sat with bowed head, 
 
 300
 
 11 IK IX X 
 
 and Kf'rcm iiicrcly imiml)lc(l soiiR'tliiii^ to Ijiiu- 
 scli', now stinmlaling' llic lioisc to grcatci- speed, 
 now reining it in. 
 
 "^VlHtlle^ hast thou been w illiout a hat, Seniyo- 
 nitch?" — he suddenly asked ^Aki'ni, and, witliout 
 waiting lor a reply, he went on in an undertone: 
 — " thou hast left it in a niee little drani-sho}), 
 that 's what. Thou 'rt a ti])pler; 1 know thee, 
 and I love thee beeause thou art a tip])ler — 't was 
 high time, long ago, to plaee thee under eeelesi- 
 astical eensure, (rod is my witness; because t is 
 a bad business. . . . Hurrah! " — he shouted sud- 
 denly, at the top of his lungs, — " hurrah! hur- 
 rah!" 
 
 "Halt! halt!" — rang out a woman's voice 
 close fit hand.-" Halt!" 
 
 Akim glanced round. Across the fields, in the 
 direction of the cart, a woman was running, so 
 pale and dishevelled that he did not recognise her 
 at first. 
 
 "Halt, halt!" — she moaned again, panting 
 and waving her arms. 
 
 Akim shuddered: it was his wife. 
 
 He seized the reins. 
 
 "And why should we halt;'" — muttered 
 Efrem;— "why should we lialt for a female;" 
 Get u-uup! " 
 
 But Akim jerked the horse abruj)lly on its 
 haunches. 
 
 301
 
 THE IXX 
 
 At that iiioiiieiit .Vvtlotya reached the road, 
 and fairly tumbled headlong, face downward, in 
 the dust. 
 
 " Dear little father, Akim Semyonitch," — she 
 shrieked; — " lie has actually turned me out of 
 doors! " 
 
 Akim gazed at her, and (Ud not move, but 
 merely drew the reins still more taut. 
 
 " Hurrah! " — cried Efrem again. 
 
 "And so he has turned thee out?" — said 
 Akim. 
 
 " He has, dear little father, my dear little 
 dove," replied Avdotya, sobbing. — " He has 
 turned me out, dear little father. ' The house is 
 mine now,' says he; ' so get out,' says he." 
 
 " Capital, that 's just fine . . . capital! "—re- 
 marked Kfreni. 
 
 " And thou wert counting on remaining, I 
 sup])ose? " — said Akim, bitterly, as he continued 
 to sit in the cart. 
 
 " Remain, indeed! Yes, dear little father," — 
 put in Avdotya. ulio had raised herself on her 
 knees, and again beat her brow against the 
 ground; — "for thou dost not know, seest thou, 
 I. . . . Kill me, Akim Semyonitch, kill me here, 
 on the spot. . . ." 
 
 " Whv should I beat thee, Arefvevna! " — re- 
 ])lied ^Akim, dejectedly: — " thou hast vanquished 
 thyself! what more is there to say? " 
 
 " But wlmt wilt tbnu tliink. Akmi Semyo- 
 
 302
 
 TlIK INN 
 
 nildi. . . . Why, liii' iiioir-v .... was thy 
 money. ... It is «>()ir', lliy uioiicy. . . Fni' 1 took 
 it, accursed that I am, I ^ot it from the cellar. 
 .... I gave it all to that man, that villain, that 
 Xaum, accursed creatuie tliat J am! . . . Aiid 
 why didst thou tell me where thou liadst hidden 
 thv money, wretelied beiuii' that I ami • • ■ • For 
 he bought the iim with thy money .... the vil- 
 lain. . . ." 
 
 Sobs drowned her voice. 
 
 Akim clutched his head with both hands. 
 
 " What! " — he screamed at last; — " and so all 
 the money too . . . the money, and the inn, thou 
 hast. . . . Ah! thou hast got it from the cellar 
 . . . . from the cellar. . . . Ves, 1 w ill kill thee, 
 thou brood of vipers! . . ." 
 
 And he leaped from the cart. . . . 
 
 " Semyoniteh, Semy(')nitch, dont heat her, 
 don't fight," — stammeied Kfrem, whose intoxi- 
 cation began to (lissi])ate at such an unex])ecte(l 
 event. 
 
 " Yes, dear little father, kill me, kill me, dear 
 little father, kill me, the \ile creature: l^eat away, 
 don't heed him! " — shiieked ^Vvdotva, as she 
 writhed convulsively at Akfm's feet. 
 
 He stood awhile and stared at iiei-, tlien re- 
 treated a few paces, and sat down on the grass, 
 by the roadside. 
 
 A brief silence ensued. Avdotya turned her 
 head in his direction. 
 
 303
 
 THE IXX 
 
 " Seiiiyonitch, hey, Seniyonitch! " — began 
 Efreni, half -rising in tlie cart; — " have done with 
 that — that will do . . . for thou canst not re- 
 pair the calamity. Phew, what an affair! " — he 
 continued, as thougli to himself; — " what a 
 damned bad woman. . . Do thou go to him," — 
 he added, bending over the cart-rail toward Av- 
 dotya; — "canst not see that he has gone crazy? " 
 
 Avdotya rose, approached Akim and again fell 
 at his feet. 
 
 " Dear little fatlier," — she began in a faint 
 voice. 
 
 Akim rose and went back to the cart. She 
 clutclied the skirt of his kaftan. 
 
 "Get away!" — he shouted fiercely, repulsing 
 her. 
 
 " AVhither art thou going? " — Efrem asked 
 liim, percei^•ing that he was taking his seat again 
 beside him. 
 
 " Why, thou didst ofi'er to drive me to the inn," 
 — said Akim: — "so drive me to thy house. . . . 
 1 have none any more, seest thou. They have 
 bought it from me, you know." 
 
 " Well, all right, let 's go to my iiouse. xVnd 
 how about her? " 
 
 Akim made no answer. 
 
 "And me, me," — chimed in Avdotya, weeping; 
 — " to whose care dost tliou leave me .... 
 whither am I to go? " 
 
 " Go to him," — returned Akim, without turn- 
 
 304j
 
 TIIK I\X 
 
 iiig round: — " to tlic man to wlioni tlioii didst 
 carrv niv nionc'v. . . Drive on, Efreni! " 
 
 • • • - 
 
 Kfrcni whipped up the horse, the eart lolled 
 off, and Avdotya set up a shrill scream. . . . 
 
 Efrem lived a \erst from Akim's inn, in a tiny 
 cot in the i)riest's glehe, dis])osed around the soli- 
 tary tive-domed church, which had recently heen 
 erected by the heirs of a wealthv merchant, in 
 conformity with his testamentary dis])ositions. 
 Efrem did not s])eak to Akim all the way, and 
 only shook his head from time to time, uttering 
 words of the following nature: " Akh, thou I" 
 and, " Ekh, thou ! " Akim sat motionless, slightly 
 turned away from Efrem. At last they arrived. 
 Efrem sprang out first from the cart. A little 
 girl of six years in a little chemise girt low ran 
 out to meet him, and screamed: 
 
 "Daddy! daddy !'' 
 
 "And where is tliy mother? " — Efrem asked 
 her. 
 
 " She 's asleep in the kennel." 
 
 " \¥ell, let her sleep. xVkim Semyonitch, won't 
 you please come into the house? " 
 
 (It must be observed that Efrem addressed 
 him as " thou " only when lie was intoxicated. 
 Far more important persons than he addressed 
 Akim as " you.") 
 
 Akim entered the chanter's cottage. 
 
 " Pray, come liither to the bench," — said 
 Efrem. — " Run along, you little rogues," — he 
 
 305 
 
 /
 
 THE IXX 
 
 slioiited at three otlier brats who, along with two 
 einaeiated cats bespattered with ashes, suddenly 
 made their appearance from various corners of 
 the room. — "Run away! Scat! Here, Akim 
 Seniyonitcli, come here," — he went on, as he 
 seated his Quest: — " and would n't vou like some- 
 thing? " 
 
 " What shall I say to thee, Efrem? "—articu- 
 lated ^Vkim at last. — " Could n't I have some 
 liquor? " 
 
 Efrem gave a start. 
 
 "Liquor? Certainly. I have none in the house, 
 — liquor, that is to say, — but here, I '11 run at once 
 to Father Fe(Sdor. He always has some on hand. 
 .... I '11 be back in a jifFy. . . ." 
 
 And he snatched up his large-eared cap. 
 
 " And bring as much as possible; I '11 pay for 
 it,"— shouted Akim after him. — " I still have 
 money enough for that." 
 
 " In a jiffy," . . . repeated Efrem once 
 more, as he disappeared through the door. He 
 really did retiu'n very speedily with two quart 
 bottles under his arm, one of which was already 
 uncorked, placed them on the table, got out two 
 small green glasses, the heel of a loaf, and salt. 
 
 " That 's wliat 1 love," — he kept repeating, as 
 lie seated liimself opposite Aki'm. — " What 's the 
 use of grieving? " — he filled the glasses for botli 
 .... and set to babbling. . . . Avdotya's belia- 
 viour had stunned him. — " 'T is an astonishing 
 
 306
 
 THE INN 
 
 affair, truly," — said he: — " how did it come 
 about ^ He must have bewitched lier to himself 
 by magic .... hey? That 's what it means, 
 that a woman should be strictly watched! She 
 ought to liave had a tight liand ke])t over her. 
 And yet, it would n't be a bad thing for j'ou to 
 go home ; for you must have a lot of property left 
 there, I think." — And to many more speeches of 
 the same sort did Efrem give utterance; when he 
 was drinking he did not like to hold his tongue. 
 An hour later, this is what took place in 
 Efrem's house. Akim, who had not replied by a 
 single word, during the entire course of the drink- 
 ing-bout, to the interrogations and comments of 
 his loquacious host, and liad merely drained glass 
 after glass, was fast asleep on the oven, all red 
 in the face — in a heavy, anguished slumber; the 
 youngsters were wondering at him, while Efrem 
 . . . . Alas! Efrem was aslee]) also, but only in 
 a very cramped and cold lumber-room, in wliicli 
 he had been locked up by his wife, a woman of 
 extremely masculine and robust build. He 
 had gone to her in the stable, and liad begun to 
 threaten her, if she repeated sometliing or other, 
 but so incoherentlv and unintelligiblv did he ex- 
 press himself that she instantly divined wJuit the 
 trouble was, grasped him by the collar, and led 
 him to the proper place. However, he sle]it very 
 well and even comfortably in the lumber-room. 
 Habit! 
 
 307
 
 THE INN 
 
 Kirillovna had not reported her conversation 
 with Akim very accurately to Lizaveta Prokho- 
 rovna .... and the same ma}' be said concern- 
 ing Avdotya. Naiim had not turned her out of 
 the house, although she had told Akim that he 
 had done so; he had not the right to expel her. 
 . . . He was bound to give the former proprie- 
 tors time to move out. Explanations of quite 
 another sort had taken place between him and 
 Avdotya. When Akim had rushed into the street, 
 shouting that he would go to the mistress, Avdo- 
 tya had turned to Naiim, had stared at him with 
 all her eyes, and clasped her hands. 
 
 "O Lord!" — she began; — "Naiim Ivanitch, 
 what is the meaning of this? Have you bought 
 our inn? " 
 
 "What if I have, ma'am?"— he retorted.— 
 " I have bought it, ma'am." 
 
 Avdotya said nothing for a while, then sud- 
 denly took fright. 
 
 " So that is what you wanted the money for? " 
 
 " Precisely as you are pleased to put it, ma'am. 
 Ehe, I do believe that measly little husband of 
 yours has driven off with mv horse,"— he added, 
 as the rumble of wheels reached his ear. — " What 
 a fine dashing fellow he is! " 
 
 "Why, but this is robbery, nothing else! " — 
 shrieked Avdotya. — " For the money is ours, my 
 husband's, and the inn is ours . . . ." 
 
 " No, ma'am, Avdotya Arefyevna," — Naiim 
 
 308
 
 THE INN 
 
 interrupted her:— '^ tlie inn was n't yours, and 
 what 's the use of saying- so; the inn stood on tlie 
 hidy-mistress's huid, so it Ixlonged to liei- also; 
 and the money really was \<)mi-s. oidv vou were 
 so kind, 1 may i)ul it. as to eontrihute it to me, 
 ma'am; and I shall lemain <>rateful to you, and 
 shall even, if the oecasion arises, return it to 
 you, — if 1 should see my way to it; only, it is n't 
 right that I should strip myself hare. Just judge 
 for yourself if that is n't so." 
 
 Naiim said all this very calmly, and even with 
 a slight smile. 
 
 " Good heavens! " — screamed Avdotya; — 
 "but what 's the meaning of this? AVhat is it? 
 But how am I to show myself in my husband's 
 sight after this? Thou villain! " — she added, 
 gazing with hatred at Naum's young, fresh face; 
 — " have n"t 1 ruined my soul for thee, have n't 
 I become a thief for thy sake, hast not thou turned 
 us out of doors, thou abominable villain? ! After 
 this there is nothing left for me but to put a noose 
 about my neck, villain, deceiver, tiiou destroyer 
 of me. . . ." 
 
 And she wept in torrents. . . . 
 
 " Pray, don't woi-ry, Avdotya Arefyevna," — 
 said Naum; — " I '11 tell you one thing; a fellow 
 must look out for number one; moreover, that's 
 what the pike is in the sea for, Avdotya Are- 
 fyevna — to keep the eai-p f'roni getting drowsy." 
 
 " Where are we to go now, what is to be- 
 
 309
 
 THE IXX 
 
 come of us? " — stauiniercd Avdotya tlirougli her 
 
 tears. 
 
 " That 's more than I can tell, ma'am." 
 
 " But I '11 cut thy throat, thou villain; I will, 
 
 I will! ..." 
 
 " Xo, you won't do that, Avdotva Arefvevna; 
 what 's the use of saying that? But I see that it 
 will he hetter for me to go aw^ay from here for 
 a while, or you will he much upset. ... I will, 
 bid you good day, ma'am, and to-morrow I shall 
 return without fail. . . . And you will be so 
 good as to permit me to send my hired men to 
 you to-day,"— he added, while Avdotya con- 
 tinued to repeat, through her tears, that she would 
 cut his throat and her own also. 
 
 " And yonder they come, by the way," — he re- 
 marked, looking out of tlic window. " Otherwise, 
 some catastrophe might happen, which God for- 
 bid. . . . INIatters will be more tranquil so. Do 
 me the favour to get your belongings together 
 to-dav, ma'am, while thev will stand guard over 
 you and help you, if you like. I bid you good 
 day, ma'am." 
 
 He bowled, left the room and called his men to 
 
 him. . . . 
 
 Avdotya sank down on the wall-bench, tlien 
 laid herself breast down on the table, and began 
 to wring lier hands, then suddenly sprang to her 
 feet, and ran after her husband. . . . We liave 
 described their meeting. 
 
 310
 
 THE IXX 
 
 When Akini drove away from her in company 
 with Efrem, leaving her alone in tlie fields, she 
 first wept i'or a lono' time, without stii-i-Ing from 
 the spot. Having wept her fill she direeted her 
 conrse to the mistress's manor. It was a hitter 
 thing for her to enter the house, and still more 
 hitter to show herself in the maids'-hall. All the 
 maids flew^ to greet her with sympathy and ex- 
 pressions of regret. At the siglit of them, Av- 
 dotva conld not restrain her tears; thev fairlv 
 gushed forth from her red and swoller) eyes. 
 Completely unnerved, she dro|)[)ed down on the 
 first chair she came to. They ran for Kirillovna. 
 Kirillovna came, treated her very affectionately, 
 but would not admit her to see the mistress, any 
 more than she had admitted ^\kim. Avdotya her- 
 self did not insist very strongly on seeing Liza- 
 veta Prokhorovna; she had come to the manor- 
 house solely because she positively did not know 
 where to lay her licad. 
 
 Kirillovna ordered the samovai- to l)e pre])ared. 
 For a long time Avdotya refused to drink tea, 
 but yielded, at last, to the entreaties and ])ei- 
 suasions of all the maids, and after the first cuj) 
 drank four more. When Kirillo\na ])erceived 
 that her visitor was somewhat pacified, and only 
 shuddered from time to time, sobbing faintly, shi* 
 asked her wliither they intended to remove, and 
 what they wislied to do with their things. 'I'his 
 question set Avdotya to crying again, and sIk- l)i-
 
 THE IXX 
 
 gaii to asseverate that she wanted nothing more, 
 except to die; hut Kirillox na. heing a woman of 
 hrains, immediately stopped her and advised her 
 to set ahouL transferring her things that very (hiy, 
 without useless waste of time, to Akim's former 
 cottage in the village, where dwelt his uncle, that 
 same old man who had tried to dissuade him from 
 marrying; she announced that, with the mistress's 
 permission, they would he furnished with trans- 
 portation, and the aid of peo[)le and horses; "" and 
 as for you, my dearest," — added Kirillovna, com- 
 pressing her cat-like lips in a sour smile, — " there 
 will always he a })lace foi- you in our house, and it 
 will he very a^reeahle to us if vou will be our 
 guest until you recover yourself and get settled in 
 your house. The principal thing is — you must 
 not get downcast. Tlie Loi'd gave, the Lord has 
 taken away, and He will give again: everything 
 depends on His will. Lizaveta Prokhorovna, of 
 course, was obliged to sell your house, according 
 to her calculations, but she will not forget you, 
 and will reward vou ; she bade me sav so to Akim 
 Semyonitcli. . . Where is he now?" 
 
 Avdotya replied that, on meeting her, he had 
 grossly insulted her, and liad driven off to Chan- 
 ter Efrem's. 
 
 "To that creature's! " — re])lied Kirillovna, 
 significantly. — " Well, I understand that it is 
 painful for him now, and 1 don't believe you can 
 
 312
 
 THE INN 
 
 hunt him up to-day. What is to he done? Wv 
 must take measures, Mahislika," — she added, 
 turning to one of tlie chamhermaids. " Just ask 
 Xikanor Ihteh to step liere; I will have a talk 
 with him," 
 
 Nikanor Ihtch, a man of very paltry appear- 
 ance, who served somewliat in the ca])acity of 
 overseer, immediately presented himself, ohsecjui- 
 ouslv listened to evervthin"- whieh Kirillovna said 
 to him, — remarked: " It shall he executed," left 
 the room and issued his orders. Avdotya was fur- 
 nished ^vith three carts and tliree peasants; these 
 W'ere voluntarily joined by a fourth, who said of 
 himself that he would be " more intelligent than 
 they," and she set off in company with them for 
 the inn, where she found her former hired men 
 and her maid-servant, Fetinya, in great terror 
 and excitement. . . . 
 
 Xaum's recruits, three extremely robust young 
 fellows, had arrived in the morning, and had gone 
 nowhere since, but had maintained a very zealous 
 guard over the inn, according to Xaum's ])r()mise 
 — so zealous, that one cart speedily proved to be 
 devoid of tires. . . 
 
 Bitter, very bitter was it for poor Avdotya to 
 pack up her things. Despite the assistance of the 
 " intelligent " man, who, by the way. knew how to 
 do nothing hut stalk about with a stafV in his 
 hand, and watch the others, and spit to one side, 
 
 313
 
 THE IXX 
 
 she (lid not succeed in niovinir out tliat day, and 
 remained to spend tlie nit>ht in the inn, having 
 first requested Fetinya not t(^ leave her room; 
 but it was not initil daybreak that she fell into a 
 feverish doze, and the tears streamed down her 
 cheeks even in her sleep. 
 
 In the meantime, Efrem awoke earlier than 
 -was his wont in his lumber-room, and began to 
 thump and demand his release. At first his wife 
 would not let him out, declaring to him through 
 the door that he had not yet had enough sleep; 
 but he excited her curiosity by promising to tell 
 her about the remarkable thing which had hap- 
 pened to Akim; she undid the latch. — Efrem im- 
 parted to her e\'erything he knew, and wound up 
 with the question: " AVas he awake or not? " 
 
 "Why, the Lord knows," — replied his wife; 
 — "go and see for thyself; he has not climbed 
 down from the oven yet. — You both got pretty 
 drunk last night; thou shouldst just see thyself 
 — thy face has no semblance of a face; 't is like 
 some sort of ladle ; and what a lot of hay has got 
 into thy hair! " 
 
 " Never mind if it has," — returned Efrem,— 
 and passing his hand over his head, he entered the 
 house. — Akim was no longer asleep; he was sit- 
 ting on the oven with his legs dangling; his face 
 also was very strange and discomposed. It ap- 
 peared all the more distorted because Akim was 
 not in the habit of drinking heavily. 
 
 314
 
 THE INN 
 
 " A\\'ll, liow iK)w, iVkim Semyonitcli, how have 
 you slept!*" — began Efreiii. . . . 
 
 Akini looked at him with a tiirhid gaze. 
 
 " Come, brother Kfrem," — he said hoarsely, — 
 " ean't we do it again — thou knowest what!* " 
 
 Efrem darted a swift glanee at Akini .... at 
 that moment he felt a sort of thrill; that is the 
 kind of sensation a sportsman experiences when 
 standing on the skirt of the woods, at the sudden 
 yelping of his hound in the forest, from whieh, aj)- 
 parently, all the wild beasts have already fled. 
 
 " What — more?" — he asked at last. 
 Yes; more." 
 
 " ]My wife will see," — thought Efrem, — "and 
 I don't believe she will allow it." — " AW right, 
 it can be done,"— he said aloud; — "have ])a- 
 tience." — He went out and, tlianks to arti'ully 
 conceived measures, succeeded in smuggling in 
 a huge bottle unperceived beneath the skirt of his 
 coat. ... 
 
 Akini seized the bottle . . . But Kfrem did not 
 start to drink with him as on the preceding even- 
 ing — he was afraid of his wife, and, — having tohl 
 Akim that he would go and see how tilings were 
 progressing at his house, and how his belongings 
 were being packed, and whether he were not being 
 robbed, — he immediatelvset off for the inn astride 
 of his unfed little nag, — not forgetting himself, 
 however, if we may take into consideration his 
 projecting bosom. 
 
 315
 
 THE INN 
 
 Soon after his departure, Akini fell asleep 
 again, and lay like one dead on the oven. . . . He 
 did not even wake up — at all events, he showed 
 no signs of being awake— when Efrem, returning 
 four hours later, began to shove him and try to 
 rouse him, and whisper over him some extremely 
 indistinct words to the effect that everything was 
 gone and transported and the holy pictures were 
 gone too, and ever}i:hing was already- over— and 
 that every one was hunting for him, but that he, 
 Efrem, had taken due measures, and had pro- 
 hibited . . . and so forth. But he did not whis- 
 per long. His wife led him off to the lumber- 
 room again, and herself lay down in the house, 
 on the platform over the oven, in great indigna- 
 tion at her husband and at the guest, thanks to 
 whom her husband had got drunk. . . . But 
 when, on awakening very early, according to her 
 wont, she cast a glance at the oven, Akim was 
 no longer on it. . . . The cocks had not yet 
 crowed for the second time, and the night was 
 still so dark that the sky was barely turning grey 
 directly overhead, and at the rim was still com- 
 ])letely drowned in vapom-, when Akim emerged 
 from the gate of the clianter's house. His face 
 was pale, but he diirted a keen glance around 
 him, and his gait did not betray the drunkard. 
 . . . He walked in the direction of his former 
 dwelling— tlie inn, which liad already definitively 
 become the property of its new owner, Naiim. 
 
 31G 
 
 i
 
 TIIK TX\ 
 
 Xai'mi was tiol sK'cpijio- uillK-i-, al llu- liiiu' wlic.i 
 iVkiin stealthily (jiiittcd Ki'rcnr.s liousc. He was 
 not asleej); lie was lyiii*^ coni])lctcly dressed on the 
 wall-bench, with his sheei)skin eoat rolled u]) 
 under his head. It was not that his conscience 
 was tormenting him — no! he had been present 
 with astounding cold-bloodedness, from the 
 morning on, at the packing and transportation of 
 Akim's household goods, and had more than onee 
 spoken to Avdotya, who was downcast to sucli a 
 degree that she did not even upbraid him. . . . 
 His conscience was at ease, but divers surmises 
 and calculations occupied his mind. He did not 
 know whether he was going to make a success oi' 
 his new career; u[) to that time, he had never ke])t 
 an inn — and, generally s])eaking, had never even 
 had a nook of his own; and so he could not get to 
 sleep. — " This little affair has been begun well," 
 — he thought; — " what will the future be? " . . . 
 AVhen the last cart-load of Akim's effects had set 
 off just before night-fall (Avdotya had followed 
 it weeping), he had inspected the entire inn. all 
 the stables, cellars, and barns; he had crawled u[) 
 into the attic, had repeatedly ordered his labourers 
 to maintain a strict watch, and. when he was left 
 alone after suj)per, he had not been able to get 
 to sleep. It so happened that on that day none 
 of the travellers stopped to pass the niglit: and 
 this pleased him greatly. " I must buy a dog 
 without fail to-morrow, — the worst-tempered 
 
 317
 
 THE IXX 
 
 (log I can get, from the miller; for tlie^' have 
 carried off" tlieirs," — lie said to himself, as he 
 tossed from side to side, and, all of a sudden, he 
 raised his head hastily. ... It seemed to him 
 as though some one had stolen past under the 
 window. . . He listened. . . Not a sound. Oidy 
 a grasshopper shrilled hehind the oven, from 
 time to time, and a mouse was gnawing some- 
 ^\ here, and his own hreath was audible. All was 
 still in the empty room, dindy illuminated by the 
 yellow rays of a tiny glass shrine-lamp, which he 
 had found time to suspend and light in front of a 
 small holy picture in the corner. . . He lowered 
 his head; and now again he seemed to hear the 
 gate squeaking .... then the wattled hedge 
 crackled faintly. . . . Pie could not endure it, 
 leaped to his feet, opened the door into the next 
 room, and called in a low tone: " Feodor, hey, 
 Feodor! "—No one answered him. . . . He went 
 out into the anteroom and nearly fell prone, as 
 he stumbled over Feodor, who was sprawling on 
 the floor. The labourer stirred, growling in his 
 sleep; he shook him. 
 
 " Who 's there? What 's wanted? "—Feodor 
 was beginning. . . . 
 
 "What art thou yelling for? Hold thy 
 tongue! " — articulated Naiim in a whisper. — 
 " The idea of your sleeping, you damned brutes' 
 Hast thou not heard anything? " 
 
 " No,"-replied the man. . . . "Why?" 
 
 318
 
 rill', INN 
 
 " And where arc the others sleeping? " 
 
 " The others ai"e sleeping wliere they were 
 ordered to. . . . Hut lias anything happened i* . . ." 
 
 " Silence!— Follow nie." 
 
 Xanni softly o])e!)ed the door leading from the 
 anteroom into the yard. . . . ( )i!t of doors every- 
 thing was very dark : . . . it was possihle to make 
 out the sheds with their pillars only hecause they 
 stood out still more densely l)laek in the midst of 
 the hlack mist. ... 
 
 '' Sha'n't T light a lantern? "said Feodor in 
 a low voice. 
 
 But Nanm waved his hand and held his hreath. 
 . . . At first he could hear nothing except tho.se 
 nocturnal sounds which one can almost always 
 hear in inhahited ])laccs: a horse was munching 
 oats, a pig grunted once faintly in its sleep, a 
 man was snoring somewhere; but suddeidv there 
 reached his ear a suspicions sort of noise, ])roceed- 
 ing from the extreme end of the yard, close to the 
 fence. . . . 
 
 It seemed as though some one was moving 
 about, and breathing or blowing. . . . Xaum 
 looked over Feddor's shoulder, and, cautiously 
 descending the steps, walked In the direction of 
 the sound. ... A couple of times he Jialted, and 
 listened, then continued to crec]) stealthily on- 
 ward. . . . Suddenly he gave a start. . . . Ten 
 paces from him, in the dense gloom, a |)oint of 
 light suddenly glimmered brightly: it was a red 
 
 319
 
 TIIK I\X 
 
 liol coal, and beside the coal there showed itself 
 for a brief instant the front part of some one's 
 face, with lips puffed out. . . . Swiftly and si- 
 lently \auni darted at the light, as a cat darts at 
 a mouse. . . . Hastily rising- from the ground, 
 a long- body rushed to meet him. and almost 
 knocked him from his feet, almost sli])ped thi'ough 
 his hands, but he clung to it with all his might. . . . 
 
 " Feodor! ^Vndrei! Petrushka! " — he shouted, 
 at the top of his lungs; — " come here quick, quick ! 
 I 've caught a thiei", an incendiary! " 
 
 The man whom he had captured struggled 
 and resisted .... but Xaiim did not release 
 him. . . . Feodor immediately darted to his as- 
 sistance. 
 
 " A lantern, quick, a lantern! Kun for a lan- 
 tern! wake the others, be (juick! " — Xaum shouted 
 to him, — " and I '11 manage him alone meanwhile 
 — I '11 sit on him. . . J3e quick! and fetch a belt 
 to bind him with ! " 
 
 Feodor flew to the cottage. . . . The man whom 
 Xaum was holding suddenly ceased his resist- 
 ance. . . . 
 
 " So, evidently, 't is no' enough for thee to 
 have taken mv wife and mv monev, and mv house, 
 but thou art bent on destroying me also," — he 
 said in a dull tone. . . . 
 
 X'aum recognised Akim's voice. 
 
 " So 't is thou, dear little dove," — said he; — 
 
 good, just wait a bit! " 
 
 320 

 
 riiK ixx 
 
 " Let me go," — said Akiiii. — " xVit not tlioii 
 satisfied^ " 
 
 " See here, to-inorrow I 11 show you in the 
 preseiiee of the judge how satisfied I am. . . ." 
 And Xaum tigliteiied his liohl on Akim. . . . 
 
 Tlie hihoin-ers ran up witli two hmterns and 
 some ropes. . . . " liind liim! ' — ordered Xaum, 
 sharply. . . . The hibourers seized Akim, hf'ted 
 him up, and hound his luuuls hehind him. . . . 
 One of them \\as beginning to swear, but on 
 reeognising the former hnidlord of the inn, he 
 held his peace, and merely exclianged glances 
 with the others. 
 
 " Just see there, see there, now," — X^aum kept 
 repeating the while, as he passed the lantei'n along 
 the ground; — " yonder, there are coals in a ]K)t; 
 just look, he has brought a wliole firebrand in 
 the pot — we must find out wliere he got that 
 pot . . . and here, he has broken twigs. . . ."' 
 And Xaum assiduously stamped out the fire with 
 his foot. — "Search him, T'eodor! "— he added, 
 " and see whether he has anvthin<>' more about 
 him." 
 
 Feodor searched and felt Akim, who stood 
 motionless with his head droo})ing on his breast, 
 like a dead man. — " There is— iiere \ a knife," — 
 said Fecklor, drawing an old kitchen-knife from 
 Akim's breast. 
 
 " Khe, my dear fellow, so that \ \\hat thou 
 hadst in mind!" — exclaimed Xai'mi, " \'()u ;iie 
 
 3-Jl
 
 THE IXX 
 
 witnesses, my lads — see there, lie intended to cut 
 my throat, to bui-n up my house. . . . Lock him 
 up in the cellar until morning; he can't get out 
 of there. ... 1 will stand watch all night myself, 
 and to-morrow at dawn we will take him to the 
 chief of police .... and you are witnesses, do 
 you hear. . . ." 
 
 They thrust Akfm into the cellar, and slammed 
 the door behind him. . . . Naiim stationed two 
 of the labourers there, and did not lie down to 
 sleep himself. 
 
 In the meantime, Efrem's wdfe, having con- 
 vinced herself that her unbidden guest had taken 
 himself off, was on the point of beginning her 
 cooking, although it was hardly daylight out of 
 doors as yet. She squatted down by the oven to 
 get some coals, and saw that some one had already 
 raked out the live embers thence; then she be- 
 thought herself of her knife — and did not find 
 it; in conclusion, one of her four pots Mas miss- 
 ing. Efrem's wife bore the re])utation of being 
 anything but a stupid woman — and witli good 
 reason. She stood i'or a \v\\'\\v in lliought, then 
 went to tlie lumber-room to lier liusband. It was 
 not easy to arouse liim fully — and still more diffi- 
 cult was it to make him understand why he had 
 been awakened. . . To everything which his wife 
 said. Chanter Efrem made one and the same 
 re])ly : 
 
 " lie 's gone, — \\ ell, (iod be with him . . . 
 
 322
 
 riiK i\\ 
 
 hut what business is liiat ol' luiiic:' lie lias carried 
 oil' a knife and a pot — well, God he w itli him — 
 hut what l)usiness is that of mine:'" 
 
 Hut. al last, he rose, and aftei- listening- in- 
 tently to his wife. h( (Ucided that it was a had 
 l)usiness, and ti)al it could not he Icl't as it now- 
 stood. 
 
 " ^'es," — the chanter's wife insisted, — " 't is a 
 had business : I do l)elieve he '11 do mischief out 
 of desperation. ... 1 noticed last night that he 
 was not asleep as he lay there on the oven; it 
 would n't he a had idea I'oi* thee, Kfrem Alexan- 
 dritch, to find out whether . . . ." 
 
 " See hei-e, I'lyana Feodorovna, T '11 tell thee 
 what,"— hegan Kfrem: — " I "11 go to the inn 
 myself immediately: and do thou be kind, dear 
 little mother; give me a little glass of liquor to 
 cure me of my drunkenness." 
 
 Ulyana reflected. 
 
 '• \Vell,"-she decided at last,-" I '11 give thee 
 some licjuor, Efrem Alexandriteh ; ordy look out, 
 don't dally." 
 
 He at ease, Ulyana Feodorovna." 
 
 i\n(l. having fortified himself with a glass of 
 li(|uor, Kfrem set out foi- the iiu). 
 
 Day had hut just dawned when he rode up to 
 the inn, and at the gate a cart was already stand- 
 ing harnes.sed, and one of Xaum's labourers was 
 sitting on the driver's seat, holding the reins in his 
 hands. 
 
 323
 
 riiK ixx 
 
 "Whither art thou ^oingJ' " — Efrein asked 
 him. 
 
 '■ To town," — rej)lie(l tlie hihourer. 
 
 " Whyr' 
 
 The hihourer merely sluMi(j'«>e(l liis shouldei's 
 and made no ie[)ly. Ki'rem spi-aii*^' i'rom iiis 
 horse and entered tiie house. In the anteroom 
 he ran across Xaum, fully dressed, and wearing 
 a ea]). 
 
 " I congratulate the new landlord on his new 
 domicile," — said Efrem, who was personally ae- 
 quamted with him. — " Whither away so early? " 
 
 " Yes, there is cause for congratulation," — 
 replied Xaum, surlily. — " This is my first day, 
 and I have almost heen hurnt out." 
 
 Eifrem started. — " How so^ " 
 
 " Why, just that; a kind man turned up, who 
 tried to set the house on tire. Luckily, I cauglit 
 him in the act: now I 'm taking him to town." 
 
 "It can't be Akim, can it:*"' . . . . asked 
 Efrem, slowly. 
 
 "And how dost tiiou know? It is iVkim. 
 ITe came by night, with a firebrand in a ])ot, and 
 liad already erej)t into the yard, and laid a fire 
 . . . . All my lads are witnesses. — Wouldst like 
 to take a look? l^ut, by the way. 't is high time 
 we were carrying him off*." 
 
 "Deal- little father, Xaiim I vanitch,"— began 
 Efrem, — " release him: clorTt uttei-ly ruin the old 
 man. Don't take that sin on your soul, Xaum
 
 TIIK I\X 
 
 I\i'mitc-li. .Iijsl rcncct, tlic man is (k.spcrutt', — 
 he has lost, you know . . . ." 
 
 "Stop tliat prating! " — Xaiini interrupted 
 him. — " The idea! i\s though I would let him 
 go! Why, he would set me on tire again to- 
 morrow. . . . " 
 
 "' lie will not do it, \aum Ivaniteh, helieve 
 me. Believe me, you yourself will he more at 
 ease so— for, you see, there will he incjuiries — the 
 eourt — you sui"ely know what I mean. ' 
 
 " ^Vell, and what ahout the court? I have no- 
 thing to fear from the eourt. . . ." 
 
 " Dear little father, Xaum Ivaniteh, how can 
 you help fearing the court? . . ." 
 
 " Kh, stop that: 1 see that thou art drunk early, 
 and to-day is a i'east-day, to hoot." 
 
 Efrem suddenh', and (juite unexj)eete(lly, fell 
 to weej)ing. 
 
 " I am drunk, hut I 'm speaking the truth," — 
 he hlurted out. — '' But do you release him, in 
 honour ol' Christ's festival." 
 
 " Come, let 's he starting, ery-l)al)y." 
 
 And Xaiim went out on the j^oreh. . . . 
 
 " Forgi\e him for Avdotya Arefyevna's sake," 
 — said Kfrem. following him. 
 
 Xaum api^HKiehed the cellar, and threw th<.' 
 door w i(K' ()|)en. Efi-em. with timoi-ous curiosity, 
 crani'd his neck from hrhind Xaum's hack, and 
 will) (illlii-nlty niadr out Akini in oiir coiiu r of 
 the shallow cellar. The foi-mer wealthy house- 
 
 32.5
 
 THE IX X 
 
 lioldcr, tlie man respected in all tlie countryside, 
 was sitting- with pinioned arms on the straw, like 
 a criminal. . . On liearing the noise, he raised his 
 head. . . . He seemed to liave grown f riglit fully 
 thin in the last two days, especially during the 
 last night — his sunken eyes wci-e hardly visible be- 
 neath his lofty broAv, yellow as wax. his ])arched 
 lips had turned dark . . . his whole face had 
 imdergone a change, and assumed a strange ex- 
 pression: both harsh and terrified. 
 
 " Get up and come out," — said Xaiim. 
 
 Akim rose, and stepped across the threshold. 
 
 " Akim Semyonitch," — roared Efrem. — " thou 
 hast ruined thvself, mv dear man! " 
 
 Akim glanced at him in silence. 
 
 " If I had known why thou didst ask for liquor, 
 I would n't have given it to thee; indeed, I 
 would n't! I do believe I would have drunk it all 
 myself! Ekh, X'^aum Ivanitch," — added Kfrem, 
 seizing Xaum by the hand: — "have mercy on 
 him, let him go! " 
 
 " Thou rt joking," — I'etorted X'^aiim. with a 
 grin. — " Come out, there," — he added, again ad- 
 dressing Aki'm. . . " AMiat .irt ihou waiting 
 for? " 
 
 " Xaiim I\anoff," .... began iVkim. 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " Xaiim I \annff','' -repeated iVkim; — " listen; 
 I am guilty: I wanted to punish thee myself; but" 
 God must judge between thou and me. Thou
 
 I'lIK l\\ 
 
 hast taken everytliino- from mc, Ihou knowest that 
 thvsell' — c\ crvlhiim", to the verv hisl niorscl.— 
 Now thou canst ruin inc, and this is all I liavc to 
 say Id tlur: If thou ^\ilt release nie now — well! 
 let things stand! do thou j)<)ssess everything! I 
 atiree. and wish thei' all sueeess. And I sa\' to 
 tlu'e, as in llic ])resenec ol' (Jod: 11' thou dost I'e- 
 lease me thou slialt not I'e^ret it. (iod hless 
 thee!" 
 
 .Vkini shut his eyes, and ceased speaking. 
 
 " Certainly, certainly," — retorted Xaunr, — "as 
 though one could trust thee! " 
 
 " But thou canst, hv God, thou canst!" — said 
 Kfrem; " really, thou canst. I 'ni ready to go 
 hail for Akini Seniyonitch with my head — come 
 now, really! " 
 
 " Nonsense! " — exclaimed Nai'im. — " Let 's ])e 
 off!" 
 
 Akim looked at him. 
 
 " As thou wilt, Naum Ivanitch. Thou hast 
 the ])ower. Only, thou art taking a great deal on 
 thy soul. All right, if thou art impatient, — let us 
 start. . . ." 
 
 Xaum, in his turn, darted a keen glance at 
 Akim. " l^ut it leally would he hetter," — he 
 thought to himself. " to let h.ini go to the devil! 
 Otherwise, folks will devour me alive. There- 11 
 be no living for Avdotya." .... AVhile Naum 
 was reasoning with himself no on<' uttered a sin- 
 gle word. The lahoincr on tlu- cart, who could see 
 
 327
 
 TTTK TXX 
 
 evcrvtlHn*^' throii^li the gate, merely shook his 
 head and slapj)ed the leiits on the horse's back. 
 The other two labourers stood on the ])orch and 
 also maintained silence. 
 
 " Come, listen to me, old man," — began Xaum; 
 — " if I let thee go, — and I forbid these fine fel- 
 lows " (he nodded his head in the direction of the 
 labourers) " to blab; shall we be quits, tliou and I 
 — thou understandest me — quits .... hey? " 
 
 " Possess everything, I say." 
 
 " Thou wilt not consider me in thy debt? " 
 
 " Thou wilt not be in debt to me, neither shall I 
 be in debt to thee." Again Xaum was silent for a 
 s])ace. 
 
 " Well, take thy oath on that! " 
 
 " I do, as God is holy," — replied Akim. 
 
 " Here goes then, although I know before- 
 hand that I shall repent of it," — remarked Naum. 
 — " T5ut so be it! Give me your hands." 
 
 Akim turned his back toward him; Xaum be- 
 gan to unbind him. 
 
 " Look out, old man,"— he added, as he slipped 
 the rope over his wrists: — "remember, I have 
 si)ared thee; be careful! " 
 
 You 're a dear, X^aum I vanitch," — stam- 
 mered the deeply-moved Efrem. — " The I^ord 
 will be merciful to you! " 
 
 Akim stretched out his chilled and swollen 
 arms, and was starting for the gate. . . . 
 
 All of a sudden Xaum " turned Jewish," as 
 
 328
 
 riiK i\\ 
 
 till' t'xprcijsioii is — evidently, lie was sorry thai lie 
 hail released iVkini. . . . 
 
 " Thou hast taken an oath, look out, "--he 
 shouted alter liini. 
 
 Akini turned round, and sui\evinii" the house 
 with an enibraeini*- <ilaiiee, said sadly: — '' Possess 
 thou exerythin^', foi'ivcr, undisturbed . . . . 
 farewell. " 
 
 And he stejj|)ed (juietly into the street, aeconi- 
 panied hy Ktreiii. \auni waved his liand, or- 
 dered the eart to he unharnessed, and went haek 
 into the house. 
 
 "Whither away, Aki'ni Seniyonitch ;* Art not 
 thou eoniing' to my house;*" — exelainied Kl'reiii. 
 — perceivin<>' that iVki'm tui'ned to the ri<^ht from 
 the highway. 
 
 " No, Efremushka, thanks," — rephed Akim. 
 . . . '■ I w ill i>() and see what my wife is doing." 
 
 " Thou eanst see later on. . . . l^ut now thou 
 must for joy . . thou knowest ...."" 
 
 \o, thanks, Kfrem. ... 1 've had enough 
 as it is. Fai'ewell." — And .Vkim walked ax\ ay 
 without looking hehind him. 
 
 Kkal He has had enough as it is I " — ejaeu- 
 lated the astounded ehanter: ' and I have takei^ 
 my oath on his hehalt'! AN'ell, 1 did n't expect 
 this." he added with xexation, — "alter I had 
 Nouehed for him. IMieu I " 
 
 lie I'ememhered that he had forgotten to take 
 his knifi' and pot, and leturiieil to the inn. . . .
 
 THE INN 
 
 Naum gave orders that liis things should he de- 
 livered to him, hut it never entered his head to 
 entertain him. Thorou"hlv enraged and com- 
 pletely soher he presented himself at home. 
 
 "Well, what?" — his wife asked him; — "didst 
 thou find him? " 
 
 " Did I find him? "-retorted Efrem;-" cer- 
 tainly I found him; there are thy utensils for 
 thee." 
 
 " Akim? " — inquired his wife, with special em- 
 phasis. 
 
 Efrem nodded his head. 
 
 " Yes, Akim. But what a goose he is ! I went 
 bail for him; without me he would have been put 
 in prison, and he ne^er even treated me to a 
 glass of liquor. Ulyana Feodorovna, do you, at 
 least, show me consideration; give me just one 
 little glass." 
 
 But Ulyana Feodorovna showed him no con- 
 sideration and drove him out of her sight. 
 
 In the meantime, Akim was proceeding with 
 quiet strides along the road which led to I^izaveta 
 Prokhorovna's village. He had not yet been 
 able fully to recover himself; he was all (juivering 
 inside, like a man wlio has but just escaped immi- 
 nent death. He seemed not to believe in his free- 
 dom. With dull amazement he stared at the fields, 
 at the sky, at the larks which were fluttering their 
 wings in the warm air. On the previous day, at 
 Efrem's liousc, lie had not slept at all since 
 
 330
 
 11 IK I.W 
 
 dinner, altliougli Jic liad lain motionless on the 
 oven; at first he had tried to drown witli li(jnor the 
 intolerahle pain of iii|uiy within him, the an- 
 L>nish ol' uratld'nl, impotent indignation .... 
 hilt the li(jiioi- eoidd not entirely oxcreome him; 
 his Iieart Avaxed hot within him, and he hegan 
 to meditate how he mi«*ht pay ott' his malefaetor. 
 . . . lie thonglit of Xanm alone; Li/aveta Pro- 
 khorovna did not enter his head, and from Avdo- 
 tvu he mentally tnrned awav. 'i'oward evenini*', 
 the thirst for revenge had hia/ed nj) in him to 
 the ])oint of erime, and he, the good-natnred, weak 
 man, with feverish im])atienee waited for the 
 night, and like a wolf j)onneing on its |)rey, he 
 I'nshed forth with fire in his hand to annihilate 
 his former home. . . lint he had heen captnred 
 . . . . loeked np. . . . Night eame. \Vhat had 
 not he turned over in his mind during that atro- 
 cious night! It is diffieult to convey in words 
 all tlie tortures which he had undergone; it is 
 all the more diffieult, l)eeause these torments even 
 in the man himself were wordless and dumh. . . . 
 Toward morning, hefore the arrival of Xanm 
 and Kfrem, Akim had felt somewhat easier in 
 mind. . . " Kverything is lost! " . . . . he thought 
 . . . . " everything is seatteit-d to the winds! " — 
 and he waved his hand in desj)air over everything. 
 ... If he had heen horn with an e\ il soul, he 
 might havf turned into a criminal at that mo- 
 ment; hut c\il was not n characteristic of Akim.
 
 riiK IX X 
 
 Beneatli tlie slu)ck of tlu' unexpected and unde- 
 served calamity, in the reek of despair, he had 
 made up his mind to a felonious deed; it had 
 shaken him to the very foundations, and, having 
 miscarried, it had left behind in liim a profound 
 weariness. . . . Conscious of liis t^uilt. he 
 wrenched his lieart free from all earthly things, 
 and began to pray bitterly but zealously. At 
 first he prayed in a whisper, at last, accidentally, 
 [)erhaps, he ejaculated almost aloud: '' O l^ord! " 
 — and the tears gushed from his eyes. . . . T^ong 
 did he weep, then calmed down at last. . . . His 
 thoughts probably would have undergone a 
 change, had he been forced to smart for his at- 
 tempt of the day before . . . l)ut now he had 
 suddenly recovered his liberty . . . and, half- 
 alive, all shattered, but calm, he w as on his way 
 to an interview with his w'd'e. 
 
 Lizaveta Prokhorovna's manor stood a verst 
 and a half distant i'roni lier village, on the left- 
 hand side of the country road along which Akim 
 was walkiuii". At the turn which led to the manor, 
 he was on the point of pausing .... but he 
 marched ])ast. He hnd decided first to go to his 
 former cottage, to his old uticle. 
 
 Akfnfs tiny and already i-ickety cottage was 
 situated almost at the extreme end of the village; 
 i\kfni traversed the entire length of the street 
 without encountering a single soul. The whole 
 population was in church. Oidy one ailing old
 
 I'lIK INN 
 
 woman lil'U'd lier window to ^a/c after liiiii, and 
 a little ^irl, who had run out to the well with an 
 empty hueket, gaped in wonder at him and also 
 followed hiiu a\ ith hei" eyes. The first person 
 whom he met was preeisely the uncle whom he 
 was seeking. The old man had heeii sitting sinee 
 earlv morninu' on the eai'tiien hank outside the 
 cottage undei' the windows, taking snuff, and 
 warming himself in the sun; he was not (juite 
 well, and for that reason had not gone to chuieh; 
 he was on his way to see another ailing old man, 
 a neighhour, when he suddenly espied Akim. . . . 
 He sto})pe(l short, let the latter eome u)) to him, 
 and looking him in the face, he said: 
 
 " Morning, iVkimushka! " 
 
 " Morning,'" — re})lied Akim. and stej)})ing 
 past the old man, he entered the gate to his cot- 
 tage. ... In the yard stood his horses, his cow, 
 his cart; and his chickens were roaming al)out 
 there also. . . . He entered the cottage in si- 
 lence. The old man followed him. Aki'm seated 
 himself on the hench, and rested his clenched fists 
 on it. The old man gazed compassionately at 
 him, fiom his stand at the door. 
 
 "And where is my liousew ife .' " - in(|uired 
 Akim. 
 
 " Why, at the manor-house, " r(|)lied the old 
 man. hriskly. '" She is thei-e. They ha\(' placed 
 thy cattle here, and lliy coflVis. jusi as they \\ere 
 — hut she is \(iii(i( r. Shall I go for liri-:' '"
 
 TIIK IXX 
 
 Akiiii did not reply inirncdiateh'. 
 
 " Yes, go," — lie said at last. 
 
 " Ekh, uncle, uncle," — he articulated with a 
 sigh, while the latter was taking his cap from its 
 nail: — " dost thou remember what thou saidst 
 to me on the eve of my wedding? " 
 
 " God's will rules all things, Akimuslika." 
 
 " Dost thou remember how thou saidst to me 
 that I was no fit mate for you peasants — and 
 now see what a pass things have come to. ... I 
 myself have become as poor as a church mouse." 
 
 " A man can't make calculations against bad 
 people," — replied the old man; — "and as for 
 him, the dishonest scoundrel, if any one were to 
 teach him a good lesson, some gentleman, for 
 instance, or any other power,— what cause would 
 there be to fear him? The wolf recognised his 
 prey." — And the old man put on his cap and 
 departed. 
 
 Avdotya had but just returned from church 
 when she was informed that her husl)an{rs uncle 
 was inquiring for her. U]) to that time she had 
 very rarely seen him ; he had not been in the habit 
 of coming to their inn, and in general he bore 
 the reputation of being a (jueer fellow: he was 
 passionately fond of snuff, and preserved silence 
 most of the time. 
 
 She went out to him. 
 
 " What dost thou want, Petrovitch:' lias any- 
 thing hapi)encd, pray? "
 
 riiK i\\ 
 
 '■ Xotliiiin lias liappciicd. Axdotya Al•(■fV^'^'na; 
 thy liiisbaiul is askiiicr foj- thee." 
 lias he retni'Med ( " 
 1 es. 
 " l?nt where is lie!" " 
 
 Why, in the \ ilhi<4'e; he 's sitting- in his cot- 
 tage. " 
 
 Avdotya (jiiailed. 
 
 " Well, I'etrovitch," — she asked, looking him 
 straight in the eye, — " is he angry? " 
 
 " 'V is not pereeptihle that he is." 
 
 Avdotya dropj)e(l her eyes. 
 
 " \Vell, eome along," — she said, throwing on a 
 large kerehief, and the two set out. 'i'hey w alked 
 in silenee until thev reaehed the xillaii'C'- Hut 
 when they began to draw near to the eottage, Av- 
 dotya was seized with sneh alarm that her knees 
 trembled under her. 
 
 " Dear little father, Petroviteh," — she said,— 
 " do thou go in first. . . . Tell liim that I have 
 eome." 
 
 Petroviteli entei-ed the eottage and lound Akiin 
 sitting bui'ied in profound tiioughl. on the self- 
 same s|)ot where he liad k-f't Iiini. 
 
 " \\'ell.". — said Akim, raising his Iiead; — 
 " lias n't she eome^ " 
 
 " Yes, she has eome. ' re|)hed tlie old man. — 
 
 She 's standing at the gate. . . . 
 Send her liithci.' 
 
 'I'he old man went out. waxed his liand lo
 
 Avdotya, said to her: " CxO along! " and sat down 
 agahi liiinself on the earthen hank along the cot- 
 tage wall. With trepidation Avdotya opened 
 the door, crossed the threshold and paused. . . . 
 
 Akini looked at her. 
 
 "Well, Arefyevna,"— he hegan, — " what are 
 we— thou and 1— to do now^ " 
 
 " Forgive nie," — she whispered. 
 
 " Ekh, Arefyevna, we are all sinful folks. 
 W'luit 's the use of discussing it! " 
 
 " That villain has ruined hotli of us,"— began 
 Avdotya in a voice which jingled and broke, and 
 the tears streamed down lier face. — " Thou must 
 not let things stand as they are, Akim Semyo- 
 nitch; thou must get the money from him. Do 
 not spare me. I am ready to declare under oath 
 that I lent the money to him. Lizaveta Prokho- 
 rovna had a right to sell our liouse, but why 
 should he rob us? ... . Get the money from 
 him." 
 
 " I have no money to receive from liim," — re- 
 plied Akim, gloomily. — " He and I have settled 
 our accounts." 
 
 Avdotya was astounded. — " How so?" 
 
 " ^Vhy, because we liave. Knowest thou," — 
 pursued Akim, and his eyes began to blaze: — 
 "knowest thou where 1 spent the nights Thou 
 dost not know? In Naum's cellar, bound hand 
 and foot, like a ram, that 's where I spent lasl 
 nighi. I tried to burn down his house, and he 
 
 330
 
 riiK ix\ 
 
 cauglil inc, did Xaiiiii; lie "s iiwrully clever! iViid 
 to-day he was preparin*^- to carry me to the town, 
 l)iit lie ])ardoned riic: consequefitly, there is no 
 iiioiiey ('(lining to inc I'loin him. ..." iVnd when 
 did 1 (MI- hori'ow any money of thee^' he will 
 sav. iVnd am I to sa\ : ' Mv wife took it ont fi'om 
 under my tioor. and eai'ried it to thee^ ' -' Thy 
 wife is a liar." he \\ill say. And \v()nld n't it he 
 a hio- ex])osni-e foi- thee, iVrel'yevna ^ Hold thy 
 tongue, rathei", I tell thee, hold thy tongue." 
 
 Forgive me, Semy(')niteh, forgive nie," — 
 whis])ered the thoroughly frightened Avd()tya. 
 
 " That "s not the ])oint," — re])lied Akini, after 
 remaining silent for a while: ' hut what are we 
 — thou and I — to do:* W^e no longer have a home 
 . . . nor money either. . . ." 
 
 " We '11 get along somehow. .Vkim Semy()- 
 niteh; — we will ask Iiizav(^'ta Pr(')khorovna and 
 she will help us; Kirdhniia has promised me 
 that." 
 
 " Xo, Ar(jfvevna. thou mavest ask her foi- thv- 
 self along with thy Kirillovna; thou and she are 
 hirds of a feather.' Hut I "11 tell thee what: do 
 thou stay here, with (iod's hlessing. I .shall not 
 .stay here. Luckily, we have no childi-en. and 
 ])erha])s I shall not stai\e alone. One per.son 
 can worry along alone." 
 
 What wilt thou do. Semyonitch — dost mean 
 to go as cai'i'ier again;* " 
 
 ' III Uii^si.'Ui: " Hcrrirs Iroiii t he .s.iiiic field." Fii wsi ktoh. 
 
 337
 
 TIIK I XX 
 
 AkiDi laughed bitterly. 
 
 " A pretty earrier I wciuld make, there 's no 
 denying that ! A Hue, dashing young fellow tliou 
 hast pieked out! No, Arefyevna, tliat is not the 
 same sort of business as marrying, i'or example; 
 an old man is not fit for it. Only I will not re- 
 main here, that 's what; 1 won't have people ])<)int- 
 ing the finger at me .... understand? I shall 
 go to pray away my sins, Arefyevna, that \s where 
 I shall go." 
 
 " What sins hast thou, Semyonitch? " — articu- 
 lated Avdotya, timidly. 
 
 " AVell, wife, 1 know what they are." 
 
 " But in whose care wilt tliou leave me, Semyo- 
 nitch i* How am 1 to live without a husband? " 
 
 " In whose care shall I leave thee^ Kkh, Are- 
 fyevna, how thou sayest that, forsooth! ]Much 
 need hast thou of a husband like me, and an old 
 man and a ruined one to boot. The idea ! Thou 
 has dispensed with me before, thou canst dispense 
 with me hereafter also. And what property we 
 have left thou mavest take for thvself. curse 
 it! .... " 
 
 " As thou wilt, Semyonitch," — replied Avdo- 
 tya, sadly; — " thou knowest best about that." 
 
 " Kxactly so. Only, don't thijik that 1 am 
 angry with thee, Arefyevna. 
 
 " Xo, what \s the use of being angry, when 
 . . . . I ought to have discovered how things 
 stood eai'lier in the day. I myself am to })lame — 
 
 388
 
 11 IK I.\.\ 
 
 and 1 am puiii.slK'd. ' (^Vkim heaved a si^li.) — 
 " As you have made your hed. so you must lie 
 upon it.' I am achaiieid in years, and "I is time 
 for me to l)e thinkinu' of mv souh Tlie Lord 1 1 im- 
 self lias hiought me to my senses. Here was i, 
 seest thou, an old fool, who wanted to live at 
 his ease with a youno- wife. . . . Xo, hrothei' — 
 old man, first do thou pray, and heat thy ])i-ow 
 against the earth, and l)e ])atient, and fast. . . . 
 xVnd now, go, my mother. I am very tired and 
 I will get a hit of sleep." 
 
 And Akim stretched himself out, grunting on 
 the bench. 
 
 Avdotya started to say something, stood for 
 a while ga/ing at him, then tuiMied and went 
 away. . . . 
 
 "Well, did n't he thrash thee? " — Petrovitch 
 asked lier. as he sat, all hent douhle. on the 
 earthen hank, when she came alongside of him. 
 Avdotya j)assed him in silence. — " See there now, 
 he did n't beat her," — said the old man to himself, 
 as he grinned, ruffled up his hair, and took a i)ineh 
 of snuff. 
 
 Akim carried out his purpose. lie s])eedily 
 ])ut his petty affairs i!i order, and a lew days 
 after the conversation which we have ti'anseribed, 
 he went, already garbed for the _journey. to hid 
 
 ' In Russian: " If voii arr fond of ,sl«MKliinK« *'"■•> '^<" f'""' •'*'•'>" 
 of dr;>;;trin>r tlio slcd>r<." — Tii wsr xTnii.
 
 THE IX X 
 
 faresvell to his wife, Avho had settled for the time 
 heiiig- in a tiny wing of the mistress's manor- 
 house. Their leave-taking did not last long. . . . 
 Kirlllo^■na, who ehaneed to he on hand, advised 
 Akim to present himself to the mistress; and he 
 did so. Lizaveta Prokhorovna received him with 
 a certain amount of confusion, hut affahly per- 
 mitted him to kiss her hand, and inquired where 
 he was intending to l)etake himself:' He replied 
 that he was going first to Kieff , and thence where- 
 ever God should grant. She lauded his purpose, 
 and dismissed him. From that time forth he 
 rarely made his appearance at home, although 
 he never forgot to hring his mistress a hlessed 
 hread with a particle taken out for her health. . . .' 
 
 ' Tiny double loaves of leavened bread, like those used in preparing' 
 the Holy Communion, are sold at the entrances to churehes. Any 
 one who wishes to have the health of his livinjf or the souls of his 
 dead friend prayed for, buys a loaf, and sends it to the sanctuary 
 before the beginning of the morninjj service, aii-ompanied by a slip 
 of paper, whereon is written: "For the health" (or " I'or the soul") 
 "of Ivan "—or whatever the friend's baptismal name may !><■. Tiic 
 priest removes froi>' the loaf witli his spear-shaped knife a tiiangular 
 particle, which V'i places on the chalice (it is not used in the Com- 
 munion), and at a certain point of the service, all these ])crsoiis are 
 prayed for, by name- th<! Lord being aware which of the I\ans or 
 Maryas is intended. After the service the loaf is returned to the 
 owner, who carries it home, and (when jwssiblc) gives it to the jierson 
 who has been jjrayed for. It is the custom for pilgrims to tlie \arious 
 shrines to bring back loaves of this sort to their friends, and these are 
 highly prized. At .some of the famous monasteries, instead of the cus- 
 tomary imprint of a cross and the Greek letters meaning "Jesus Christ 
 the Conqueror," whi<'h arc used on the loaves for the Communion, 
 a special holy bread (f)rosfora> is prepared for this purpose, stamped 
 with the Saint or Saints for which the locality is renowned. In the 
 primitive church, the worshippers were wont to bring offerings of 
 bread, wine, oil and wheat, for the retjuirements of the service. As 
 long as the congregations were not numerous, all such givers were 
 
 ;i40
 
 TIIK I.W 
 
 Bui, on the ()tli(.r liaiid. in civ where where 
 devout Russians e()ii«;i-egate, his gaunt and 
 aged hut still eoniely and sedate face was to he 
 seen: at the shrine of St. Sergius, iun\ on tin' 
 White Shores, and in the Optin Ilennitage, and 
 in distant \'alaani.' lie went everywhere. . . . 
 This yeai' he passed yon in the ranks of the count- 
 less throng which marched in a procession of the 
 cross hehind the holy picture of tlie Birth-giver 
 of Ciod at the Korennaya Hermitage: - next yeai- 
 you would find him sitting with iiis wallet on his 
 hack, along with othei" })ilgrims on the jjorch of 
 St. Nicholas the Wonder-Worker in Mtzensk. 
 . . . He made his a])pearance in ^foscow nearly 
 every spring. 
 
 From ])lace to place lie trudged with his quiet, 
 unhurried hut unceasing stride— 't is said that he 
 even went to Jerusalem. . . . He ap])eared to he 
 perfectly composed and ha])])y, and many ])er- 
 sons talked ahout his piety and humility, es])e- 
 
 prayed for by name When nicnilH-rs became so numerous tliat this 
 would have been burdensome, tlie custom was instituted of jjra} iiifj- 
 for the Sovereign and his family, as representatives of all tlie rest: 
 and this last custom still prevails, mingled (as alx)ve described > with 
 a renuiant of the orif^inal tustom.— Tu wslaidii. 
 
 ^ 'l"hc shrine of St. Ser^ius at the 'rr('>it/.ky (Trinity) monastery, 
 forty miles from Moscow. The Optin Hermitajfe in Tamtxiff Govern- 
 ment. "The White Shores"— the famous monasteries of Solov<5tzk, 
 in the White Sea, and at Hyelo-Ozero (White I-ake), south of Lake 
 Onega. Val^ra, an island in Lake Ladofr.i, with another famous 
 raonastery. —Translator. 
 
 ^ The Korennaya Hermitage lies about si.\teen miles northwest of 
 Kursk, in southern Ru.ssia. Mtzensk, neanr the centre, is half-way 
 between Orel and Tiila. — Thansi Aroii. 
 
 341
 
 THK I NX 
 
 cially those people who had chanced to converse 
 with him. 
 
 In the meanwhile, Xaum's affairs throve ex- 
 ceedino^lv. He took hold hrisklv and under- 
 standinf^ly. and. as the saying is, went to the 
 head fast. Kveryljody in the neigh hf)ni'lK>od 
 knew by what means he had acquired possession 
 of the inn, and they knew also that Avdotya had 
 given him her husband's money; no one liked 
 Xaiim because of his cold and harsh character. 
 .... They narrated with condemnation con- 
 cerning him that one day he had replied to Akim 
 himself, who had begged alms under his window. 
 ' God will provide," and had brought out no- 
 thing to him; but all agreed that no more lucky 
 man than he existed: his grain throve better than 
 his neighbours' grain: his bees swarmed more 
 abundantly: even his hens laid more eggs; his 
 cattle never fell ill: his horses never went lame. 
 .... P'or a long time Avdotya could not en- 
 dure to hear his name (she had accepted Lizaveta 
 Prokhorovna's offer, and had again entered her 
 service in the capacit\' of head-seamstress) : but 
 eventually, her aversion diminished somewhat: 
 't was said that want forced her to have recourse 
 to him, and he gave her a hundred rubles. . . . 
 We shall not condemn her too severely; poverty 
 will break any one's spirit, and the sudden revolu- 
 tion in her life had aged and tamed her down 
 greatly: it is difficult to believe how quickly she 
 
 342
 
 THK I\X 
 
 lost her ^ood looks, liow she l4^c^v clishcai'teiicd 
 and low-spirited. . . . 
 
 ''And how did it ail (.iid ;■ " -the I'eadei- will 
 ask. 
 
 Thus: Xai'iin, after haviuf^- eondueted his hiisi- 
 iiess successfully for fifteen years, sold his inn 
 on proHtahle terms to a })etty hur<''her. ... He 
 never would have j)arted with his house if the 
 following apparently insignificant incident had 
 not occurred: two mornings in succession his dog. 
 as it sat in front of the windows, howled in a pro- 
 longed and mournful manner; on the second oc- 
 casion he went out into the street, gazed atten- 
 tively at the howling dog, shook his head, set 
 off for the town, and that very day agreed on the 
 price with a petty hurgher, who had long heen 
 trying to purcha.se his inn. ... A week later he 
 dei)arte(l for some distant j)lace — out of the 
 Cxovernment, — and what think you!' that \'ery 
 night the inn was hurned to the ground: not even 
 a kennel remained intact, and Xaum's successor 
 was reduced to l)eggary. The reader can easily 
 imagine what I'umoui's arose in the neighI)our- 
 hood eoncei'uing this eonflagration. . . . Kvi- 
 dently he carried his " luck ' away with him, all 
 declared. ... It is rej)uite(i tjiat he engaged 
 in the <>iain i)usi?iess, and hecame verv wealth\'. 
 Hnl was it \'ny long;' ( )tiier e(|ually firm pillars 
 ha\e fallen prone, and sooner or later a had i\vvi\ 
 has a had ending. 
 
 li Hi
 
 THE IX N 
 
 It is not wortli ^\ hile to say much about Liza- 
 veta Prokhorovna: she is alive to this day, and 
 as often happens witli j)eople of that sort, she has 
 not changed in the least; she has not e\en aged 
 much, hut only seems to have grown more lean; 
 moreover, her ])enuriousness has increased to an 
 extreme degree, although it is ditticult to undei'- 
 stand for whom she is always hoarding, since she 
 has no children, and is related to no one. In con- 
 versation she frequently alhides to ^Vki'm, and 
 avers that ever since she discovered all his fine 
 qualities, she has come to cherish a great respect 
 for the Russian peasant. Kirillovna has pur- 
 chased her freedom from Lizaveta Prokhorovna 
 for a considerable sum and has mari'ied, for love, 
 some fair-haired young butler or other, at \\']iose 
 hands she endures bitter torture; Avdotya is liv- 
 ing, as of yore, in the woman's wing of Lizaveta 
 Prokhorovna's house, but has descended several 
 rungs lower, dresses very poorly, almost filthily, 
 and retains not a trace of the cityfied afi^Vctations 
 of the fashionable maid, or the hal)its of a well- 
 to-do landlady. . . . Xo one takes any notice of 
 hei-, and she herself is glad that they do not; old 
 Petrovitch is dead, but Akim is still roving on 
 l)ilgi-images — and (iod alone knows how much 
 longer he is destined to wander! 
 
 3U
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 (1861)
 
 '-M
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 WKLL, PioU-r Is aiiytlnii^- to I)l- slt-ii yet? " 
 iiKliiired a ^eiitleinaii a little onxp f'ortv 
 years oi' a<^v, in a dusty coal and checked trou- 
 sers, on May 'iOth. 18.39. as lie emerged hatless 
 upon the low ])oreh of a i)osting-stati()n on the 
 * * * higlnvav. of his servant, a chuhl)v-faee(l 
 young- fellow, w ith whitish down on his chin, and 
 small, dull eyes. 
 
 The servant, whose every eharaeteristie — tlie 
 tunnioise car-ring in his car, and his pomaded, 
 party-coloured hair, and the nrhane movements 
 of his hodv, — evervthing, in a word, — hetraved a 
 man of tlie newest, ])ei-fected generation, gazed 
 condescendingly along the road, and replied: 
 " Nothing at all, sir, is to he seen."' 
 
 " Is nothing to he seen!' '" repeated the gentle- 
 man. 
 
 Nothing is to he seen," re})licd the ser\ant, 
 for the second timi'. 
 
 His master sighed, and seated himself on the 
 l)ench. Let us make the reader accjuainted with 
 him, while he sits there, with his feet tucked ii|) 
 under him. and ga/ing thought full\- .-n-niuid him.
 
 FATHERS Ay^D CHILDKEX 
 
 His name is Xikohii Petrovitcli Kirsanoll". ^Vt 
 a distance of fifteen versts ' from the posting-sta- 
 tion, he has a fine estate of two hundred souls, or— 
 as he is in tlie habit of expressing it since he por- 
 tioned off* to the peasants their huul and set uj) 
 a " farm " — of two thousand desyatinas - of land. 
 His father, a figliting general of 1812, able to 
 read and write onlV indifferently, coarse, but not 
 vicious, a Russian man, had toiled hard for a live- 
 lihood all his life, had commanded first a brigade, 
 then a division, and had lived uninterrui)tedly in 
 the rural districts, where, by virtue of his rank, 
 he had played a fairly ])rominent part. Nikolai 
 Petrovitcli had been born in the south of Russia. 
 like his elder brothei- Pavel, of whom we shall 
 speak hereafter, and had been reared, uj) to liis 
 fourteenth year, at home, sin-rounded by cheaj) 
 tutors, free-and-easy but obsecpiious adjutants, 
 and other regimental and staff' officei-s. His mo- 
 ther, froju the family of tlie Kolya/ins. called 
 -^Vgathc as a young girl, and as Madame the wife 
 of the (General, Agafoklea Kn/minishna Kirsa- 
 noff*, belonged to the category of " masterfid- 
 conmianderesses," — wore sumptuous caps and 
 rustling silken gowns, went up first to kiss the 
 cross in church, talked loudly and much, admitted 
 her children to kiss her hand every morning, made 
 the sign of the cross in blessing over them at night, 
 
 ' Ten miles.— Translatob. 
 ^ A clesyatina equals J. 70 acres. — Traxslatok.
 
 FA'iMi i<:hs AM) (II iij)in<:\ 
 
 - ill a word, led an iiijoyal)!*.' life. In liis (juality 
 of son of a o'eneral, Xikolai Pctmvitcli, although 
 hv not onh' \\a.s not distiiio-in'shcd foi- coiiram'. hut 
 had (Mil earned the nieknaine of a little eouard. 
 was forced, like his hrother Pa\el, to eiitei- the 
 military sei-\ iee: hut he hroke his le^- the vvvv da\' 
 that the ne\\ s of his appoinliiieiil an-i\e(l, and. 
 after l\in<^- in l)ed lor two months, remained a 
 " limoN' " for the rest of his life. 1 1 is father ii'Jive 
 up all ho])e of him, and allowed liini to enter the 
 eivil serviee. He took him to Petei-shui-^-, as soon 
 as he was eighteen, and placed him in the nni- 
 vcrsitv. His hrothei-, hv the wa\', oradiiatcd into 
 the (Guards as an officer, just ahont that time. 
 Tlie yoiin(»- men he^an to Ii\e together, in one .set 
 of lod<)in«>s, under the remote super\ision of a 
 ^■rand-uncle on their mothci-'s side, Ilya Kolyazin, 
 an im|)ortant official, 'i'hcii- father went l)ack to 
 Ills division and to his spou.se, and oidy occasion- 
 ally sent to his .sons l)!^- (juarto sheets of grey pa- 
 per, scrawled ovei- in a hold, clei'kly script. A\ 
 the end of these (juarto sheets, carefully cncii-cled 
 hy " cui-ly-cues," flaunted the woi-ds: " ri(')tr 
 Kirsanofl'. ^fajor-CTencral."" In 1S;J.') Xikolai Pe- 
 trovitch n-raduated from the iini\ei-sity with the 
 degree of candidate, and. in. tliat same year, .(rcn- 
 ci-al Kirsanoff. having heen |)ut on the retired li.st 
 for an unsuccessful review, arrived in Petersburg 
 ^vith his wife, \\ith the iiitejition of li\in<>- there. 
 He was on the point, of hii'lng a house near the 
 
 Mr
 
 FATIIKKS AM) CIIILDKKX 
 
 Tauris Garden/ and joining the English Chib, 
 w hen he suddenly died of apoplexy. Agafoklea 
 Kuzniinishna speedily followed him: she eould not 
 get aceustonied to the dull life of the eapital; the 
 grief of her j)osition on the retired list worried her 
 to death. In the meantime. Nikolai Petro\'iteh 
 had sueeeeded. already during the lifetime of liis 
 j)arents, and to their no small ehagrin, in falhng 
 in love with the daughter of an offieial named 
 l^re])ol6vensky, the former landlord of his lodg- 
 ings, a jjretty and, it was said, a well-edueated 
 young girl : she read the serious articles, under tlie 
 dei)artment labelled " Science," in the new's- 
 papers. lie married her, as soon as the period 
 of mourning was over, and quitting the Ministry 
 of the Imperial Appanages, where he had been 
 entered through the influence of his father, he en- 
 joyed felicity with his 31asha, first in a villa near 
 the Forestry Institute, then in town, in a tinv and 
 j)retty aj)artment Avith a clean staircase and a 
 ]-ather cold drawing-room, and, at last, in the coun- 
 try, where he definitively settled down, and where 
 a son, Arkady, was shortly born to him. The hus- 
 l)and and wife lived very well and (luietly: they 
 were hardly ever separated — they read togethei-. 
 ])layed four-handed ])ieces together on the piano, 
 
 ^ The Tauris Garden, i)art of wliicli is open to tiie jjublio in summer, 
 lies in a j^ood residential (juarter of the town, attached to the Tauris 
 Palace. The latter was built in 17S:} by the F,mi)rcss Katharine II. 
 for Prince Pat yom kin, after his conquest of the Crimea. It was .soon 
 bought back, at Patyoinkin'c death, by the Crown. — Tii vvsi.atou. 
 
 6
 
 1 A III EUS AM) ( IIII,I)UK\ 
 
 sang (liR'ts; she planted lloucrs, and .sii[)cr\ iscd 
 the poultry-yard; he went Imntino on laix- (xr;i- 
 sions, and <K'C'U])ii'(l hinisclf with the farniin;^; and 
 .Ai-kady _ni-e\v, and i^rew also well and (juietly. 
 In the year " 1-7. 1\ ii-s;in()fl'"s w i (V died. He hai'dK" 
 sur\ ixi'd this hlow . and his hair turned i>i-f\- in tin- 
 course oC a lew weeks: hi' ef)ntenij)late(l going' 
 ahroad, for the purj)()se of di\ c-i-ting his mind . . . 
 
 hut the year '48 arrived at this juuctui-e 
 
 willv-nill\-. he returned to the country, and after 
 a I'ather prolonged season of inaeti\ itv he undei-- 
 took agrienltui-al ret'oi-nis. In the yeai- IS.").), he 
 took his son to tlu- nnixersity: he s|)int three win- 
 tei-s with lilni in Petershui'g, going out hai'dly at 
 all, and endeavouring to strike uj) ae([uaintance 
 with Arkady's youthful conu-ades. He was un- 
 ahle to come for the last w inter, — and here we ])e- 
 hold him. in ^lav of the year 18.59, already com- 
 
 • • • 
 
 pletely grey, plump, and lather stooping: he is 
 awaiting his son, who, like himself in years gone 
 hy. has graduated \\ ith the degree of candidate. 
 The servant, out of a sense of decorum, and 
 possihly also hecause he did not wish to irmain 
 undei- his master's eye. stei)|)e(l under the gate- 
 arch and lighted his |)i|)e. \ikolai Fetrdvitch 
 hung his head, and hegan to stai-c at the decrepit 
 stei)sof the porch; a large, piehald chicken stalked 
 l)om|)ously past him. with a sturdy thud of its 
 hig. yellow feet; a hcspattcred eal staled at him 
 in hostile w ise, as she crouched urindy on the rail- 
 
 7
 
 FATHKIJS AM) CIIILDIJKX 
 
 iiig. 'V\k- Sim NViis burning- hot: from tlie liall- 
 (lark anteroom of the posting-station an odour of 
 warm rye bread was wafted. Our Nikolai Petro- 
 A'iteh fell into a i-everie: " Son . . . earuhdate .... 
 Ai'kjisha . . . ." kept incessantly eireling thi'ough 
 his brain : he made an effort to think of something' 
 else, and again reverted to the same thoughts, lie 
 called to mind his dead wife. ..." She did not 
 live to see this day!" he whispered mournfully. 
 . . . . ^V fat, (lark-))lue pigeon flew down into the 
 road, and liastily betook itself to the puddle be- 
 side the well, to drink. Nikolai Petrovitch began 
 to stale at it, but his ear already caught the 
 I'umble of approaching wheels. 
 
 " I think they are coming, sir," announced the 
 servant, ])0])ping out from under the gate. 
 
 Nikolai Petrovitch sprang to his feet, and 
 strained his eyes along the road. ^V tarantas 
 made its ap])earance, drawn by a troika of post- 
 ing-horses: in the tarantas there was a gleam of 
 the band of a student's cap, the familiar outline 
 of a beloved face. 
 
 " Arkasha! Arkasha! " shouted Kirsanoff, and 
 
 started on a run. flourishing his arms A 
 
 few moments latei", his ii|)s were glued to the 
 beardless, dusty, and sunburnt cheek of the young 
 candidate. 
 
 8
 
 II 
 
 " Let me shake myself, papa," — said Arkady, in 
 a A'oice that was rather hoarse from the ioiirnev, 
 hut ringing- and youtliful, cheerily responding to 
 his father's caresses, — " I am dauhing tliee all 
 over. ' 
 
 " Never mind, never mind," Nikolai Petrovitch 
 repeated again and again, with a smile of emotion, 
 and lie administeird a couple of hlows with his 
 liand on the coUar of liis son's cloak and on his 
 own overcoat. — " Let me look at thee, let me look 
 at tliee," he added, sle|)ping off, hut immediately 
 strode toward the ])()sting-station with hasty 
 steps, reiterating: " Here, come along, come 
 along, and let us have horses as speedily as 
 possihle. ' 
 
 Xikohii Petrdvitcli apj)eare(l to he far more 
 agitated than iiis son: it was as tiiough he were 
 somewliat hewildered, as tliough he were intimi- 
 (hited. Arkady st()))ped him. 
 
 " Papa," lie said, " allow me to introtluce to 
 thee my good friend JJazarof!', of whom I have 
 so often >\ritten to thee. He has heen so amiable 
 as to consent to pay us a visit." 
 
 i)
 
 FATllKKS AXD ClULDREX 
 
 Nikolai PctroN itcli wheeled swiftly i-ouiid, and 
 stepping up to a man of lofty stature, in a long 
 ])easant's overcoat \\ ith tassels, who had only just 
 alighted from the tarantas, he warndy shook the 
 bare, red hand which the man did not immediately 
 offer him. 
 
 " 1 am heartily glad," he began, — " and grate- 
 ful to vou for your kind intention to visit us: J 
 hope . . . Permit me to inquire your name and 
 patronymic^ " 
 
 " Evgeny \'asilitch," — replied Bazaroff, in a 
 languid but manly voice, and turning down the 
 collar of the peasant coat, he displayed his entire 
 face to Nikolai Petrovitch. I^ong and thin, with 
 a broad forehead, a nose which was flat at the top 
 and pointed at the tip. with large, greenisli eyes, 
 and pendent sidewhiskers of a sandy hue. it was 
 rendered animated by a calm smile, and expressed 
 self -confidence and cleverness. 
 
 " I trust, my dearest Evgeny A'asi'litch. that 
 you will not be bored with us," — M'ent on Nikolai 
 Petrovitch. 
 
 I^-r/jiroff"s thin lii)s nioxcd slightly: but he 
 made no leply. and merely lifted his caj). His 
 dark-blond hair, long and thick, did not conceal 
 the huge })rotuberances of his ample skull. 
 
 " Well, what are \ve to <lo, Arkfidy? " — began 
 Nikolai Petrovitch, again turning to his son.— 
 " Shall we have the horses pnt lo at once? ()i- do 
 you wish Lo rest? " 
 
 10
 
 FATIIKKS AM) ( iiii.i)in:\ 
 
 W'f will rtsl at lioiiic, papa; give orders to 
 have the horses put to." 
 
 IiimiiMnately, iiiiiiu'diately." assented his 
 fatlici-. "Iley. tlici-c, Pi(')tr. dost tlion hear!* 
 I .ook li\ ely the it. iii\ n'ood I) rot her: see to tiling's. 
 
 Piotr. w lio. ill liis (jiialily of iin|)ro\'ed doiiiestie, 
 had not kissed his \()in)<>' inaslers hand, l)iit had 
 merely howed to him from a distanee, again van- 
 ished inside the gate. 
 
 I am liere with a calasji. ])iit there are three 
 horses tor thy tarantas," said Xikohii Petrovitch 
 hastily, w hile Arkady was drinking water out of 
 .•in iron dippei' hronght hy the keepei* of the post- 
 ing-station, and Hazarott' lighted his ])ipe and 
 ste])ped u]) to the postilion, who was unharnessing 
 Ills horses. — '' The ealash has only two seats, and 
 1 do not know how thy friend . . . ." 
 
 " He will diixe in the tarantas," — interrupted 
 Arkady, in an undertone. — " Please do not stand 
 on ceremony with him. lie's a splendid young 
 fellow, so sim])le. — thou wilt see." 
 
 Nikolai Petrovitehs eoaehman ])rought out the 
 liorses. 
 
 "Come, turn round, Thiekheard! " — said I5a- 
 '/.iiroft' to the postilion. 
 
 "Dost hear, Mitiiikha, |)ut in another pos- 
 tilion, who was standing near, with his hands 
 thrust into the real" slits of his sheepskin eoat, — 
 " what the gentleman eallcd thee:f 'I'hieklieard 
 it was. 
 
 11
 
 FA^III^1^S AXl) CIIILDUKX 
 
 Mitii'iklia merely shook liis eap, and drew the 
 reins from the sweating shaft-horse. 
 
 " Be quick, he (jiiiek. my hids. lend a hand." — 
 exclaimed Xikohii Petrovitch. — '' and xoii '11 «>ct 
 somet]iin<j- for li(iuoi-! " 
 
 In a i'vw minutes the horses were hai'ncsscd: 
 father and son seated tliemseh cs in the calasli. and 
 Piotr climhed on the hox: BazarofF jumped into 
 the tarantas and huried his head in the leather pil- 
 low, — and hoth equipaoes rolled off. 
 
 12
 
 Ill 
 
 " So linr tlioii ait a caiKlidalc at last, and liast 
 come lioiiic/- -said Nikolai IVtroxilcli, loiicliin^- 
 Arkady ik/w on the slioiddcr, ii(»\\ on tlic- knee: — 
 "at last!' 
 
 ".And liow is uncle!' W'elk "' asked ^Vrkjidy, 
 who, despite the «^enuine. almost childish joy 
 which filled his heart, \\ ished to chan^'e the convei- 
 sation as speedily as j)ossil)le from an agitated into 
 a commonplace cnn-ent. 
 
 \ es. lie had intended to drive ()\er with me 
 to meet thee, hut changed his mind for some rea- 
 son or other." 
 
 '' And hast thou heen waiting- long for me? " — 
 asked Arkady. 
 
 Why, al)out fi\i' lioiiis." 
 ■ (iood papa I 
 
 Arkiidy tui'tied hriskly toward his father, and 
 gave him a lesounding smack on the cheek. Xiko- 
 hii Petrovitcli lauglie<l softiv. 
 
 What a magnificent iiorse i ha\e prepared 
 for thee!" lie Ixgan: ' tliow wilt see. And 
 thy room has heen papered." 
 
 .\nd is tlicrc a cliaiiilMr for Ha/,arofl"f" 
 
 We 11 find one I'ny Inni aUn.
 
 FATHERS AM) CIIILDKEX 
 
 " Please, papa, do pet him a bit. I cannot ex- 
 press to tliee to what a degree I prize liis friend- 
 sliip. 
 
 " Thou liast not known him very long? " 
 
 " Not very long." 
 
 " Tluit is why J did not see him last winter. In 
 what does he interest himself? " 
 
 " His principal subject is the natural sciences. 
 But he knows everything. He wants to take 
 his examination for the doctor's degree next 
 vear." 
 
 "^Vh! so he's in the medical facultv," — re- 
 marked Nikolai Petrovitch, and relapsed into 
 silence. — " Piotr," he added, and stretched out 
 his hand, — "aren't those our peasants coming 
 yonder? " 
 
 Pidtr gazetl on one side, in tlie direction wliitlier 
 his master was pointing. ^Several ])easant carts, 
 drawn by horses M'itli slackened bridles, were roll- 
 ing ])riskly along the narrow country road. In 
 each cart sat one, oi* at the most two, ])easants in 
 sliee])skin coats which wci"c open on the birast. — 
 " Exactly so, sir," said I'itUr. 
 
 " Wliithei- are tliey going — to town? " 
 
 I sup])osc it must be to tlie town. 4'o tlie 
 di'am-shop," — he added scorn fully, and leaned a 
 little toward the coachman, as lliougii rrfci-ring to 
 him. Hut the lattci- did not e\ en stir: he was a 
 man oi' the old school, who did not share the latesl 
 views. 
 
 14
 
 I A'I'II1<:KS AM) (II ILDKKX 
 
 I am lia\ ill'' a ^rcat deal ol' Irouhk- with tlk 
 peasants this year,"— pursued Xikohii Pctmvitch, 
 addressing his sou.- " Tliey will tiot ])ay tlieir 
 (juit-rent.' What wouldst thou do' " 
 
 And ai-f liion satisfied with thy liii-cd la- 
 hourers^ * 
 
 ^'es,'' said Xikohli l\iro\iteh hetweeu his 
 teeth. — " They ai'e stiri-ing' them iij) to misehiet', 
 that 's the trouhle; h()we\ei\ no regular attempt 
 has heen made, as yet. 'IMiey ruin the harnesses. 
 l?ut they have done the ploughing all i-ight. 
 When difheulties are surmounted, all goes well 
 again. Hut art thou alirady interested in the 
 i'arming :' " 
 
 " Vou have no shade, and that s a great j)ity. " 
 — remarked Arkadv. a\ ithout answering the last 
 (]uestion. 
 
 I have added a large awning on the north 
 side, over the haleony."' .said Nikolai Petroviteh: 
 — " and now we ean dine in the open air. ' 
 
 It w ill look awfully like a sul)ui-han villa . . . 
 however, all that is of no eonse(iuenee. \\'hat air 
 there is here! IIo\v splendidly fragrant it is! 
 H<ally. it seems to me that nowhere in the world 
 is it so fragrant as in these j)artsl And then the 
 sky heie . . ." 
 
 ..Vrkady suddenly pauseil. east a sidelong 
 glance iK'hind him, and hecame silent. 
 
 " Of eour.se," — remarked Nikolai l*etro\ iteh. 
 
 The iilfi'ik, or sum paid in li'-u of pfrsim.il labor. — 'rH\sMM<«K. 
 
 15
 
 I'ATIIKHS AM) CHILDHKX 
 
 — '' thou wert born here, and evervtliing here 
 ought to seem to thee pecuHarly . . . ." 
 
 " Well, papa, it makes no difference where a 
 man was horn." 
 
 " But . . . ." 
 
 " No, it makes absolutely no difference." 
 
 Nikolai J^etrovitcli gazed askance at liis son, 
 and the calash liad traversed half a verst before 
 the conversation was resumed between them. 
 
 " I do not rememlier whether I wrote to thee," 
 — began Nikolai Petrovitch, — " that thy former 
 imrse, Egorovna, was dead." 
 
 "Really? Poor old woman! And is Proko- 
 fitch alive? " 
 
 " Yes, and has not changed in the least. He 
 still grumbles as of old. On the whole, thou wilt 
 not find many changes at ]\larino." 
 
 " Hast thou still tlie same overseer? " 
 
 " AVhy, the change in tlie overseer is about 
 the only one I have made. I have decided not 
 to keep any more emancipated, former house- 
 servants, or, at least, not to entrust them with any 
 duties which involve responsibility." (Arkady 
 indicated Piotr witii his eyes.) " // est lihrc, cu 
 i'ffet," — remarked Nikolai Petrovitch. in a low 
 tone, — " but, you see, he is my valet. Now I 
 have a petty burgher as overseer : he seems a prac- 
 tical young fellow. I liave appointed him a salary' 
 of two hundred and fifty rubles a year. How- 
 ever," — added Nikolai Petrovitch, rub])ing liis 
 
 16
 
 lATIIKHS AM) ( iili.DKKX 
 
 f'oiehcad atid cyt-hiou s v\ itli his liaiid. uliici) willi 
 liiiii was always a si^ii of" inward j)crtiirl)ati()ii. 
 " I iiave just told tlit-e tliat tlioii woiildst not find 
 any changes at Mtirino. . . 'I'liat is not (|uite cor- 
 rect. I consider it my duty to warn tlicc, al- 
 thou«4h . . .' 
 
 lie faltered for a inonient, and then eontiiuied, 
 in I'rench. 
 
 " A strict moralist would j'e^ard my frankness 
 as misj)lace(l, l)ut, in the first place, it is im|>os- 
 sible to conceal the fact, and, in the second, thou 
 art well aware that I have always entertained j)e- 
 culiar j>rinciples u ith le^ard to the relations be- 
 tween father and son. Hut. of course, thou wilt 
 have a ri<^ht to condemn me. At my a^e .... 
 In a \\i)V(\ . . . that . . . that youn^- girl, ol" 
 whom thou hast, in all prohahijity, alread\' 
 heard . . ." 
 
 Fenitchkaf ' asked Aikady easily. 
 
 Nikolai Petrovitch flushed. -" Please do not 
 mention her name aloud. . . . Well, yes . . . she 
 is now Ii\ ing with me. I ha\f lodf^-cd her in my 
 house .... there were two small rooms there. 
 Ilowevei-, that can Ix- changed." 
 
 " And why. pray, pa|)a' 
 
 " Thy friend is to visit thee . . it is awkward . . ."' 
 
 " Please do not worry thyself, so far as Ha- 
 zaroff is concerned. He is al)Ove all that sort of 
 thing." 
 " \\'ell. tlioti ... in short," — said Xikohii Petn'»- 
 
 17
 
 FATHERS AND ClllLDKEN 
 
 vitch. — " the small wing is in a sorry state — that 's 
 the ditficLiltv." 
 
 " Upon my word, papa,"' — interpolated xVr- 
 ktidy, — " thou wouldst seem to be making apolo- 
 ii'ies; art thou not ashamed of thyself^ " 
 
 " Of eourse, I ought to be ashamed of myself," 
 — replied Nikolai Petroviteh, growing more and 
 more crimson in the face. 
 
 " Enough, papa, — enough, please," — Arkady 
 smiled affectionately. " What is there to apolo- 
 gise for! " he thought to himself, and a sensation 
 of condescending tenderness toward his kind, 
 gentle father, mingled with a feeling of a certain 
 superiority over him, filled his soul. — " Stop, 
 please," — he repeated once more, involuntarily 
 enjoying the consciousness of his own progres- 
 siveness and freedom. 
 
 Nikolai Petroviteh cast a look at him from be- 
 neath the fingers of the hand with which he con- 
 tinued to rub his forehead, and something stung 
 him at the heart. . . . But he immediately took 
 himself to task. 
 
 " Here is where our fields begin,"— he said, 
 after a long silence. 
 
 " And that is our forest, yonder ahead, 1 
 think? " — in(iuired ^Vrkady. 
 
 " Yes, it is ours. Only, I have sold it. It will 
 be felled this year." 
 
 "Why didst thou sell itT' 
 
 18
 
 1\\ Til KKS AM) C HIL1;HIA 
 
 1 lU't'drd IIk' money: ami. l)c.si(l<k,s, this taiid 
 «»()C.s to tlic jx'asaiits. " 
 
 ■' Who do not pay tijcc Iheif (juit-iciil !" ' 
 
 " Tliat 's thcii- art'air: however, they w ili pay 
 II]) some time oi' other." 
 
 " It is a |)it\- alM)nt the forest," — remai'ked Ar- 
 kady, and l»e<4an to ^a/.e ai)oiit him. 
 
 'Vhv loeahties thronyh which tliey were j)assiM^- 
 conhl not l)e called pietnre.s(iiie. Fields, nothing 
 hut fields, stretched away to the very horizon, now 
 rising' <»ently, a<^ain sinking-; here and there small 
 ])atehes of i'ore.st were visihle, and here and there 
 ravines, overgrown with sparse, low hu.shes, 
 wound in and out, reeallin*^- to the eye the rej)re- 
 .sentations of them on ancient plans of the time 
 of Kathei'inc II. Here and there, also, small 
 stnuuns were to he eneountered. with washed-out 
 hanks, and tiny j)onds with wi'ctchcd dams, and 
 little handets with low cottages under (hirk 
 i-oofs, which often had heen half swept away, and 
 lop-sided threshing-sheds with wattled walls of 
 hrushwooiS. and clHuchcs. now of hiick with the 
 stucco peeled of!" in ))laces. now of \vood. with 
 shmting cro.s.ses and ruini-d graveyards. Ar- 
 kady's heart gradually contracted. As though 
 expressly, they kept meeting peasants in clothing 
 wliich was too tight with long wcai', on w rctchc<l 
 nags; like hcggai's in rags stood the i-oadside ^\ il- 
 lows, with tattered hark and hroken hranclus; 
 
 19
 
 FA'IMII<:i?S AM) CIIILDHFA' 
 
 thin, scabby, apparently faniislied cows were 
 greedily nibbling at the grass along the ditches. 
 Thev seemed to ha\'e iiist succeeded in tearina- 
 themselves I'rom some menacing, death-dealing 
 talons, — and, evoked by the pitiful aspect of the 
 debilitated beasts, amid the tine spring day, there 
 arose the white wraith of the cheerless, endless 
 winter, with its blizzards, frosts, and snows. . . . 
 " No," — thought Arkjidy, " this is not a rich 
 land; ii does not strike the beriolder witi its 
 abundance or its industry; it is impossible, im- 
 possible for it to remain like this; reforms are in- 
 dispensable . . . but how are they to be brought 
 about, how is one to set to work:* . . . " 
 
 Thus did Arkady meditate . . . and while he was 
 meditating, the spring asserted its rights. Every- 
 thing roinid about was ringing with a golden 
 sound, everything was stirring with broad, soft 
 agitation and shining beneath the tranquil breath 
 of the warm breeze, — everything, — trees, bushes, 
 and grass; everywhere the larks were carolling 
 in unending, sonorous floods; the lapwings were 
 alternately shrilling, as they soared in circles 
 above the low-lying meadows, and silently hop- 
 ping over the hillocks; the daws stalked about, 
 handsomely black against the tender green of the 
 s])ring rye, which was still low of growth; they 
 ])reached sermons in the rye, which was already 
 turning slightly whitish, oidy now and then show- 
 ing their heads amid its smokelike billows. Ar- 
 
 20
 
 FATIIKHS AM) C II ILDKKX 
 
 kiidy ^a/cd, and <4a/.i(l. and liis iMcdilations ^i-ad- 
 iiallv faded awav, llicn vanislu'd altotfctlKT. . . . 
 lie Hiin«»' oft' liis iinif'onn coat, and looked at his 
 fatluT so nuri-ily, so mncli like a yoiin^>- hoy, that 
 the lattei' enihiaeed him onee more. 
 
 We ha\e not mneli t'in'tlier to ^^o now," — re- 
 marked Nikolai l\'ti-(')\ iteli, " w c- ha\c only to 
 ascend yonder hill, and the house will he visihie. 
 We are ^oin^' to <»et on tonethei' splendidly, Ar- 
 kasha: thou slialt help me with the farming-, it' it 
 does not ])ore thee. Wc must heconie intimate 
 with each otlier now ; we must know each other 
 well, must we not ^ " 
 
 "Of course," — .said Ai-kTuly: "hut what a 
 ma«'"niticent day this is I" 
 
 "It is in hoiioni'of thy arri\al. dear heart. 
 Vcs, it is s])rin<4- in all its ^loi-y. Hut I a^ree 
 with l^i'ishkin — do.sdr thou rememher, in " Kv<ien\' 
 Onyegin ': 
 
 ''IIow >;i(l i> ih\ coiiiiii^ to inc, 
 Sprino-, spriii;^-. tlic time of 1()\»! 
 How . . . ." 
 
 " Arkiidy! " ran<4 out lia/ai-off's xoice from 
 the tarantcis: -" send me a maich. I have no 
 /neans of liLi'htini^' my l)ip' ■ 
 
 Nikolai Petrdvitch relapsed into silence, and 
 Ark.'ldy. who had he^tni lo list en to him. not w ith- 
 oiil a certain snr])rise. hut also not without s\ m- 
 
 ■Jl
 
 FATHERS AND CIIILDREX 
 
 ])athy, liastened to ])ull a silver niatcli-box from 
 
 his pocket and despatch it to Bazaroff by I'iotr. 
 
 ■ \\'ilt thou have a ciijar? " — sliouted BazaroiF 
 
 a^ain. 
 
 " Hand it over," — replied .Vrkady. 
 
 Piotr returned to the calasli, and handed him, 
 in company with the matcli-box, a thick, black 
 cigar, which Arkady immediately lighted, dis- 
 seminating about him such a strong and acrid 
 odour of rank tobacco that Nikolai Petrovitch, 
 who had never smoked in his life, involuntarily — 
 though unperceived, in order not to oiFend his 
 son — turned away his nose. 
 
 A quarter of an hour later, both carriages drew 
 up at the steps of a new wooden house, j^ainted 
 grey, and covered with a red iron roof. This was 
 Marino, also Xovaya-Slobodka; or. according to 
 the peasants' name for it, Bobyly-Khutor.' 
 
 ^ Nocayn-Slobodka, Xew Suburb: Bobyly-Kliutor, Lar>dless rarni.— - 
 
 Tkansi.ator. 
 
 22
 
 \y 
 
 No tlirong of liouse-scrvaiits ))()iir(1 forth ti|)ori 
 the porch to uclcoinr tlic mastci-s: thr only ])cr.son 
 who sliowed herself was a httle ••irl ol' twelve, and 
 in hei' \\akc tiiei'e enier<»e(l i'roin Hit house a 
 youn^' lad who hoi-e a strong resenil)lane(.' to 
 l^iotr, elad in ;i ^rev, livery round jacket, witli 
 Nvhite arniouried huttons, the sev\ant of l'a\ el Pe- 
 trovitch Kirsanof!'. He silently oj)ened the door 
 of the calash, and unhuttoned the apron of the 
 tarantjis. Nikolai l*etn')vitch. with his son and 
 ]^a/jiroff*, walked through a dark and almost 
 empty hall,' IVom hehind whose door the\ c-au^ht 
 a rieetin^' <»lim|)se of a youn<^'. feminine lace, to 
 the (^ra^^■in•»•-rooIll. which was aliead\ I'ninished 
 in the latest taste. 
 
 Hei'c \\'e ai"e at home." -said Nikolai l*eti"(')- 
 vitch, remoN in^' his cap. and shakin<^' l)ack his 
 hail". --" Tlie chief tiling' now is to haxc sii|)|)rr 
 and to rest." 
 
 1 1 I'eally would not he a had idea to ha\ i- some- 
 thin^" to eat." rem;iikcd Razaroff. stretchinu' 
 himself, and drop|)in<4' dow n on a couch. 
 
 ^'es, yes. ser\e sup|)ei' ;is (jiiickK as possihic." 
 
 ' Tin- " liall " i-- ;i I -I II 1 1 hi I i.'i I ion ni music nHiiii, l>.ill-ri«>m. .iikI |i|;i\ - 
 
 r<H»lll. rit \ \ -.I VTllM.
 
 1 ATllKKS AM) CIIILDKEX 
 
 — Nikolai Petrovitch stam})ed liis feet, witliout 
 any visible cause. — " By the \\av, here is Proko- 
 fitch." 
 
 There entered a man of fifty, wliite-haiied, thin, 
 and swarthy, in a light-brown frock-coat witli 
 brass buttons, and a pink kercliief round his 
 throat. He grinned, kissed Arkady's hand, and 
 bowing to the guest, retreated to the door, and 
 put his hands behind him. 
 
 " Here he is, Prokofitch," — began Nikolai Pe- 
 trovitch, — " he has come to us, at last. . . . Well? 
 What dost thou think of him? " 
 
 " He is in the best condition, sir," said the old 
 man, and grinned again, but immediately knit 
 his thick brows. — " Do you command the table 
 to be set? "—he said impressively. 
 
 " Yes, yes, if you please. But will you not go 
 to your room first, Evgeny Vasilitch? " 
 
 " No, thank you, there 's no necessity. Only, 
 ])lease give orders to have my little trunk carried 
 thither, and this horrid old garment, also," lie 
 added, taking off the peasant-coat. 
 
 " Very good. Prokofitch, take his coat." ( Pro- 
 kofitch, in a sort of stupefaction, gras])ed the 
 " horrid old garment " in both liands, and ele- 
 vating it high above his head, witluh-ew on tiptoe. ) 
 " And thou, Arkady, wilt thou go to tliine own 
 room for a minute? " 
 
 " Ves, 1 must get myself clean," replied Ar- 
 kady, and started towai'd the door; but al that 
 
 24
 
 1 A riII':HS AM) ( IIII.DHKN 
 
 moment there entered the diaw inj^-i-ooni a man 
 of medium stature, dressed in a dark lMi|^lisli 
 suit, a f'asliionable, low neektie, and low, patent- 
 leather shoes, - I'avel I*etr<'>\ itch KirsanofV. In 
 uppearanee, he was ahonl I'ortN -live ycais ol' a^c: 
 liis elosely-eli|)[)ed ^rey haii" shaded <lark in ceitain 
 lights, like new siher: his face, sallow, hui divoid 
 of wrinkles, remarkahly re»»nlar and j)ui"e in out- 
 line, as thou^'h carved out with a lii^lit, delieate 
 chisel, displayed tiaees of reniarkahle heauty: 
 especially fine were his hiilliant. hlaek, almond- 
 shaj)ed eyes. The whole person of ^Vrkiidy's 
 uncle, elef»ant and hi^h-hred, jjreserved its youth- 
 ful grace, and that asj>iration. upward, away 
 from the earth, which generally disaj)pears after 
 the twentieth year. Pavel Petrovitch drew from 
 the pocket of his trousei's his heautifnl hand with 
 its long, rosy nails, which seemed still more heauti- 
 fnl fVom the snow-whiteness of his en ft' huttoned 
 with a single large opal, and ga\c it to his nephew. 
 IIa\ ing accomj)lishe(l the |)reliminaiy Kin'opean 
 " shake-hands," he- exchangid three kisses w ith 
 liim, in llnssian fashion, that is to say. he thrice 
 touched his cheek with his perfumed moustache, 
 — and said: " Welcome! " 
 
 Nikolai I'etn'witch introduced him to Hazjiroft': 
 Pavel Petnnitch slightly Ik nl his suj)j)le form, 
 and sli<rhtlv smiled, hut he did not ofl'er his hand, 
 and e\cn put it hack in his |)ocket. 
 
 " I had already hegun to think tiiat you would 
 
 •2.')
 
 lAlIIKUS AM) CIIILDKEX 
 
 not anivc today,"— he said in a ])k'asaiit voice, 
 ainiahly swayiiit^. twitching his shoulders, and dis- 
 phivinu" his \erv fine wliite teeth. — " Did anv- 
 IhiniJ' lia|)ijen on the road?" 
 
 " Xotliino- hap]jened,*' rephed Arkady, — "we 
 wvvc a little late, that is all. But we are as hunoi-y 
 as wolves. Hurry ujj Prokofitch, papa, and I 
 will be back immediately." 
 
 " Wait. I will go with thee," — exclaimed Ba- 
 zarofF, suddenly tearing himself from the divan. 
 The two young men left the room. 
 
 " Who'is that? "-asked Pavel Petrovitch. 
 
 " A friend of Arkfisha's, a very clever man, ac- 
 cording to him." 
 
 " Is he going to make you a visit? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "That hirsute fellow?" 
 
 " Well, yes." 
 
 Pavel Petr(nitch drummed on the table with his 
 finger-nails: — " T think that Arkady s\:st dc- 
 fi;(nirdi," he remarked. — " I am glad he has come 
 back." 
 
 At supper thei-e was very httle conversatiori. 
 ]ia/jiroff'. in ])articular. said hardly a word, but 
 he ate a i>reat (leak Nikolai I'etrovitch narrated 
 various anecdotes from his farmer's life, as lie ex- 
 ])ressed it, discussed the imj)en(ling administra- 
 tive measures, committees, delegates, the necessity 
 of introducing machinery, and so forth. Pavel 
 ]V'trovitch paced slowly to and fro in the dining- 
 
 26
 
 FATIIKKS AM) C IIIl.DHKN 
 
 room (lie mc\ c r siipiK-d), oiicr in a wliilr taking a 
 sip from liis \\ iii<.--^la.ss filled witli it<l winr. aii<l 
 still moir rarely iittcriu*'- some rcmaiU. or. ratli* r. 
 some exclamation, like '* All! '" '" Kliel " " I I'm! "' 
 Arkt'uK' eommimieated some Petersl)ui-<i' news. 
 l)ut lie I'elt a sli<^lit I'mharrassmeiit the emhai- 
 I'assment wliieli uenei'ally takes ])ossessi<)n of a 
 y()imt>' man when he has jnst eeased to he- a child 
 and has returned to the i)lace whei'c i)eo|)le lia\c 
 been accustomed to .see him and re^ai'd him as a 
 child. He lengthened out his sj)eeeli unneces- 
 sarily, avoided the word ' ])ai)a, " and once he even 
 suj)ersede(l it with the word " father," — emitted, 
 it is true, thr()u<»h his teeth; with supei'tluously 
 free and easy mannei-, he j)oured out into his ••lass 
 a great deal more wine than he wanted, and di'ank 
 the wliole of it. l*rok('>fiteh ne\er look his eyes 
 off him. and mei'ely made a chewing movement 
 with his li|)s. They all separated immediately 
 after supi)er. 
 
 " 'I'hat unek' oC thine is a (jiieer soii of fish. 
 — said Ha/ai'off to Arkady, sitting- down in his 
 (lressing-goN\ n heside him on his hed, and siK'kmg 
 away at a shoi't jtipe. " ()ne can I lulp thitd<ing 
 that he has a j)retly dandilied style for the coun- 
 try. And his nails, why, yon eoidd send his nails 
 to the eN])osition I " 
 
 " Hut thou ai't. e\ ideiitly. ignorant of the fact." 
 --i"e|)lied Arkad\. "Ih;il he w.is .-i soeiety lion 
 in his I inx'. I w ill tell tlu<' his history nnc of these 
 
 27
 
 FATHERS AM) ClilLDUKX 
 
 davs. You see, he Mas a beautv, and turned the 
 women's heads." 
 
 " You don't say so! He does it now in nienioiy 
 of the old days. There is n't any one to fascinate 
 here, more's the pity. I kept watching him: 
 what wonderful cuffs he has, just as tliough 
 they were made of stone, and liis chin is so accu- 
 rately shaved. It 's ridiculous, is n't it, Arkady 
 Nikolaevitch? " 
 
 " Possibly: only, he really is a fine man." 
 " An archaic manifestation! But thy father is 
 a splendid fellow. There 's no good in his reading 
 poetry, and he probably has n't much sense about 
 the farming, but he 's a good soul." 
 " ]\Iy father is a man of gold." 
 " Hast thou noticed that he is timid ^ " 
 Arkady shook his head, just as though he were 
 not timid himself. 
 
 " Astonishing phenomenon these elderly ro- 
 manticists!" — went on Bazaroff. "They de- 
 velop their nervous system to the 2)oint of ex- 
 asperation . . . well, and then the equili])rium is 
 destroyed. But good-bye! Tliere 's an Englisli 
 washstand in my room, but the door will not l(K'k. 
 All tlie same, English waslistands ' — that is to 
 say, progress — must be encouraged! " 
 
 Bazaroff went off, and a sensation of joy 
 took possession of Arkady. It is sweet to fall 
 
 ^ The Russian washstand has a reservoir of water on top, and no 
 plup, and the water is lilierated by a foot-treadle. — Thansi.atoh. 
 
 28
 
 FA TliKKS AM) ( IIII.DiJKX 
 
 asleep in the pureiilal li')iiie, in the i'ainiliai- l)e(l. 
 over whicli loved liaiuls have toiled, per]ia])s tlie 
 liands of an old nuise, those earessiii*';', kind, in- 
 defatji^ahle hands. Ai'kjidy recalled K^(')rovna, 
 and si^«lied, and l)reallied a j)rayer thai the king- 
 dom of heaxeii ini^'ht ])e hers. . . Tie did not pray 
 i'or liiniseir. 
 
 Both he and Ha/aroff* ])roinptly Tell aslee]). hnt 
 it was a long" time still Ijcfore the other persons in 
 the honse •>"()t to sleej). 'I'lie relni-n of his son had 
 excited Xikoliii Petrdvitch. He went to hed, hnt 
 did not extini»insh his eandle, and })ropping his 
 head on his hand, he indnlged in a prolonged 
 reverie. His hrother sat in his stndy nntil lon^ 
 after midnight, in a capacious (iamhoft* ' easy- 
 ehair, in front of the fireplace, in which liard coal 
 was faintly smouldering. Pavel Petrovitch had 
 not undressed himself, but had merely replaced 
 his low ])atent-leather pumps with red Chinese 
 slippers without heels. He held in his hands the 
 last number of GaJl^Udii'i , hut he did not lead it; 
 he stared intently into the grate, where the bluish 
 flame ftiekered, now dying down, now flashing uj) 
 .... God knows where his thoughts were roaming, 
 but thev were not n)aming in the ])ast alone: the 
 expression of his face was concenfratecr and 
 gloomy, which is not the case when a man is en- 
 grossed in memories only. And in a c'iny rear 
 room, on a large coffer, sat the young woman, Fe- 
 
 • .V wdl-known cabinet-maker of that period. —Tbavsi.atoh. 
 
 •20
 
 1 ATIIKHS AM) CIIILDKKX 
 
 iiitclika, in a sky-blue short jacket,' witli a white 
 kerchief thrown over lier dark liair, and alter- 
 nately listened, dozed, and stared at the door, 
 whicli stood ajar, beyond wliich a child's })ed was 
 visible, and the even breathing of a slee])in<^" child 
 was audible. 
 
 ^ Literally a "soul-wanner ": a uackled peasant-jaeket, eilli<T ti^lit 
 fittinfj to the waist, below which it has dose orj^aii plaits: or fallin<? 
 from the slioulders in broad box-piaits to the waist: and with very 
 long, tapering sleeves. — Traxsi.atoii. 
 
 ,•^0
 
 Ox tlif follow i 11^- iiioriiiiio. Hazaroir awoke 
 earlier than any of the otlicrs. and went oiil oi 
 doors. " Klie! " hv thou^^iil. al'tci- casting- a glance 
 around hini. " this is n't a \ cry showy j)la('c." 
 When Xikoliii Petroviteh hall |)ortione(l of!' \\\v 
 hind hetween liiinself and the j)easanls, he had 
 ])een ohli^ed to assi«rii for his new nianor-hoiise 
 four desvatinas of ])erl'eetl\- Hal and naked fields. 
 Tie liad erected a house, offices, and farnidjiiild- 
 in*»'s. had laid out a ^^ardeii. had dni^' a pond and 
 a couj)le of wells: i)ut the youn;^' trees had struck 
 root ])a(lly. \ery little water had collected in the 
 pond, and the watei' in tin- wells j)ro\e(l to liaxc a 
 1)i'ackis]i taste. Only one ai'hour of lilacs and 
 acacia had ^•l•o^^■n faii'ly well: in it they sonietiines 
 drank tea and dined. 1 n a few minutes, Ha/arofr 
 liad made the round of all the |)aflis in the ^^ai'dcn, 
 had |)aid a little \ isit to tlie catt le-yaid and to 
 the stal)le, had hunted old two small hoys iV- 
 loimiui'' to th( housc-.scr^ aiits, with whom he nad 
 immc(hatel\ slniek \\\) an ae(|iiaintanee, and had 
 •••one ofV with tlnni to a small marsh, situated 
 ahout a \eist distant fioiii the- mam ir-ln msc, in 
 (juest of fro^s. 
 
 .> 1
 
 FATllKKS AM) ClllLDKEX 
 
 " AVhat (losi thou want frogs for, master?" 
 one of the httle hoys asked him. 
 
 " Why, I'or tliis," — re])he(l Bazaroff, wlio pos- 
 sessed a sj)ecial faculty for inspiring the lower 
 classes with confidence in him. altliough he never 
 indulii'cd tliem, and treated them carelessly: — 
 " I 'm going to split the frog open, and see what 
 is going on inside of it: and as thou and 1 are 
 exactly like frogs, exce})t that we walk on our 
 legs, then I shall also know what is going on inside 
 of us." 
 
 " But what dost thou Avant to know that for? " 
 
 " In order that T may not make mistakes, if 
 thou shouldst fall ill and I had to cure thee." 
 
 " Art tliou a doctur? " ^ 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Dost hear, Vaska, the gentleman says that 
 thou and I are just the same as frogs. Won- 
 derful!" 
 
 " I 'm afraid of them, of frogs," — remarked 
 Vaska, a lad of seven, witli a liead as wliite as 
 fiax, clad in a grey kazak coat with a standing 
 collar, and harefooted. 
 
 " AVliat is tliere to he afraid of (* they don't bite, 
 do they? " 
 
 " Come, now, liop into the water, you ])liil()s- 
 ophers," — said Hazaroif. 
 
 Ill the meantime, Nikolai I'ctnnitcli had also 
 waked up. and had l)etaken himself to Arkatly, 
 
 ' riic jit-asaiit pronunciation. — Traxsi.atou. 
 
 32
 
 rATIIKKS AM) ( IIII.DKKX 
 
 whom lio fouiul (hvsscd. l-'atlici- and son went out 
 on \hv vn-nnda. iMi(kr tiic slultci- of tlit- awning: 
 t'losf to llic lailiims. on a lalilc iM'twcrn l)ii>' 
 hnnclics of lilacs, tin- sani()\ar was ali(a(l\- hnl)- 
 l)liiig'. A little Li,irl made lici- appcai'ancc the 
 saiiK' one who lind liccii tlic liist to inert 
 llic ti'a\illci's on the porch ;iiid said in a siifiJl 
 voice: 
 
 " Feodosya Xikoliicvna docs not feci (juite well, 
 and cannot come: she ordered me to ask yon. 
 wlicthcr yon will ponr tea for Nonrschcs. oi* shall 
 slic send Dnnyiisiia :" " 
 
 I will |)oni- it myself, myself,"— Nikolai l*e- 
 trdvitcli cani>lit her up hastily. " How dost tlion 
 take thy tea, Arkady, — with cream oi* with 
 lemon :" " 
 
 ' With cream," — replied Arkady, and aftei- a 
 hrief panse he ejaculated: — " l*apa! " 
 
 Nikolai l^etrdvitch looked at his son with dis- 
 comfiture. — " AN'hatif " — he said. 
 
 Arkady (lrop])ed his eyes. 
 
 " Kxcnse me, papa, if my (juestion seems to 
 thee improper." he heoan; 'hut thou, thyself, 
 1)V thv frankness \esterda\, hast challent'ed me 
 to frankness .... thou wilt not he angi-y I" ...."* 
 ^>peaK on. 
 
 '' Thou givest me holdness to ask thee. . . Is n t 
 Fen ... is n't it hecanse I am hcie that she is not 
 coming' to |)o\n- the tea !* 
 
 Nikolai l*etr(')\ itch tuined slightly aside.
 
 FATIIKKS AM) ClIll.DKKX 
 
 " PtThaps." — he said at last, — " slic supposes 
 . . . she is ashamed . . . ." 
 
 Arkadv swit'th- tinned his eves on his I'atlier. 
 
 • • • 
 
 " 'IMiei'e is no neeessity for lier to i'eel ashamed. 
 In thi' first plaee, tlion art aecpiainted with my 
 manner of tli()u<^ht " ( Ai-kad\- louiid it extremely 
 pleasant to nttei- these words) : " and. in the see- 
 ond place, have 1 the desire to interfere, hy so 
 much as a hair's-hreadth, with thy life, thy hahits? 
 Moreover, I am convinced, that thou eouldst not 
 make a had choice: if thou hast permitted her to 
 live under one roof \\'ith thee, she must be worthy 
 of it; in any case, the son is not his father's judge, 
 and in partienlai- T — and in ])articnlar of such a 
 fathei-, who, like thyself, has never restricted my 
 freedom in any res[)ect whatever." ' 
 
 Arkady's voice had trembled at first: he felt 
 that he was magnanimous, but, at the same time, 
 he understood that he was delivering something 
 in the nature of an exhortation to his father; but 
 the sound of his own speech acts ])owerfully on 
 a man, and Arkady uttered his closing words 
 firndy, even effectively. 
 
 " Thanks, Arkasha," — said Nikolai retrovitch 
 in a dull tone, and again his fingers strayed over 
 his eyebro\\-s and his foi-ehead. — " 'I'hy assum])- 
 tions really are correct. Of course, if that girl 
 were not worthy . . . This is not a fickle fancy. 
 It is not easy for me to talk to thee about this; 
 l)ut thou understandest that it was difficult for 
 
 34
 
 FATIIKKS AM) CIIILDKKX 
 
 ]ier to conic liitlicr, into lliy |)rcscMcc, especially 
 on tlic first day ol" lliy lionic-coniin^-." 
 
 In that case, I w ill ^o to licr myself," — cried 
 Arkady, with a fresh impulse of magnanimous 
 sentiments, and he jumped u|) from the talde.— 
 
 I will explain to her that she has no I'ause to 
 feel ashamed hel'ore me." 
 
 Nikolai Petrovitch rose also. 
 Arkady, '—he he^an, *' |)lease . . . how is it 
 possihle . . . there .... 1 have not forewarned 
 thee . . . ." 
 
 Hut Arkiidy was no lon*4"er listening- to him, 
 and had (juitted the veranda. Xikolai Petrovitch 
 looked after him, and sank down on his ehaii- in 
 confusion. His hcai't heat violently. . . . W'hethei- 
 it was that, at that moment, tlir iiie\ itahle strange- 
 ness of the future relations hetween him and his 
 son presented itself to him, or that lie i-ceoonised 
 the fact that Arkady would liaxc sliow n almost 
 more res])eet I'oi' him iiad \\c imt toiiclkd on tlial 
 matter at all, or whether he was i-e|)i-oaehiii;4 liim- 
 self \\\[\\ weakness — it would he dinicult to say: 
 all those feeliui^s were w itliin him. hut in the shape 
 of sensations - and not eleai- sensations, at that: 
 hut the ttush did not iea\(' his faei', and his heart 
 heat violently. 
 
 llastv footstej)s hecame audihU. and Arkady 
 cmergi'd upon the \"ei*and;i. " \\'e h;i\«' iii;id( 
 ac(juaintanee, t';ither! " he cried, w it li ;in expres- 
 sion of affeetionate and amiahle liiumpli on his
 
 FATHERS AXD CHILDREN 
 
 face. — " Feodosva Xikolaevna really is not very 
 well to-day, and will come later. But why didst 
 not thou tell me that I had a brother? I would 
 have given him a good kissing yesterday evening, 
 as I have done just now." 
 
 Nikolai Petrovitch tried to say something, tried 
 to rise and hold out his arms. . . 
 
 Arkady threw himself on his neck. 
 
 " What 's this? Hugging each other again? " 
 — rang out Pavel Petrovitch's voice behind them. 
 
 Father and son were equally delighted at his 
 appearance at that moment: there are touch- 
 ing situations, from which, notwithstanding, one 
 wishes to escape as promptly as possible. 
 
 "Why art thou surprised? " — said Nikolai 
 Petrovitcli merrily. — " I liave been longing for 
 Arkasha for ages .... I have n't yet had a 
 chance to stare my fill at him since yesterday." 
 
 " I 'm not surprised in the least," — remarked 
 Pavel Petrovitch: — " I 'm even not disinclined to 
 give him a liug myself." 
 
 Arkady step])ed u]) to liis uncle, and again felt 
 on his cheeks the touch oi" his perfumed mous- 
 tache. Pavel Petrovitch seated himself at the 
 table. He wore an elegant morning costume, in 
 English fashion; his head was adorned ^vith a tiny 
 fez. This fez and his carelessly knotted tie hinted 
 at the freedom of country life; but the stiff shirt - 
 collar — not white, it is ti'ue, but coloured, as is 
 
 36
 
 1 A'rni<:i{s wn ( ii i i,i)in:\ 
 
 proper lor a inoriiiti<4' loiKl iiiipingcd upon tlic 
 wt'll-sliaved cliio ^\ith its Iiahilual implacal)ilily. 
 
 '' A\'1r'|-(' is tliy IU'^\ t'ricnH?"- lie asked i\r- 
 kady. 
 
 " IK' is iiol III llif I louse; lie «4cii( ralK rises early 
 and ^oes oft' somewliere. Tlie elm f point is, tlial 
 one Ui^ci] ))ay no alteiition to Iiiiii: lie is not t'ond 
 of ceremony." 
 
 " Yes, tliat Is evident." Pavel l*etr6vitcli be- 
 
 <^an, in a leisurely way, to s})read ])utter on his 
 
 ])read. " Is lie ^'oing" to make tliee a lon<j- visit;* " 
 
 ' 'I'liat is as it happens. He lias turned aside 
 
 liere, on his way to his father's.'' 
 
 " And where does liis father live? " 
 
 " In our L»"o\ ernment. eighty versts from here. 
 He has a small estate there. He used to he a regi- 
 mental doctor." 
 
 " Te, te, te, te That is jirecisely the reason 
 
 wh}- I lune ke})t asking' myself: AVlieie ha\c' I. 
 heard that name HazjiroftV . . . Nikolai, does 
 my memory serve me, and was not the niedieal 
 man in our fathei"'s di\ision Ha/ai'oft':' " 
 It strikes me that it was." 
 
 " Precisely, precisely. So that medical man is 
 his father. I I'm I "" -Pjiv<'l Petrdviteli twitched 
 his moustache. — " \VelI, and v>!iat sort of person 
 is ]SIr. Ha/Jiroft' himself f " he asked, \\ith pau.ses 
 between the words. 
 
 '' \\'hat .sort of person is Bazaroff :* " Ar- 
 
 O/
 
 1 A'riiKKs AM) ciiiij)in<:x 
 
 kiiclv laiiL>liL'cl. — " Would vou like to have ine tell 
 you, my dear uncle, what sort of jierson he is? " 
 
 " Pray do, my dear nephew." 
 
 " lie is a nihilist." 
 
 " What? " — asked Nikolai Peti'oviteh : and 
 Pavel I'etroviteh elevated liis knife, with a hit of 
 huttei' stieking to the hiade. in the aii\ and re- 
 mained motionless. 
 
 " lie is a nihilist," — repeated Arkady. 
 
 " A nihilist," said Xikolai Petroviteh.— 
 " That eomes from the liatin niJiil . nothing, so 
 Car as I can jud«Je; eonse(|uently, that word desig- 
 nates a man who . . . who reeotj-nises nothin*4-. " 
 
 " Say: ' who respects nothing.' " — put in Pavel 
 Petrovitcli, and devoted himself once more to his 
 Initter. 
 
 " Who treats everything from a critical point 
 of view," — remarked Arkady. 
 
 "And isn't that exactly the same thing?" — 
 incjuired Pavel Petroviteh. 
 
 " Xo, it is not exactly the same thing. A nihil- 
 ist is a man who does not how hefore any au- 
 thority whatever, mIio does not accept a single 
 l)rinciple on faith, with whatever respect that 
 l)rinciplc may he environed." 
 
 "And dost thou think that is a good thing:' " 
 — interrupted Pavel PetrcSvitch. 
 
 " That depends on Avho it is, dear uncle. It is 
 all right for one man, and very bad for another." 
 
 " ^'on do?rt say so. Well, I perceive that that 
 
 88
 
 1 ArUKT^S AND CINLDHKN 
 
 is not 111 our line. \\ v people ol' tlie old scliool 
 assume tlial, witlioul p|-iMei|)les " |l*;t\(l l*et!-('>- 
 vitcii |)ronoiiiiee(l lliis woid sol'tly. in Hie I-'reneli 
 stvlc. .\rkii<l\, on llie eontiaiw prononneed il 
 
 • • • I 
 
 principles, ' linow iiiLi tlie accent on the fii'st syl- 
 lable), " uitliont accepted pi'inci'ples, as tlio\i say- 
 est, it is ini|)ossil)le to take a stej). oi- to l)rcathe, 
 on faith, /'oz/.v avi'Z change tout cclei. (iod «»rant 
 us health and the rank of «>'cnerak hnt wc will 
 content ourselves with adniirin*'- the Messrs. 
 what do you call it? " 
 
 " The nihilists," — said Arkjidy w ith much dis- 
 tinctness. 
 
 " Yes. They used to be TIegelists, and now 
 they arc nihilists. Let us see, how you will exist 
 in the vacuum, in the atmosj)heric expanse; but 
 now, be so o-ood as to rin«4' the bell, brother, Niko- 
 lai l*ctro\itch, it is time for me to drink my 
 cocoa." 
 
 Nikolai Petrovitcb rang", and .shouted: " l)un- 
 yasha!" Hut, instead of Dunyasha, Fenitchka 
 lier.seli' made her aj)pcarance on the veranda. She 
 was a young woman of three and twenty, all white 
 and soft, with dai*k bail' and eyes, red, child- 
 ishly-j>lum]) lii)s, and tender hands. She wore a 
 neat ])rint gown: a new . iight-i)lue kerchief rested 
 lightly on hei- j>lumj) shoulders. She carrieil 
 a large cuj) of cocoa, and setting it dow n in front 
 of Pavel IVtrovitcb, becanu- covered with con- 
 I'usion : the liot blood diffused itself in a crimson 
 
 31)
 
 FATHERS AXD CHIT.DREX 
 
 flood bcneatli the delicate skin of her pretty face^ 
 She dr()pj)ed her eyes, and remained stan(hng be- 
 side tlie table, liglitly resting upon it the very tips 
 of her fingers. She seemed to be ashamed of hav- 
 ing come, and, at the same time, she felt, ap- 
 parently, that she had a right to come. 
 
 Pavel Petrovitch knit his brows sternly, and 
 Nikolai Petrovitch was overwhehiied with con- 
 fusion. 
 
 " Good morning, Fenitchka," — he muttered 
 through his teeth, 
 
 " Good morning, sir," — she rej^lied, in a sonor- 
 ous but not loud voice, and, casting a sidelong 
 glance at Arkady, who bestowed a friendly smile 
 on her, she softlv withdrew. She walked with a 
 slight waddle, but it suited her. 
 
 Silence reigned on the veranda for the space 
 of several minutes. Pavel Petrovitch sipped his 
 cocoa, and suddenly raised his head. — " Here is 
 Mr. Nihilist about to favor us with his company," 
 — he said, in an undertone. 
 
 And, in fact, Razaroff was coming through the 
 garden, striding across the flower-beds. His 
 linen coat and trousers were spattered with mud; 
 a clinging marsh plant encircled the crown of his 
 old, round hat; in his right hand he grasped a 
 small bag; in the bag some live creature was 
 squirming. He rapidly a])proached the veranda, 
 and nodding his head, he said: — " Good morning, 
 gentlemen ; excuse me for being late to tea ; I will 
 
 40
 
 FA'I'HI'Jrs AM) C IIILDHKX 
 
 Ik- hjick <lirct'tl\ : I iiiiist |)n)\ idc f'oi- tlicsf j)ris- 
 
 oiiers." 
 
 " \\'liat Iia\c you tlurc ket'lies!' " — iiKjuired 
 Piivcl Pctmvitt'li. 
 Ao, tro^s. 
 
 " Do you cat tlifm — or raise tliciii? " 
 
 " They art- foi- cxpcjIiiK.'nts," — said Bazaroff 
 iiuliflVrcntly, and \\v\\[ into the house. 
 
 " lie is ^-oiu^- to cut them uj)," — remarked 
 Pavel Petroviteh. — " lie does not beheve in 2)rin- 
 ci'ples, but he does believe in frogs." 
 
 xVrkiidy ga/ed at his uuele with compassion: 
 Xikohii l^etnnitch shru»^«»ed his shouIdei-s on the 
 sly. Pavel Petroviteh himself was conscious that 
 his witticism had not been a success, and be(>an to 
 talk about the farming operations, and the new 
 overseer, who had cojuc to him on the previous 
 day to complain that iahourci- J/'oma was " de- 
 baucheering " and was incoiTigiblc. "Tie's a 
 regular .1^]sop." he said, among otlier things: " he 
 has ])rotested cxciywhei-e that he is a bad man; 
 after he has ]i\ ed a while longer, he 11 get rid of 
 his folly." 
 
 41
 
 VI 
 
 Bazaroff returned, sat down at the table, and 
 began hastily to drink tea. Both brothers stared 
 at him in silence, while Arkady glanced stealth- 
 ily, now at his father, now at his uncle. 
 
 " Have you walked far from here? "—asked 
 Nikolai Petrovitch at last. 
 
 " You have a small swamp yonder, alongside 
 the aspen grove. I started up five woodcock; 
 thou mightest shoot them, Arkady." 
 " Don't you shoot? " 
 " No." 
 
 " Do you occupy yourself with the physical 
 sciences in particular? " — inquired Pavel Petro- 
 vitch, in his turn. 
 
 " Yes, with physics; with the natural sciences 
 in general." 
 
 " The Germans, I am told, have made great 
 progress in that department of late." 
 
 " Yes, the Germans are our teachers in that," 
 — replied Bazaroff carelessly. 
 
 The word " Germtintzy " Pavel Petrovitch 
 had employed, instead of " nyemtzy," ' by way of 
 irony, which, however, no one noticed. 
 
 " Have you so high an opinion of the Ger- 
 
 ^ Nyenu-tz, " the dumb one," (that is to say: a person who cannot 
 talk the laiiuuane of tlic country), is applied to foreigners in general, 
 and Germans in particular. — TaANSi^TOR. 
 
 42
 
 FA'III1:HS AM) ( Illl.l)KKX 
 maIls:'" said I'livtl IVtnnitdi. uitli sedulous 
 courtesy. He liad heoiui lo feel a secret iirita- 
 tion. His ai'istoei alie nature was stiired to re- 
 volt hy iia/aroir's perfectly IVee-aiid-easy man- 
 ners. 'I'liat medical man's son was not oid\' not 
 afraid, lie e\X'n i-ej)lied al)ru|)tly and reluctantly, 
 and there was s()nicthin»i' rude, almost insulting-, 
 in the very soiuul of his xoice. 
 
 " Tile learned men theic air a practical race." 
 
 ".Just so, just so. Well, you pi-ohahly have 
 not so Uattei-inn" an o|)inion of the Kussian s( •- 
 entists!* " 
 
 " Prohalily, that is so." 
 
 " That is very pi-aiseworthy self-renunciation,' 
 — ejaculated IVivel Petrovitch, drawing uj) his 
 fitrure, and throwing his head hack.^" lint how 
 conies it that, as Arkiidy Xikolaiteh was just 
 telling us, you do not recognise any authorities? 
 Do not you helieve in them? " 
 
 " Hut why should I recognise them? And 
 what should I helieve inf They tell me a fact, 
 and I helieve it, that is all." 
 
 " Hut do the Germans all speak facts? " — said 
 Pavel Petrovitch, and his face assumed an indif- 
 ferent, distant expression, as though lie had 
 wholly withdi-awn into some height ahove the 
 clouds. 
 
 " \ot all," replied Ha/;iroH', with a slioi-t 
 yawn, heing, evidently, unwilling to prolong the 
 co?itroversy. 
 
 I'avel Petr(')vitch daited a glance at Arkadv, 
 
 43
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDKEX 
 
 as mucli as to say: "Thy friend is polite, tlioii 
 must admit that." — " So far as I myself am con- 
 cerned," — he hegan again, not without an effort, 
 — "sinful man that I am, 1 am not fond of the 
 Germans. I am not alluding to the Russian- 
 Germans of course; every one knows what sort of 
 hirds they are. But I cannot stomach the Ger- 
 man-Germans either. Those of former days are 
 well enough; then they had Schiller, I believe, 
 
 Goetthe ^ly brother here, accords them 
 
 special favour. . . But now a lot of chemists and 
 materialists have sprung up among them " 
 
 " A respectable chemist is twenty times more 
 useful than any poet," — interrupted Bazaroff. 
 
 " You don't say so! " — said Pavel Petrovitch, 
 and barely elevated his eyebrows, exactly as 
 
 • • • 
 
 though he were in a doze. — " I suppose that you 
 do not recognise art? " 
 
 " The art of making money without sensational 
 aids!" — exclaimed Bazaroff, with a scornful 
 sneer. 
 
 " Exactly so, sir; exactly so, sir. You are 
 pleased to jest. So you reject that? Let us as- 
 sume that you do. That means that you believe 
 only in science? " 
 
 " I have already told you that I believe in 
 nothing; and wliat is science — science in general? 
 There is science which is a trade, a vocation; but 
 science in the abstract docs not exist." 
 
 " Very good, sir. A Veil, and in regard to other
 
 FATIIKHS AM) ( IIIM)1?KX 
 
 laws, wliic'li ai'c .■iccrplid in liuiiKiii ixisttiicc. - 
 do you hold the sniuc negative eourse about 
 theniT' 
 
 " AN lial is tins, a ei'oss-exaiiiiuation !* " iiuiuii'ed 
 Ha/aiofl". 
 
 I'avel PetroN iteii |)alc(l sliglitly Xikolai 
 
 Peti-(nit('li regarded it as liis duty to /)oiii in the 
 com ei'sation. 
 
 ^^)U and 1 will diseuss this suhjeet iiioi'e in 
 detail, soiuetinie, my diai- Kvgeny \'asiliteh: I 
 ^vill leai'u your opinion, and e\j)ress my own. 
 For my own part, I am \ei\v glad that you are 
 devoting yourself to the natural seieuces. I have 
 heard that Liehig has made wonderful diseoveries 
 in regard to fertilising the land. Vou may he 
 able to assist me in my agrieuUural woik: you 
 may he ahle to give me some u.seful advice." 
 
 " I am at your service, Nikolai I'etrdvitch; hut 
 what have we to do with Liehig I ()ne must fii'st 
 learn the ali)hahet, and then take hold of a hook, 
 but so far we lun e not even set our eyes on xV." 
 
 " Well, I ])erceive that thou I'eally ai't a ni- 
 hilist," thought Xikoi;ii Petrdviteh. — " Never- 
 theless, permit me to have recourse to you, in ease 
 of lu'cd," — he added aloud.- " ^And now. hro- 
 ther, I think it is timi' Tor us to go and have a 
 talk with the overseer." 
 
 Pa\(I l\tro\iteh rose Ironi Ins chair. 
 
 " Vcs,"^ — said he. w itliout looking at ;iny one. 
 — " 't is ;i gi'eat mislni-lunc In li\c thu.^ foi" li\<'
 
 FATHERS AND CHILUREX 
 
 years in the country, at a distance from great 
 minds! One becomes a downright fool. One is 
 endeavoming not to forget what he has learned, 
 when — bang! — it suddenly appears that it is all 
 nonsense, and one is told that sensible folks do 
 not bother themselves anv longer about such fol- 
 lies, and that one is as good as a simpleton who 
 has fallen behintl the times. AVhat is one to do! 
 Evidently, the young folks are really wiser than 
 we are." 
 
 Pavel Petrovitch wheeled slowly round on his 
 heels, and slowly withdrew; Nikolai Petrovitch 
 followed him. 
 
 " Well, is he always like that? " — inquired Ba- 
 zaroff coolly of xVrkady, as soon as the door 
 closed behind the two others. 
 
 " See here, Evgen}^ thy manner toward him 
 has been altogether too abrupt," — remarked Ar- 
 kady. — " Thou hast offended him." 
 
 " Why, the idea of my coddling these rural aris- 
 tocrats! Why, it 's nothing but self-conceit, the 
 habits of a society lion, foppishness. Come now, 
 he ought to have continued his career in Peters- 
 burg, since that is the cut of his jib. . . . How- 
 ever, God be with him — I wash mv hands of him 
 altogether! I have found a pretty rare specimen 
 of a water-beetle, Diftisciis marginatus — dost 
 thou know it? 1 '11 show it to thee." 
 
 " I promised to narrate his history to thee," 
 began Arkady. 
 
 46
 
 FAl'HKirs AM) ('IIII.l)KKN 
 
 " The history of the hcclk-r' 
 
 "Conic, stoj) thai. l<'vMvny. My uncle's his- 
 tory. Tlioii wilt sec that lie is iiol (lie sod of 
 man that tlioii imat^incst. He is more (li'scrvin«»' 
 of pity than of ridicule. '" 
 
 " I do not dispute that; hut what is it to thee 
 anyhow ? " 
 
 " \Vc must he just, Ev<renv." 
 
 " On MJiat «»roun(lsif " 
 
 " No, listen. . . ." 
 
 And Arkady related to him his uncle's story. 
 The reader a\ ill find it in the following chapter.
 
 VII 
 
 Pavel Petrovitch Kirsanoff had received his 
 earhest education at home, hke his younger bro- 
 ther, Nikolai, and, later on, in the Pages Cori:)s. 
 From his childhood, he had been distinguished 
 for his remarkable beauty; added to this, he was 
 self-confident, given to raillery, and splenetic in 
 a rather amusing fashion — he could not fail to 
 please. He began to be seen everywhere, as soon 
 as he had become an officer. He was petted, and 
 he coddled himself; he even played the fool, he 
 even indulged in caprices, but this suited his 
 style. The women went wild over him, tlie men 
 called liim a fop, and secretly envied him. He 
 lived, as we have already said, in an a})artment 
 with liis brother, whom he sincerely loved, al- 
 though lie did not resemble him in the least. 
 Xikolai Petrovitch walked with a slight limj), liad 
 small, agreeable, but ratlier melanclioly features, 
 small, black eyes, and soft, thin hair; he liked to 
 be lazy, but was also fond of reading, and was 
 afraid of society. Pavel Petrovitcli never spent 
 a single evening at home, gloried in liis audacity 
 and cleverness (he had l)rought gymnastics into 
 fashion among tlie young men) , and had read not 
 
 48
 
 FATIIKHS AM) CIIILDl^KX 
 
 Jiioiv than (ixc oi- six hooks in h'rc'ncli — alto- 
 getlRT. Al the a^f of cioht and twenty, he was 
 already a c'ai)tain; a hi-illiant caiccr awaiti-d him. 
 All of a sudden, e\ ciythiiio' was changed. 
 
 At that time, a woman wlio lias not yet heen 
 forgotten, Tiineess 1{ . . , was wont to make liei- 
 a])})earanee, from time to time, in Petersburg 
 society. She had a well-educated and decorous 
 hut somewhat stupid hushand, and no ehildi'en. 
 She would suddenly go abroad, and as suddeidy 
 return to Kussia, and, in general, she led a 
 strange life. She bore the i-ei)utation of being a 
 giddy eocjuette, gave herself uj) with enthusiasm 
 to all sorts of pleasures, danced until she was 
 ready to drop, laughed loudly and jested with the 
 young men, whom she received, before dinnei-. 
 in a half-darkened drawing-room, and at night 
 wept and prayed, and found rest nowhere, and 
 often flung her.sclf about the room until day- 
 break, wi-inging hei- hands with grief, oi- sat, all 
 l)ale and cold, reading the Psalter. Day ani\fd. 
 and again she turned into a woman of the woild, 
 again she went out into society, laughed, chat- 
 tered, and fairly i-ushed at everything which 
 could afford the least dixei'sion. She was won- 
 derfully built: lici- hair, golden in hue and as 
 lieavy as gold, hung IkIow her knees: yet no one 
 would have called hei- a beauty: the onlv good 
 point about her face was hei- eyes, and not e\ en 
 her eves themselves— tliev were not lai<>-e, an(l
 
 FATHERS A\D CHILDREN 
 
 were grey — but tlieir glance, swift and deep, 
 heedless to recklessness, and thoughtful to melan- 
 choly, — was a mysterious glance. There was an 
 unusual gleam about them, even when her tongue 
 was babbling the most idle nonsense. She dressed 
 with elegance. Pavel Petrovitch met her at a 
 ball, danced the mazurka with her, in the course 
 of which she did not utter a single sensible word, 
 and fell passionately in love with her. Being 
 accustomed to conquests, he speedily attained his 
 object in this case also; but the ease of his victory 
 did not chill him. On the contrary, he became 
 still more torturingly, still more firmly attached 
 to this woman, in \\'hom, even when she had given 
 herself irrevocably, there still seemed to linger 
 something intimate and inaccessible, into which 
 no one could penetrate. What it was that nested 
 in that soul,— God only knows! She appeared 
 to be in the grasp of some powers A\'hich were 
 mysterious and unknown even to herself; they 
 played with her as they would ; her limited mind 
 could not reconcile itself to their freaks. . . . Her 
 whole conduct presented a series of incongrui- 
 ties; the only letters which might have aroused 
 the just suspicions of lier husband she wrote 
 to a man who was almost a stranger to her, and 
 her love had a taste of sadness: she neither 
 laughed nor jested with the one whom slie had 
 chosen, and she listened to him, and gazed at him, 
 with surprise. Sometimes, and in the majority 
 
 50
 
 I A rill<:KS A\U C IliLUHKX 
 
 of cases siuKkiily, this siirpi'isr passed ovci- iiiln 
 c-old terror; Ikt lace assuiiu-d a wild and deatli- 
 likc ex|)rt'Ssi()M; she locked herself iij) in lier hed- 
 rooni, and her maid, hy puttin<^- lur cai- to the 
 keyhole, eonld heai- hei- sulxlued so])l)ino-. More 
 than onee, on retnii in*;* home after a tender tryst. 
 Kirsiinoff' fell in liis juait th.d lacerating- and 
 hitter vexation which sprin«»s i.j) in the heai't 
 lifter a decisive failure. " What moic do I 
 want^ " he would ask himself, hut his heart con- 
 tinued to ache. One day he ^ave her a ring with 
 a sphinx carved on the stone. 
 
 " AX'hat is thisl' " — she asked: — " a sphinx?" 
 " Yes," — lie replied, " and that sphinx is — 
 yourself." 
 
 I ? " — .she a.sked, and slowly raised her enig- 
 matic eves to his. — "Do \<)u know that is very 
 flattering? " — she added, with an insignificant 
 smile, hut her eyes continued to wear their 
 .strange gaze. 
 
 IMvel Petrovitch felt heavy at heart even 
 when Princess K . . loved him; but when she grew 
 cold toward him — and this came about rather 
 promptly, he almost went crazy. He tormenteil 
 himself, he raged with jealousy, he gave her no 
 peace, he tagged about everywhere after her; his 
 importunate persecution boicd her. and she went 
 abroad. He resigned I'rom the ser\ ice, despite 
 the entreaties of his friends and the exhortations 
 of his superior otliccrs, and followed the Prin-
 
 rATIIKRS AND CIIILDREX 
 
 cess; he spent four years in foreign lands, now 
 chasing after her, now intentionally losing siglit 
 of her: he was ashamed ol' himself, he was en- 
 raged at his pusillanimity .... hut nothing did 
 any good. Her image, that incomprehensihle, 
 almost ahsurd, hut enchanting image, had en- 
 sconced itself too deeply in his soul. In Baden 
 he someliow resumed liis former relations witli 
 her, and, to all appearances, she had never loved 
 him so passionately . . . but in a month all was at 
 an end; the flame had flared up for tlie last time, 
 and had been extinguished forever. With a 
 foreboding of the inevitable parting, he endeav- 
 oured, at least, to remain her friend, as though 
 friendshi]) \\'ith such a woman were possible. . . . 
 She quietly left Baden, and, from that day forth 
 persistently avoided Kirsanoff. He returned to 
 Russia, tried to take up his old life, but could no 
 longer get into the former track. Like a hunted 
 animal, he wandered from ])lace to place; he still 
 went into society — he had preserved all the habits 
 of a man of the world ; lie could boast of two or 
 three new conquests; l)ut he no longer expected 
 anytliing special of himself, or of others; he un- 
 dertook no enterprises. He grew old, his hair 
 turned grey; it became a necessity with him to sit 
 at the club, to get bitterly bored, to dispute coldly 
 in bachelor society, — which is well known to be 
 a bad sign. As a matter of course, he did not 
 dream of marriage. IVn years passed in tliis 
 
 52
 
 FA'l'IIKHS AM) ( IIILDHKN 
 
 manner, in a coloi-lrss, Jruitkss, swit't. rri^litl'nllx 
 swift i'asliioii. XowIktc docs time lly so raj)i(lly 
 as in Hnssia; it is said llial it Hies still rnoir 
 swiftly in j)iis()n. ( )\\v day, at diiinci- in tlu- clnb, 
 Pavt'l ]^t'tr(')\it{'li heard of Printrss H . . s dcatli. 
 She had died in I'atis. in a condition hoi-dcrin^' 
 :)n insanity. He rose fi-oin the table, and ])aced 
 the rooms of tlie clnh foi- a Umg time, pausing, 
 as tlion^h rooted to the spot, beside the eard- 
 tables, ])nt he did not retnrn liome any earher 
 tlian nsnal. Some time later, he reeeived a 
 ])aeket addressed to him: it eontained the ring 
 whieii he had given to the Prineess. Slie liad 
 drawn lines, in the form of a cross, over the 
 sphinx, and had recjnested that he shonld ])e told 
 that the cross was the solntion of the riddle. 
 
 This ]iaj)pened m the beginning of 184S. at 
 the very time when Nikolai Petroviteh, having 
 lost his wife, had come to Petersbnrg. Piivel 
 Petroviteh had hardly .seen his brother since the 
 latter had settled down in the conntry; Nikolai 
 Petrovitch's marriage had coincided with tlie 
 verv first davs of Pavel Petrovitch's acciuaintance 
 with the I'rincess. On his retnrn fi"om abroad, 
 he had gone to him. with the intcjition of s])end- 
 ing a con])le of months u ith him. of" admiring his 
 ha])])iness, bnt he had li\ed only one week with 
 him. The ditt'erence in the sitnation of the two 
 ])rothers had ])roved to be too g?-cat. In 1 S 1-8 that 
 diff'erence was lessened: Nikolai Petr6\iteh bad 
 
 53
 
 FATHERS AND CIIILDRKX 
 
 lost his wife, Pavel Petrovitch had lost his mem- 
 ories: after the death of the Princess, he tried 
 not to think of her. But Nikolai retained the 
 consciousness of a life which liad been regularly 
 sj^ent, his son was growing- up before his eyes; 
 Pavel, on the contrary, a solitary bachelor, had 
 entered upon that confused, twilight period, the 
 period of regrets which resemble hopes, of ho})es 
 which resemble regrets, when youth is gone, and 
 old age has not yet come. 
 
 This period was more difficult for Pavel Petro- 
 vitch than for any other man : having lost his past, 
 he had lost all. 
 
 " 1 do not invite thee to INIarino now," — Niko- 
 lai Petrovitch said to him one day (he had given 
 his estate that name, in honour of his wife), — 
 " thou wert bored there even during the lifetime 
 of the deceased, but now, I think, thou woiddst 
 perish with irksomeness." 
 
 " I was still stupid and restless then," — replied 
 Pavel Petrovitch: — "since that time I have 
 calmed down, even if I hiixe not grown any wiser. 
 Now, on the contrary, if thou shouldst invite me, 
 I am ready to settle down in thy house forever." 
 
 In place of a reply, Nikolai Petrovitch em- 
 braced him; but a year and a half elapsed after 
 this conversation before I'avel Petrovitch made 
 up his mind to put his intention into execution. 
 On the other hand, having once settled down in 
 the country, he did not again leave it, even during 
 
 54
 
 FA'rin<:us a\\) c iiildkkx 
 
 tliosf liirc-c winUrs wliicli Nikolai Pctnn-jtch 
 s])eiit ill Pctcrshiiro- with his son. lie hc^an to 
 read, diicfly in J^nglisli: lie- airanged his whole 
 life, in «>eiirral. on the Kn^lish |)attei-n. i-ai-cly met 
 his nei<>hhoin-s. and went out oidy to the eleetions,' 
 where he mostly held his ton^^ne, oidy oceasionally 
 teasing- and rri,i>htenin^- Hu- old-fashioned «^entiy 
 hy liheral sallies, and not niakino- approaehes to 
 the younger «.ienerati()?». And hoth the f'orinei- 
 and tile latter thought him a han^hty man; and 
 hoth sets of ])eople i-espeeted him for his distin- 
 «^uislied, aristoeratie manners; for the iiimoiii-s of 
 his eoiiquests: heeause lie dressed \ ery well and 
 always oeeupied the ])est room in the hotel; he- 
 eause he dined well, as a rule, and had onee even 
 dined with \\'ellin,nton at Lonis l*hilij)j)e\s; he- 
 eause he always earried ahout with him e\ery- 
 where a real silver toilet set, and a camp hath-tuh; 
 heeause he emitted an odour of some unusual, 
 wonderfully " nohle '" |)ei-fumes; heeause he 
 played whist in a mastei'lv mannei', and always 
 lost; and, in eonelusion, they lespeeted him also 
 heeause of his imj)eeeal)le honesty. The ladies 
 re<>arded him as a faseinatin^- misanthrope, hut 
 he did not eonsort with the ladies. . . . 
 
 So, now thou sei'st. Kvg'eiiy," — said Ai-kadw 
 at the eonelusio!! of his story, — "how unjustly 
 thou jud^est ol" my unelel 1 will not even men- 
 tion the faet that he- has moii- than once reseued 
 
 ' .\s Marshal of the Nobility. — Thansl.vtuh. 
 
 55
 
 FATIIKKS AM) CIIILDHKX 
 
 my father from a catastrophe, has given him 
 all his own money, — perhaps thou art not 
 aware that their estate has not been divided, 
 — hut he is glad to lieij) any one, and, among 
 other tilings, he always stands up for tlie peas- 
 ants; it is true that when he talks with them 
 he wrinkles u}) his face and inhales eau de 
 cologne. . . •" 
 
 " Of course : nerves," — interrupted BazarofF. 
 
 " Perhaps, only he has a very kind heart. And 
 he is far from stupid. ^Vhat useful advice he has 
 given me .... especially . . . especially about 
 my relations with women." 
 
 "Aha! He has burnt himself with his own 
 milk, so he blows on other people's water. We 
 know all about that! " 
 
 "Well, in a word," — went on Arkady: — "he 
 is profoundly unhappy, believe me; it is a sin to 
 despise him." 
 
 " Well, who despises him? " — retorted Ba- 
 zaroif. — " But I will say, nevertheless, that a 
 man who has staked his whole life on a woman's 
 love, and, when that card was trumped, turned 
 sour and lost heart to such an extent that he be- 
 came incapable of anytliing, — such a man — is not 
 a man, but a male. Thou sayest that he is un- 
 happy — thou knowest best; but all the whims have 
 not gone out of him. I am convinced that he 
 seriously regards himself as a ])ractical man, be- 
 cause he reads that miserable GaUffitaui and 
 
 56
 
 FA'IIIl':i<S WD (1I11.I)]{KX 
 
 oiici' a iiioiitli iisciics a j)t'asa?il IVoiii t'liastisi-- 
 
 Hut iviiifinhc'i" his education, llir ])iii()(l in 
 wliic'h Ir' lived," — icinarUcd Arkiidy. 
 
 "His (.'diicatioii :* " i-ctortcd Hazarott".- " K\- 
 crv mail is hound to cdiicati' liiinsclf,— well, 
 
 as 1 lia\c doiK' niysclf, lor (.■.\ainj)k' \\\i\ 
 
 so far as the j)C'rio(l is concerned, who am I to de- 
 pend upon that:* Rather, let it dei)end upon me. 
 Xo. brothel', all that is <^i-oundless and f'ri\()lous! 
 And what is their mysterious about the relations 
 between a man and a woman? \Ve physiologists 
 know what those relations are. Just study the 
 anatomy of the eye: where does what thou eallest 
 an enigmatic glance come from? That 's all ro- 
 manticism, stufi' and nonsense, rot. art. Come 
 on. we "(1 better go and look at my beetle." 
 
 xVnd the two friends betook themselves to l^a- 
 Ziiroflf's room, in whieh a eeitain medico-surgical 
 odour, mingled with the scent of cheap tobacco, 
 had alreadv contrived to establish itself. 
 
 57
 
 VIII 
 
 Pavel Petrovitch did not remain present long 
 at the interview between his brother and the man- 
 ager, a tall, thin man, with a sweet, consumptive 
 voice and craft v eves, who, to all Nikolai Petro- 
 vitch's remarks, replied, " Certainly sir; that 's a 
 fact, sir," and tried to make out that the peasants 
 were drunkards and thieves. The farming, which 
 had recentl}^ been rearranged on a new plan, was 
 squeaking like an ungreased wheel, and cracking 
 like home-made furniture fabricated from green 
 wood. Xikolai Petrovitch was not discouraged, 
 but he sighed frequently, and became thoughtful : 
 he was conscious that matters would not go right 
 witliout money, and almost all his money was ex- 
 hausted. Arkady had spoken the truth: Pavel 
 Petrovitch had helped his brother more than once; 
 more than once, perceiving that he was strug- 
 gling and racking his brains in the effort to de- 
 vise a way of escape, Pavel Petrovitch had 
 strolled slowly to the window, and, thrusting his 
 liands into his ])ockets, had muttered through his 
 teeth, "Mais Jc puis vans donner de V argent," 
 and had given liim money; but on this particular 
 day he had nothing, and he preferred to with- 
 
 58
 
 FATlIKJiS AM) CIIILDI^KN 
 
 draw. Tlic sordid details ol' raniiing- made iiini 
 melancholy; and, in addition, it constantly 
 seemed to him that XiUoIai IVtrovitch, notwith- 
 standing his zeal and indnsliy, did not take iioid 
 of the l)nsincss in the jjiopei- way; althongli he 
 would not have been caj)ahle of |)ointing out to 
 Nikolai Petrovitch precisely wliere he was in er- 
 ror. " My brother is not sufficiently ])ractical," 
 — he argued with himself, — " j)eople cheat him." 
 Xikojjii l*etr6vitch, on the other hand, enter- 
 tained a lofty o[)inion as to Pjivel I'etrovitch's 
 practical (jualities, and always asked his advice. 
 " I am a soft, weak man ; I have spent all my life 
 in the wilds," — he was wont to say; " hut not for 
 nothing hast thou lived so much with people, thou 
 knowest them well : thou hast the eye of an eagle." 
 Pavel Petrovitch's only re})ly to these words w^as 
 to turn away: but lie (lid not seek to cliange his 
 brother's conviction. 
 
 Leaving Xikolai Petrovitch in the study, he 
 walked along the corridoi- which separated the 
 front part of the house from the rear part, and, 
 reaching a low-browed door, he paused in 
 thought, tugged at his moustache, and knocked. 
 
 " \\'h() 's theref Come in," — rang out Fe- 
 nitchka's voice. 
 
 " It is I," — said P;i\(.l IVt i«')\ itch, and opened 
 the door. 
 
 Fenitchka sprang u|) from the chair on uhii-li 
 she was sitting with lier l)ahy. and placing it in 
 
 59
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 the arms of the little o'irl. wlio iminediatelv car- 
 lied it out of the room, hastily adjusted her 
 kerchief. 
 
 " Pardon me if I intrude," — hegan Pavel Pe- 
 trovitch, without looking at her: — " I merely 
 wished to ask you .... I helieve some one is 
 going to the town to-daj'^ .... order some green 
 tea to be bought for me." 
 
 " Yes, sir," — replied Fenitchka:— " how much 
 do you order to be purchased? " 
 
 " Why, half a pound will be sufficient, I sup- 
 pose. And I notice that you have made some 
 changes here," — he added, darting a swift glance 
 around, which glided over Fenitchka's face also. 
 — " Those curtains, yonder,"— he said, seeing 
 that she did not understand him. 
 
 " Yes, sir, the curtains; Xikolai Petrovitch was 
 so good as to give them to me; but they have 
 been hung this long time." 
 
 " Yes, and I have not been to see you for a 
 long time. You are very nicely established here 
 now." 
 
 " Thanks to Xikolai Petrovitch," — whispered 
 Fenitchka. 
 
 " Are you more comfortable here than in your 
 former wing?" — inquired Pavel Petrovitch po- 
 litely, but without the trace of a smile. 
 
 " Of course I am, sir." 
 
 " Who has l)een put in your ])lace? " 
 
 " The laundress lives tliere now." 
 
 60
 
 FATITKKS A\D (TTILDin:X 
 
 Ptivel Petrovitch relapsed into silence. " Xow 
 he will go away." thouglit Kenitehka. Hut he did 
 not go away, and she stood hefore him, as though 
 rooted to the sj)ot, weakly twisting her fingers. 
 
 " AVhv did vou have vour little one earried 
 away;''— said Pavel Petnniteh, at last. — '' I 
 love children: show it to nie." 
 
 Fenitehka hlushed scarlet all over with confu- 
 sion and joy. She was afraid of Pavel Petro- 
 vitch : he hardly ever spoke to her. 
 
 " Dunyasha," — .she called: — " hring Mitya" 
 (Fenitehka addre.s.sed every one in the house as 
 "you"). — '' ]iut no, wait. I must put a clean 
 dress on him. " — Fenitehka went toward the door. 
 
 " Never mind ahout that," — remarked Pavel 
 Petrovitch. 
 
 " I will he hack in a moment," — replied Fe- 
 nitehka. and hastily left tlie room. 
 
 Piivel Petrovitch was left alone, and this time 
 he l(K)ked ahout him with particular attention. 
 The contracted, low-ceiled little loom in which he 
 found him.self was \eiy clean and cosey. It 
 snielled of the recently painted lloor, of camo- 
 mile and halm. ^Along the walls stood chairs with 
 backs in the form oi' lyres; they had been bought 
 bv the late General, in I'oland, during the cam- 
 paign; in one corner stood a small l)edstead, with 
 muslin curtains, alongside a wrought-iron che.si 
 with a rounded lid. In the opjxisite corner burned 
 
 in
 
 FATHERS AND CHTT.DRKX 
 
 a sliriiR'-lamj) in i'ront oi' a large, dark -colon red 
 image of St. Nicholas the A\^)nder-worker; a tiny 
 j)orcelain egg, suspended from the halo hy a red 
 rihhon. hung on the saint's hreast; on the 
 Avindow-sills glass jars, with last year's preserves 
 carefully tied up, acbnitted a green light: on their 
 paper lids Fenitchka herself had written in large 
 letters: " gosebery." Nikolai Petrovitch was 
 especially fond of that preserve. From the 
 ceiling, on a long cord, hung a cage containing 
 a bob-tailed canary-bird; it twittered and hopped 
 about incessantly, and the cage incessantly rocked 
 and trembled ; grains of hemp-seed fell to the floor 
 with a soft patter. On the wall between the win- 
 dows, over a small chest of drawers, hung several 
 fairly bad photographs of Nikolai Petrovitch, in 
 various attitudes, made by itinerant artists; there, 
 also, hung a photograph of Fenitchka herself, 
 which was an utter failure: some sort of an eye- 
 less visage smiled constrainedly out of the dark 
 frame, — and nothing more could be distin- 
 guished; and over Fenitchka, Frmoloff', in a felt 
 cloak, was frowning in a menacing manner at the 
 Caucasus INlountains in the distance, from be- 
 neath a silken slipper for pins, which fell clear 
 down on his brow. 
 
 Five minutes elapsed. In the adjoining room 
 rustling and whispering were audible. Pavel 
 Petrovitch picked up from the chest of drawers a 
 greasj' book, an odd volume of INIasalsky's " The 
 
 02
 
 FATIIKKS AM) C IlllJ)in:\ 
 
 Shiirp-sliDuU-rs " (" Slrvcltzy ") , and liiiind 
 over u few pages. . . . 'Vhv door ()])enc(l, and 
 Fenitelika entered, with Mitya in liir arms. Slic 
 had dressed liini in a little i-cd sliirl w itii <^all<)<)n 
 on tlie eollar, and had l)iMislied liis liair and \vi|)ed 
 of!" his faee: Ik- hrcathcd hea\ily. threw himself 
 ahont with his wholr hodx . and llomMshcd his little 
 hands, as all healthy i)ai>irs do; i)iil the foppish 
 little shirt had taken effeet on him: an expres- 
 sion of .satisfaetion emanated from his whole 
 ])lnmp form. Fenitehka liad hron^ht her own 
 liair into order also, and had pnl on lur keivhief 
 in the best ])()ssil)le manner: hut siie miyht as well 
 have remained as she was. ^And, as a matter of 
 faet, is there anytliing- in the world more fas- 
 einating" tlian a yonn*^' and heantifnl motlur w illi 
 a healthy baby in her arms? 
 
 " AVhat a ehnbhy child," - said l';i\rl 1\- 
 troviteh eondeseendin^ly. and tickled Mftya's 
 double chin with the tij) of the lon^' nail on his 
 forefinger; the ehild fixed his eyes on the canary- 
 bird, and began to laugh. 
 
 " This is uncle," — said I'enitehka, lu nding her 
 faee over him, and locking him softly, while 
 Dunyjisha (juietly set a 'ighted |)astille on the 
 window-sill, placing a coj)|)cr coin beneath it. 
 
 "How many months old is he?" — incpiired 
 Pavel Petrdviteh. 
 
 Six months: tin- seventh nn)nth will begin 
 soon, on the eleventh." 
 
 03
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 " ^Von't it be the eigliTn, Feodosya Xiko- 
 laevna?" — interposed Dunyasha, not without 
 timidity. 
 
 " No, the seventh; h(nv is lliat possible! " — The 
 cliild crowed again, fixed his eyes on the chest, 
 and suddenly grasped his mother's nose and lip:; 
 with all five fingers. — " The spoiled child," — said 
 Fenitchka, without removing her face from his 
 fingers. 
 
 " He resembles my brother," — remarked Pave! 
 Petrovitch. 
 
 "Whom should he resemble, then?" thought 
 Fenitchka. 
 
 " Yes," — pursued Pavel Petrovitch, as thougli 
 talking to himself, — '' there is an indubitable like- 
 ness." — He gazed at Fenitchka attentively, al- 
 most sadly. 
 
 " This is uncle," — repeated she, in a whisper 
 this time. 
 
 "Ah! Pavel! so thou art here!" — rang out 
 Nikolai Petrovitch's voice suddenly. 
 
 Pavel Petrovitch hastily wheeled round, and 
 knit his brows; but his brother gazed at him so 
 joyfully, so gratefuJly, tliat he could not do 
 otherwise than respond to liini by a smile. 
 
 " Thou hast a splendid boy," — he said, and 
 looked at his watch; — " I drop])ed in here about 
 my tea " 
 
 And, assuming an indifferent expression. 
 P.'ivel Petrovitch immediately left the room. 
 
 64
 
 FATIIKirs AND ( IIILDKKX 
 
 "Did 111' come of liis own Mccoid .^ " Xikohii 
 
 l\'ti'(')\ itcli asked l-'iiiitclika. 
 
 Yes, s'w: lie knocked and enteixl." 
 
 tN'ell, and lias n't Arkjislia Ikiii to see tiiee 
 ■J i> 
 again f 
 
 " No. ^^'()^d(l iTt it he l)ettei- lor ine to i-emovc 
 to tlie wiiio, Nikolai IVtrovitcli i* " 
 
 "Why so?" 
 
 " J am wonderino- whctlicr il would not he hct- 
 ter, at first." 
 
 " X . . . . no," ai-tiv»ilate(l Nikolai Petrovitch 
 with hesitation, and luhhed his forehead. — " It 
 ouglit to have hecn done hefoiv. . . Good morn- 
 ing, thou fat little hall," — he said, with sudden 
 animatioi:, and approaching the hahy. he kissed 
 him on the cheek; then he hent down a little, 
 and pressed his lips on Fenitchka's hand, which 
 shone white as milk against Mftya's httle i-ed 
 shirt. 
 
 " Xikohii Petrovitch! what are vou doin"!'" 
 — she stammered, and dropped her eyes, then 
 quietly raised them again. . . . 'IMie exj)ression 
 of her eyes was charming when she ga/ed, as il 
 were, from heneath her hrows, with an afl'ection- 
 ate and somewhat stti])id smile. 
 
 Xikohii I'etrovitch had heeome ac(|uainted 
 with Fenitchka in the foll(?\\ing manner. One 
 day, three years hefoi-e this time, he had heen 
 ohliged to j)ass the night at a j)osting-station in a 
 distant j)r()vincial town. lie had heiii pleasantly 
 
 05
 
 FATITKKS AM) CHILDREN 
 
 surprised at the cleanliness of tlie n^oni which was 
 assigned to him, and the freslmess of the betl- 
 linen: ''Is not the landlady a (xernian!' " flashed 
 through his mind; but it ai)peared that the house- 
 wife was a liussian, a woman of flftv, neatly 
 dressed, with comely, sensible face and dignifled 
 speech, vie chatted with her over his tea; she 
 pleased him greatly. Nikolai Petrovitch, at that 
 time, had just moved into his new manor-house, 
 and, not wishing to keep serfs about him, was on 
 the lookout for hired servants; the landladj% on 
 her side, complained of the small number of trav- 
 ellers in the town, of hard times; he proposed to 
 her that she should enter his house in the capacity 
 of housekeeper; she accepted. Her husband J'lad 
 been long dead, and had left her with only a 
 daughter, Fenitchka. Two weeks later, Arina 
 Savishna (such was the name of the new house- 
 keeper) arrived in company with her daughter 
 at JNIarino, and established herself in the wing. 
 Nikolai Petrovitch's choice turned out to be a 
 happy one. Arina introduced order into the 
 house. Of Fenitchka, anIio was already seven- 
 teen years old, no one spoke, and it was rarely 
 that am' one saw her: she lived quietly, modestly, 
 and only on Sundays did Nikolai Petrovitch jjer- 
 ceive in the parish church, somewhere on one side, 
 the delicate ])rofile of her rather })ale face. INIore 
 than a year passed in this manner. 
 
 One morning, xVrina presented herself in his 
 
 G6
 
 FATIIKUS AM) CIIILDKKX 
 
 study, and al'tcr niakin<4' him a low rcvcrt'iicr, ac- 
 cording to licr wont, slie asktd iiini wlRtlitr he 
 could not help lier thiughtcr, wlio had got a spark 
 from the stove in htr eve. Xikohii Petrovitch, 
 like all stay-at-homes, occupied himsell' with med- 
 ical treatment, and had even hought a honueo- 
 pathic medicine-chest. lie immediately ordered 
 Arina to hring the sufferer. On leai-ning that 
 the master wanted her, Fenitehka w as seized with 
 a violent fit of timidity, hut she followed her 
 mother. Nikolai Petrdvitch led her to the win- 
 dow, and grasped her head with hoth hands. Ai'- 
 ter taking a good look at her reddened and 
 swollen eye, he ])rescribed an eye-wash, which he 
 himself compounded on the spot, and, tearing 
 up his handkerchief, he showed her how she must 
 bathe it; Fenitehka heard him out, and started to 
 leave the room. " Come, kiss the master's hand, 
 thou stu])id creature," said iVrina to her. Nikolai 
 Petrdvitch did not give lier his hand. Init, l)eeom- 
 ing confused, he kissed her n\\ hei- howcd head. 
 where the hair i)arted. 
 
 Fenitchka's eye soon got well, but the impres- 
 sion which she had made upon Nikolai I'etnnitch 
 did not soon jjass away. \"isions of that j)ure, 
 tender, timidly uplifted face pursued him: he felt 
 beneath his ])alms that soft hair: In- beheld those 
 innocent, slightly })arted lips, from l)etween 
 whieli the |)eai-ly teeth gieauKd moistly in the 
 sunlight. lie ))egan, with great attention, to 
 
 <J7
 
 FATITEKS xVXD CHII.DREN 
 
 watch her in church; he tried to enter into con- 
 versation with her. At first she was shv of him, 
 and one day, toward evening, when she encoun- 
 tered him on a narrow path made h}' pedestrians 
 tliroiigli a rye-field, she retreated into tlie tall, 
 tliick rye, overrun with wormwood and corn- 
 flowers, simply for the sake of escaping his eyes. 
 He caught a glimpse of her little head athwart 
 the golden network of the grain-ears, whence she 
 was peeping like a small wild animal, and called 
 out to her pleasantly: 
 
 " Good day, Fenitchka! I don't bite! " 
 " Good day," — she whis^^ered, without quit- 
 ting her ambush. 
 
 Little by little she began to grow accustomed 
 to him; but she was still timid in liis presence 
 when, suddenly, her mother Arina died of tlie 
 cholera. AVhere was Fenitchka to go? She had 
 inherited from her mother a love of orderliness, 
 good judgment, and dignity; but she was so 
 young, so isolated; Nikolai Petrovitch was so kind 
 and discreet. . . . There is no need to narrate 
 
 the rest 
 
 " So my brotlier just walked into thy room? " 
 — Nikolai Petrovitch asked her. — " He knocked 
 and walked in? " 
 1 es, sn-, 
 " Well, that 's good. Let me toss INIitya." 
 iVnd Nikolai Petrovitch began to toss him up 
 almost to the very ceiling, to the great delight 
 
 68
 
 FATITKKS A\l) ('TTIl.l)KEX 
 
 of ihv hoy, .-iimI to llic no small anxiety of [\\v 
 nintJR'i-, who, at every uj)\vai-(l flight, sti-ctchcd 
 out Irt hands toward his hare k-^s. 
 
 Hnt IM\cl Pftrovitch returned to his ele<»ant 
 study, hun<4' with handsome |)aj)ei" of a grey tone, 
 witli weaj)()ns sns|)ended on a motley-hued l*er- 
 sian rug, with w alnut-wood furniture upholstered 
 in (hirk-gi'een inoek Nchit, a hook-case in l{en- 
 aissanee style of nnli(|ne dark oak, hronze stat- 
 uettes on the magnificent writing-tahle, and a 
 fii'cplacc. . . . lie Hung himself on the couch, 
 placed his hands under his head, and le- 
 inaincd niotioidess, staring at the ceiling al- 
 most with despair. Whether it was that he wished 
 to conceal from the very walls what was taking 
 phicc on his face, or from sour^ other cause, at 
 all events, he rose, dro])])ed the heavy window- 
 curtains, and again flung himself on the couch. 
 
 C9
 
 IX 
 
 Ox that same day, BazarofF also made accjuain- 
 tance with Fenitchka. He was walking about 
 the garden with Arkady, and explaining to liini 
 why certain young trees, especially the oaks, had 
 not taken root. 
 
 " You ought to set out as many silver poplars 
 as possible here, and firs, and lindens, if you like, 
 after adding black loam. That arbour, yonder, 
 has thriven well,"— he added: — " because acacias 
 and lilacs are good fellows— they require no nurs- 
 ing. Ba! why, there is some one there." 
 
 Fenitchka was sitting in the arbour with Dun- 
 yasha and ^litya. Bazaroff came to a halt, and 
 Arkady nodded to Fenitchka as to an old ac- 
 (juaintance. 
 
 " AVho is that? " — BazarofF asked him, as soon 
 as they had passed on. — " What a pretty 
 woman! " 
 
 " Of whom art thou speaking? " 
 
 " It 's plain enough; tliere was only one pretty 
 woman." 
 
 Arkadv, not witliout embarrassment, ex- 
 plained to him, in brief words, who Fenitchka 
 was. 
 
 "Aha! "-said Bazaroff :—" thy fatlier, evi- 
 
 70
 
 FATHERS AM) CIIILUREX 
 
 (It'iitly, knows a ^ood tl»iii*>- wluii he sees it. And 
 1 like thy rather, I swear I do! He's a fine fel- 
 low. Hnt I must sera|)e ae(jnaintanee," he 
 added, and wtiit hack to the ai'l)on!". 
 
 "Kvgeny! ' — Arkady sjiouted alter hini, in 
 alarm: " he nif)re caidions. for (iod's sake.' 
 
 "Don't iiet I'xeited," said Ha/Jiroff : — " T 'in 
 a j)erson of e\j)ei"ienee, I '\e li\ed in cities." 
 
 .\|)|)i()aehin«^' T'enitehka, he j)nlle(l ofi' his eap. 
 Permit nie to introdnee niyseli", " — he hegan, 
 with a j)olite how: — " 1 in the friend of iVrkiidy 
 Xikolaeviteh. and a man of peace." 
 
 Fenitehka half-rose from the heneh, and gazed 
 at him in silence. 
 
 " \\'hat a mai>nifieent bahv!" — went on Ra- 
 zaroff. — " Don't he alarmed, I have never cast 
 the evil eve on anv one vet. What makes his 
 cheeks so red? Is he cutting his teeth? " 
 
 "Yes, sir," — said Fenitehka: — " he has cut 
 four teeth already, and now his gums have 
 swollen up again." 
 
 " Show me .... come, don't be afraid, I 'm a 
 doctor. " 
 
 Haziiroff took the eiiild in his arms, and, to the 
 astonishment of T'enitehka and Dunyasha, it dis- 
 played no resistance, and was not frightened. 
 
 " T see. T see. ... It s nothing; everything is 
 all right : he "s going to ha\e large teeth. If any- 
 thing ha[)|)ens, let me know. .And are yon well 
 yourself!* " 
 
 71
 
 FATHERS AND CIIILDUEX 
 
 " Yes, thank God." 
 
 " Thank God — tliat is the best of all. And 
 you? " — added Ea/aroff, turning to Dunyasha. 
 
 Dunyasha, a girl who was very prim in tlie 
 rooms of her mistress, and a great giggler else- 
 where, only snorted by way of rei)ly. 
 
 " AVell, tliat 's fine. Here 's your hero for 
 you." 
 
 Fenitchka took her baby in her arms. 
 
 " How quietly he sat with you! " — she said, in 
 a low tone. 
 
 " All children behaye quieth'- with me,"— re- 
 phed BazaroiF, — " I know^ the trick." 
 
 " Children feel who loves them," — remarked 
 Dunyasha. 
 
 " That is true,"— assented Fenitchka. " Here 
 is Mitya, — he will not let some people take liim 
 in tlieir arms on any terms." 
 
 ' " And will he come to me? "—asked Arkady, 
 who, after standing for a time a little aloof, had 
 now approached the arbour. 
 
 He allured Mitya to liim; but JNIitya flung his 
 head back and began to scream, which greatly 
 mortified Fenitchka. 
 
 " Anotlier time — w^hen he has managed to get 
 used to me," — said Arkady condescendingly, and 
 the two friends went tlieir way. 
 
 "What the deuce is her name?" — inquired 
 Bazaroff. 
 
 " Fenitclika .... Feodosya," — replied Arkady. 
 
 72
 
 FATIIKKS AM) (IIILDl^KX 
 
 " ^Vnd liir pationyiiiit':' T must know tliat 
 also." 
 
 Xikolat'x iia." 
 
 " Bene. What I like alxxit Ikt is tliat she docs 
 not get too iniK'h cinl)arrasse(k Any one else 
 would. j)rol)ahly. fondeiiin that in lier. W'liat 
 nonsense! what is there to he enil)arrassed 
 alxMit:* She is a mother — well, and she is in the 
 ritrht." 
 
 " She is in the ri<ilit," — remarked .Arkady,— 
 ' hut there is ni\- fatliei- " 
 
 " He is right too," — interrupted l^azaroff. 
 
 " Well, no, I don't think so." 
 
 " Evidently, an extra heir is not to our taste! " 
 
 " Art not thou ashamed to ])resn])])ose sucli 
 thoughts in me!" — ])ut in Arkady, with heat.— 
 
 It is not from that |)()inl of \ iew that I irgard 
 my lather as in the wi-ong. 1 think he ought to 
 marry her." 
 
 " Khe-he! "-said Ha/arofi' ealmly. - ' How 
 
 magnanimous we aie! Thou still attrihutest sig- 
 
 nifieanee to marriage; I had not ex])ecte(l that 
 
 from thee." 
 
 "The f'rit'iids adxaneed se\(,ial |)aees in silence. 
 
 " 1 have seen all thy fathci-'s outfit."" - he- 
 gan lia/aroft' again. " The cattle aw poor, 
 and tlie horses arc l)i-okcn-down. 'I'lic huildings, 
 also, arc pretty had: the workmen ai'c arrant 
 idlers; and the o\ erseei' is cillK i a I onl oi- a I'ascal; 
 T ]iave not yet Ihorouglilx made out which."" 
 
 78
 
 FATHERS xVND CHILDREN 
 
 " Thou art severe to-day, Evgeny Vasilie- 
 vitch." 
 
 " And the good-natured peasants cheat thy 
 father, without the shadow of a doubt. Thou 
 knowest the adage : ' The Russian peasant will 
 fool even God himself.' " 
 
 " I am beginning to agree with my uncle," — 
 remarked Arkady, — " tliou certainly hast a bad 
 opinion of the Russians." 
 
 " That 's no great matter! The only good 
 point about the Russian man is, that he has a very 
 bad opinion of himself. The important thing 
 is that twice two makes four, and that the rest 
 is all nonsense." 
 
 " And is nature nonsense? " — said Arkady, 
 gazing thoughtfully far away, across the mottled 
 fields, beautifullv and softlv illuminated bv the 
 sun, which was already near to setting. 
 
 " And nature, also, is nonsense, in the sense in 
 which thou understandest it. Nature is not a 
 temple, but a workshop, and man is a workman 
 therein." 
 
 Tlie slow sounds of a violoncello floated to them 
 from the house at thai moment. 
 
 Some one was playing with feeling, altliough 
 with an inexperienced hand, Schubert's " Ex 
 pectation," and the sweet melody poured forth 
 on the air like honey. 
 
 "Who's that?" — ejaculated BazarofF in 
 amazement. 
 
 74.
 
 IW rilKKS AM) (HII. DUKN 
 
 '' Tliat is my iMtlu r." 
 
 "Docs thy latlicr play on the violoncello^" 
 
 " Ves." 
 
 " Why. how old is Ihy lather^' 
 
 " For'ty-foiir." 
 
 Bazarofr siuldciily l)uisl into loud laughter. 
 
 " AN'hat ai't thou lau«ihin*i at?" 
 
 " T'^iH)!! my word I at the a^e of i'oity-four, a 
 man, j)atcrramilias, in the * * * district, phiys on 
 the \ ioloncello! " 
 
 Bazaroft' continued to lau<^h; hut xVrkady, in 
 spite of the fact that he w()rshi])ped his teacher, 
 did not e\ ('!i smile on this occasion. 
 
 76
 
 About a fortnight passed. Life in JNIarino 
 flowed on in its usual current: Arkady led the 
 life of a Syharite, Bazaroff' worked. Every one 
 in the house had got accustomed to him, to his 
 careless manners, to his uncomplicated and ah- 
 rupt speeches. Fenitclika, in particular, had be- 
 come so familiar with him that once she ordered 
 him to be awakened at night: ^Iitya had been 
 seized with convulsions; and he came, as was his 
 wont, half -jesting, half -yawning, sat with her a 
 couple of hours, and relieved the baby. On the 
 other hand, Pavel Petrovitch hated Bazaroff" 
 with all the powers of his soul : he considered him 
 proud, arrogant, a cynic, a plebeian; he had a 
 suspicion that Bazaroff" did not respect him, that 
 he almost despised him— him, Pavel Kirsanoff"! 
 Nikolai Petrovitch was afraid of the young 
 " nihilist," and had doubts as to the advantage 
 of his influence on Arktidy : but he liked to listen 
 to him, he liked to be ])resent at his ])liysical and 
 chemical experiments . . Bazaroff" liad brought 
 a microsco])e witli him, and busied liimself with 
 it for hours together. The servants, also, became 
 attached to him, althougli he jeered at them: they 
 
 76
 
 FA'l'IIKHS AM) C IIIL1)I{K.\ 
 
 iVll llial, iu'\ ctIIkIcss, lie- was lluir hiothtr, not 
 a lordly master. Diinyiislia was i'ond of ni^>;'lin^ 
 with liiiii, and cast (>l>li(|ii( , sif^iiificaiit n'laiuvs at 
 liim as sIk' flitted jiasl like " .i snipe"": j'ititi-. a 
 man in the hi»^'hest (k'^^i'ee eoneeited and slupid. 
 with strained furrows I'oreNei- on his hi-ow. a nian 
 wliose sole merit lay in thi' I'ael thai hc' liad a 
 polite aspeet, read l)y spelling' out the words, and 
 f're(|uent]y cleaned his eoat with a hrush — lie, also, 
 smiled and i)eamed as soon as IJazaroff direeted 
 his attention to him: the house-servants' hrats ran 
 after the " doetur " like j)ui)i)ies. Old Prokofiteh 
 was the only one who did not like him. served him 
 his food at tahle with a «;rim aspeet. called him 
 a ■ knacker " and a " swindler," and asserted 
 that he, with his side-whiskers, was a regular j)i<^' 
 in a i)ush. l'rok(')titeh was, in his way, as much of 
 an aristocrat as Pavel Petrovitch. 
 
 'i'he hest days in the year arrived — the early 
 days of June. The weather was fine; it is true 
 that the eiioleia was threatenin*'' a<>ain at a dis- 
 tance. l)ut the inhahitants of the * * * Govern- 
 ment had already got used to its visitations. Ha- 
 zjiroff ro.se very eai'ly. and went oil" two oi- three 
 versts. not foi* a walk lie could not endui'c to 
 walk w ithout an ohject hut to collect herhs and 
 insects. Sometimes he took Ai-kady with him 
 On the way home, they gi-ncially got into a dis- 
 p'ute. and Arkady was generally worsted, al- 
 though he talked moi'c than his eonnade. 
 
 77
 
 FATHERS AXD CHILDREN 
 
 Out' day thev were very late, for some reason; 
 Nikolai Petroyitch ^yent out into the garden to 
 meet them, and \yhen he got on a le\ el \\'\\\\ the 
 arhoin- he suddenly lieard the swift footsteps and 
 the yoices of the two young men. They were 
 A\'alking on tlie otlier side of the arhour, and could 
 not see him. 
 
 " Thou art not sufficiently well ac(juainted with 
 my father," — Arkady was saying. 
 
 Nikolai Petroyitch concealed himself. 
 
 " Thy father is a nice fellow," — said Bazaroff, 
 — " but he 's a man who is behind the times,^ his 
 song is sung." 
 
 Nikolai Petroyitch lent an ear. . . . Ai'kady 
 made no repl\^ 
 
 The man who was " beliind the times " stood 
 motionless for a couple of minutes, and slowly 
 wended his way homeward. 
 
 " Day before yesterday I saw him reading 
 Pushkin," — went on BazaroiF. ..." Please ex- 
 plain to him that he ought not to do that. He 
 is n't a boy, tliou knowest : it 's time for him to 
 fling aside all that twaddle. The idea of being a 
 romanticist at the ])resent day! Giye him some- 
 thing practical to read." 
 
 " What ouglit T to giye liim? " — asked 
 Arkfidy. 
 
 " Why, Brucliner's ' Stoff und Kraft,' 1 think, 
 as a starter." 
 
 1 The equivalent of "a back number."— Tii a nslator. 
 
 78
 
 FATHKHS AM) CIIILDHKX 
 
 " 1 think so niyst'lf," — reinarktd Arkady a|)- 
 proviii^^ly. " 'Stof!' nnd Kraft ' is written in 
 popular laii«>'na<>i' "" 
 
 "Sec now, liow tlion and I/' -said \ikol;ii 
 Petrovitch, alter dinner on tliat same day, to liis 
 brother, as he sat in liis study: — " ha\e I'allen into 
 the ranks of the men behind the times, our son^ 
 is snng. ^Velk what of tliatf Pei'haps Hazarof!' 
 is right: but 1 am hurt. I must confess: I had 
 hoped, ])recisely at this time, to <^et into close and 
 friendly relations with Arkady, but it turns out 
 that 1 have lag'^ed behind, he has «>one ahead, 
 and we cannot understand each other." 
 
 "But has he <>()ne ahead;' .And in what wav 
 is he so «>reatly different from us:*" exclaimed 
 Pa\el Petnniteh imi)atiently. — " It 's that signor 
 who has put all that into his head. I hate that 
 miserable medical student: in n)y opinion, he is 
 sim))ly a charlatan: I am convinced that he has 
 not got very tar in j)hysics, e\en with all his 
 frogs." 
 
 "No, brother, do not say that: Ha/aroff is 
 clever and learned." 
 
 "And what repulsive conceit!" interrupted 
 Pavel IV'trovitch again. 
 
 "Yes,"- remarked Nikolai I'etrovitch: — "he 
 is conceited. Hut, evidently, that cannot be dis- 
 pen.sed with: o?dy, this is what I cannot under- 
 stand. i\})parently, I am doing everything, in 
 order not to be left behind the age: 1 have estab- 
 
 71)
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 lislied my peasants, I have set up a farm, so that 
 I am even spoken of tliroughoiit the Govern- 
 ment as a ' red/ I i-ead, I study, — in general, 
 I strive to keep up Nvitli contemporary require- 
 ments, — but tliev say that my song is sung. And 
 I am beginning, brother, to tliink myself that it 
 is sung." 
 
 "AVhy so?" 
 
 " This is why. To-day I was sitting and read- 
 ing Pushkin. ... I remember that 1 had hap- 
 pened upon ' The Gipsies.' . . All at once, Arkady 
 came up to me, and in silence, with such affec- 
 tionate compassion on his face, took the book 
 away from me softly, as from a child, and laid 
 before me another, a German book . . . smiled, 
 and went away, carrying Pushkin with liim." 
 
 " You don't sa\' so! And what book diil he 
 give thee? " 
 
 " This one." 
 
 And Nikolai Petrovitch drew from the rear 
 pocket of his coat Bruchner's very renowned 
 j)amphlet, in the ninth edition. 
 
 Pavel Petrovitch turned it over in his hands. — 
 " H'm! "—he muttered. — " Arkady Nikolaevitch 
 is attending to thy education. Well, and hast 
 thou tried to read it ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Well, and what was the result? " 
 
 " Either T am stupid, or all this is— nonsense. 
 — It must be that T am stu])id." 
 
 80
 
 FATITKKS AM) C IIII.DHKX 
 
 " lint tlioii hast not roi'/^ottiii tliy ( ieniiaii ? " — 
 asked Pavel Petroviteli. 
 
 " I understand (ierniaii. " 
 
 iVf»-ain Pa\-el Pcti-cnitcli turned the ])0()k ()\er 
 in his hands, and east a sidilon^- olancc at his 
 hrotlier. lioth maintained sik*nee. 
 
 'N^es, ])y the way," — hegan Nikohii Petrd- 
 viteh, hein^', e\ idintly. desirous of ehangin^r the 
 eonversation, — " 1 ha\e reeeived a letter from 
 Kolyazin." 
 
 "From Matvyei fhteli^' 
 
 " Yes. He has eome to * * * to inspect the 
 Government. He has hecome a big-wig now, and 
 writes to me that, as a rehition, he wishes to see us, 
 and he invites thee and me and ^Vrkady to tlie 
 town." 
 
 " Wilt thou go? "-asked Pavel Petroviteh. 
 
 "No;-and thou?" 
 
 ■' And I shall not go, either. What do 1 want 
 to drag myself fifty versts for, to eat potato-Hour 
 pudding. Mathieu wants to exhibit himself to 
 us in all his glory. Devil take him! the guberna- 
 torial ineense will be enough for him; he'll get 
 along without us. iVnd a l*rivy CounciHor is not 
 sueh a great dignitary, after all! If I had re- 
 mained in the .service, if I had gone on tugging 
 away at that .stupid hauling-eollar, I should have 
 l)een an adjutant-general by this time. And thou 
 and I are ])eople who ai-e behind the tinu^s. to 
 
 ])OOt." 
 
 81
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 " Yes, brother, evidently it is time for us to 
 order our eoffins, and cross our hands upon our 
 breasts for the grave," — remarked Nikolai Pe- 
 trovitch, with a sigh. 
 
 " AVell, I shall not give in so promptly," — 
 muttered his brother. — " We shall have a fight yet 
 with that medical man, I foresee that." 
 
 The figlit took place that very day, at evening 
 tea. Pavel Petrovitch entered the drawing-room 
 all read}'^ for the fray, irritated and with his mind 
 made up. He was merely awaiting a pretext in 
 order to hurl himself upon tlie enemy, but for a 
 long time, no pretext presented itself. BazarofF, 
 in general, had little to say in the presence 
 of "the old Kirsanoff s " (tliat was what he 
 called the two brothers), but on that evening 
 he felt out of sorts, and gulped down cu]) 
 after cup in silence. Pavel Petrovitch was all 
 afire with impatience; at last his desire was 
 realised. 
 
 The conversation turned upon one of the neigh- 
 bouring landed ])r()prietors. — " Rubl^ish, a trasliy, 
 would-be little aristocrat," indifferently re- 
 marked BazarofF, wlio had met him in Peters- 
 burg. 
 
 " Permit me to ask y(ni," — began IMvel Petro- 
 vitch, and his lips quivered: — " Acrorchng to 
 vour ideas, do tlie woi-ds ' rubbish ' and ' aristo- 
 crat ' signify one and liic same thing? " 
 
 " I said ' trasliy. woiild-bc little aristocrat,' " — 
 
 82
 
 FA'illKKS AM) ( rilLDHKX 
 
 .s;ii(l Ha/arofV, la/.ily swallowing- a nioiillifiil of 
 leu. 
 
 " Kxacth' so, sir: Imt 1 assuiiic lliat nou hold 
 the suiiR" opinion t'onc-cininw- 1|r' ai'islocrats that 
 you do concern i no- the trashy, would-hc little aris- 
 tocrats. I consider it my dnty to inform you that 
 I do not share that \ iiw . I taki- the liherty of say- 
 ino- that e\i'i'y one knows me to he a lihei'al man 
 and one who loves j)r()grcss; hut. |)recisely I'oi- that 
 reason, I respect the aristocrats — the genuine 
 ones. Reniemher, my dear sir " (at these words, 
 Ra/iirofl" I'aised his eyes to Pa\'el Petrovitch) — 
 " remember, my dear sir," he rej)eated, with ex- 
 asperation :—" the Knolish aristocrats. They do 
 not abate one iota of" their rights, and therefore 
 they respect the riiihts of others: they demand 
 the fulfilment of obli^-ations toward themselves, 
 and therefore they themselves fulfil tJicir duties. 
 'Vhv aristocrac\- has «^•i^('n freedom to Kn"land, 
 and it maintains it." 
 
 We've heard that tune a «»reat many times," 
 — retorted Ha/aroft':— " but what are vou under- 
 taking to pro\e by thisf " 
 
 " By this I am imdei'taking to prove, mv dear 
 sir " (when Pavel Pelrcnitcb was angi-y. he inten- 
 tionally said ■' ('ftim "" and " eflo," ' although he 
 knew perfectly well that the grammai" does not 
 admit such wdrds. In this freak, the relics of a 
 
 Instead of : r'h> (this) and ///;/» ( hy this) — /.»'., ciiiployinjr the forms 
 ill us<- iiMiiiii>c the peaMints. 'rH \ ssi.a ion. 
 
 H'.i
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 tradition of the epoch of Akxaiuler manifested 
 itself. Tlie bi«'-\vigs of that time, on rare occa- 
 sions, when talking" in their native tongue, were 
 in the habit of using, some efto, others ea:lito: as 
 much as to say: " We are thorough-going Rus- 
 sians, and, at the same time, Ave are grandees who 
 are permitted to scorn rules of school") — "by thi.s 
 [cfthn'] I mean to prove that, without a sense of 
 one's own dignity, without respect for one's self,— 
 and in the aristocrat these sentiments are devel- 
 oped, — there is no stable foundation for the pub- 
 lic .. . bien public . . . the social structure. The 
 individuality, my dear sir, — that is the principal 
 thing: the human individuality must be strong 
 as a rock, for on it everything is erected. I know 
 very well, for example, that you see fit to regard 
 as ridiculous mv habits, mv toilet, mv cleanli- 
 ness, to sum it u]): but all that proceeds from a 
 sense of self-res])ect, from a sense of duty, — yes, 
 sir, yes, sir, of duty. 1 live in tlie country, in the 
 wilds, but I do not neglect myself, I respect tht 
 man in myself." 
 
 " Pardon me, Pavel Petrovitch," — said Ba- 
 zarofF: — " here you are, respecting yourself, and 
 sitting with folded hands: where is the good of 
 that for the bieu j)i(J)Ii('/ You would do the same 
 thing, even if you did not res])ect yourself." 
 
 Pavel Petrovitch turned pallid. — " That is an 
 entirely different question. I am not in the least 
 bound to explain to you, now, why I sit with
 
 FATllKUS AM) ( IIILDHKN 
 
 loKkd hands, as you arc pleased to express your 
 sell". I iiKTily w isli to say that aristocracy is a 
 principle, and oidy innnoral or i'rivolous jjcoplc 
 can li\e in onr day without pi-inciples. 1 said 
 that to Ai'kadx' the day al'Ur his arrival, and 1 
 now repeat it to you Is not lliat so, Nikolai?" 
 
 Nikolai Peti'6\ ilch nodded his head. 
 
 " Aristocracy, liheralisui, ])ro^ress, principles," 
 — Bazaroff was savin*^ jn the nieautinie: — " when 
 you come to thiuL' of it, how many forei<»n .... 
 and useless words! The Kussian man does not 
 need them, even as u gift." 
 
 " What does he need, according to you? To 
 hear you, one would su])])ose that we w ere outside 
 the })ale of humanity, outside its laws, Cxood 
 heavens! the logic of history demands 
 
 " But what do you want with that logic? We 
 can get along without it." 
 
 " How so? " 
 
 " \\'hy, in this way: you need no logic, I hope, 
 in oiclei' to j)ut a |)icce of hread into your mouth 
 when vou are hungrv. \\'hat use have we for 
 these ahstractions? " 
 
 I'jivel Petrovitch waved his hands in (lesj)air. — 
 
 I do not understand you, after that. Vou aie 
 insulting the l{ussian nati(!n. i do not under- 
 stand how it is ))ossil)le not to lecognise princi- 
 ])les and rules? Hy loic-e ol" w hat do you act?" 
 
 I have already told you. dear uncU'. that we 
 recogm'se no authorities,"— put in ^Vrkady. 
 
 85
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 " We act by force of that ^vllich we recognise 
 as useful,"— said BazarofF. — " At the present 
 time, the most useful thing of all is rejection — 
 we reject." 
 
 " Everything? " 
 
 " Everytliing." 
 
 " AMuit ( Xot only art, poetry . . . but also 
 ... it is terrible to utter it . . . ." 
 
 " Everything," — repeated Bazaroff, with in- 
 expressible composure. 
 
 Pavel Petrovitcli stared at him. He had not 
 expected this, and Arkady fairly flushed crim- 
 son with delight. 
 
 • " But pardon me," — began Nikolai Petro- 
 vitch. "You reject everything, or, to speak more 
 accurately, you demolish ever}i:hing. . . . But 
 surely, it is necessary to build up also." 
 
 " That 's no affair of ours. . . The place must 
 first be cleared." 
 
 " The contemporary condition of the populace 
 demands this," — added Arkady, with impor- 
 tance: — " we must comply with that demand; we 
 have no right to devote ourselves to the gratifica- 
 tion of our personal egoism." 
 
 The last phrase, evidently, did not please 
 Bazaroff; it smacked of philosophy, — that is to 
 say, of romanticism, — for BazarofF called phil- 
 i)so})hy also romanticism, but he did not consider 
 it necessary to contradict his young disciple. 
 
 "No, no!" — exclaimed Pavel Petrovitch. 
 
 86
 
 FATIIKHS AM) C IIIIJ)KK\ 
 
 v\illi a siHldiii iiiipcliiosity: - " I will not !»i- 
 lieve tliat yon, ^(.nllriiifn. nvv ai'c-matily ac- 
 (jiiaintfd with tlif Kiissian ijcoplc; that you ari' 
 representatives of its i((]nirc!nc?its, its aspira- 
 tions! Xo, llic linssian people is not what von 
 iiiia^ine it to he. It sacredly respects tradition, 
 it is |)atriarciial, it cannot li\f withonl faith. . ."" 
 
 "1 uill not (lisj)nte that!" inteii-npted Ha- 
 zaroff;— "I am e\en prepared to a<^ree that, in 
 that respect, you are ii<4ht. . ." 
 
 " l^nt if 1 am right . . ." 
 
 '■ Still, that proves nothing." 
 
 " Preci.sely, it proves nothing," — rei)eated 
 Arkady, with tjie coiifidence of an e\i)ert chess- 
 j)layer who has foreseen his ad\ cj'saiys appai- 
 ently exj)ert move, and hence is not in the least 
 disconceited. 
 
 "Why does it ])rove nothing!'" — muttered 
 the astounded Pa\tl Petroviteh. ' Do you mean 
 to sav that von are marehinn' against your 
 people!' " 
 
 "And wjiat if I am ? "—exclaimed l^aziiroff. 
 " The people assume that when the thunder 
 i-um!)les it is the prophet Klijah (hi\ ing across 
 the sky in his chariot. What then' .\iii I 
 bound to agree with them:' .\iid. iMoreo\cr, thev 
 are Russians, and am not i ;i Russian ni\sclf I* " 
 
 " Xo, yon are not a Hussian, after all you have 
 jvist said! 1 cannot acknowledge you as a Hus- 
 sian." 
 
 87
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDRExV 
 
 " My grandfather tilled the soil,"— replied 
 Bazaroff, with haughty pride.—" Ask any one 
 of your peasants, in which of us— in you or in 
 me — he would the more readily recognise a 
 fellow-countryman. You do not even know how 
 to talk witli him." 
 
 " But you talk with him, and despise him, at 
 one and the same time." 
 
 " What of that, if he deserves to be despised? 
 You censure my tendency, but who told you that 
 it is accidental in my case; that it is not evoked 
 by that same spirit of the people in the name of 
 wliich you wage war? " 
 
 " The idea! ^luch need there is of nihilists! " 
 
 " Whether there is need for them or not, is not 
 for us to decide. Assuredly, you consider your- 
 self not devoid of usefulness." 
 
 " Gentlemen, gentlemen, please refrain from 
 personalities!" exclaimed Nikolai Petrovitch, 
 lialf-rising from his seat. 
 
 Pavel Petrovitch smiled, and laying his hand 
 on his brother's shoulder, he made him sit down 
 again. — " Don't worry," — he said. — 1 shall 
 not forget myself, precisely because of that sense 
 of dignity at which ^Ir. . . . ]Mr. Doctor jeers 
 so savagely. Pardon me," — he went on, address- 
 ing himself once more to BazarofF: — " perhaps 
 you think your doctrine is a novelty? You are 
 mistaken in thinking so. The materialism which 
 you preach lias been in vogue more than once 
 
 88
 
 FATTTKltS AM) ( HILDin^X 
 
 ali'cady, and lias al\\a\s shown ilscH' tn lie 
 ina(lc<jualf. . . . 
 
 Aiiollicr I'orc'i^n wordl" iiitciTii j)lcd liaza- 
 voiY. lie was hr^^iimin;^- to o-ft aii^ry, and his 
 countenance assumed a soil of coarse, hra/en 
 hue. — " In tlie first place, we are not preacliin^- i 
 anything-; tiiat is not our habit. . , .' 
 What do yon do, then :" "' 
 
 " 'Phis is wliat we do. I'ornierlv, in (hivs whicli 
 are not \ct iTuiote, we weiv accustomed to sa\' 
 that our ollicials took hi-ihes: that we liad no 
 roads, no trade, no ir^ular courts of justice. . ."" 
 
 "Well, ves, ves, vou are accusers, — I believe 
 that is what it is called. .And w ith many of your 
 accusations 1 agree, but ...."" 
 
 " l^ut, later on, it dawned u])on us that it 
 was not worth while to i)rate, and do nothing- 
 hut prate, al)ont oiw ulcers; that that led only to 
 trivialities and doctiMuairism : we ])ercei\<.(l that 
 our clever men, the so-called leading men and 
 accusers, were good for nothing, that we were 
 busying ourselves with nonsense, talking about 
 some sort of art, about unconscious creation, 
 about i)arliamentarism, about ad\ ocateship, and 
 the de\il knows what else, when it was a <|ues- 
 tion of daily bread, when the crudest su|)ersti- 
 tion was stitling us, when all our stock companies 
 were failing simply tlu-ough the lack of honest 
 men, when the very liberlv whieji the (Govern- 
 ment is working o\cr is hai-dly likcN to be of 
 
 89
 
 FATHERS AXU CHILDREN 
 
 any use to iis, because our peasant is ready to rob 
 liiinself, if only he may drink himself dead drunk 
 in the pot-house." 
 
 " Exactly," — interrupted Pavel Petrovitch, — 
 " exactly so: you have become convinced of all 
 this, and have made up your minds not to set 
 about anything seriously." 
 
 " And have decided not to set about any- 
 thing," — repeated Bazaroff grimly. He sud- 
 denly became vexed with himself for having 
 been so expansive in the presence of this gentle- 
 man. 
 
 " And only to rail? " 
 
 " Yes, only to rail." 
 
 " And that is called nihilism? " 
 
 " And that is called nihilism," — repeated Baza- 
 roff once more, this time with peculiar insolence. 
 
 Pavel Petrovitch narrowed his eyes slightly. 
 
 "So that's the way the wind blows! "—he 
 said, in a strangely quiet voice. — " Nihilism is 
 })ound to aid every woe, and vou, vou are our 
 deliverers and heroes. But for what do you take 
 others, — those same deliverers, for example? Do 
 not you prate, like all the rest?" 
 
 " We are guilty in some other respects, but not 
 of that sin," — articulated Bazaroff through his 
 teeth. 
 
 "What, then? Do you do anything, pray? 
 Are you ])reparing to act? " 
 
 Bazaroff made no reply. Pavel Petrovitch 
 
 90
 
 FATIIKKS AM) ( IIILDHKX 
 
 was I'airly (juivcring. hiil lir imiiudiMUly re- 
 gaiju'd control of himself. 
 
 "H'lnl . . . To act. to (icinoiisli . . . ." he 
 coiitinuccl.— " Hut wliy (Icinoiisli without even 
 knowing the reason:' " 
 
 W'c demolish hecansc we nvc a force. " re- 
 marked Arkady. 
 
 l*avel l*etr(')\itch looked at his nephew, and 
 laughed. 
 
 Ves, a force, — and a force, as sucli, does not 
 render an account of itself," — said iVrkady, and 
 straightened himself up. 
 
 " Knhappy man."-- roared Pavel I'etrovitch; 
 he ix)sitively was not able to restrain himself any 
 longer: — " thou mightest take into considei'ation 
 ^vhat it is in Russia that thou ait upholding 1)\- 
 thy trivial judgment! Xo, this is enough to make 
 an angel lose j)atience! Force! There is force 
 in the sa\age Kalmyk, and in the Mongolian also, 
 hut wliat is that to us?— Civilisation is dear to us, 
 — yes, .sir, ves, mv dear sir. its fruits are deai- to 
 us. And do not tell me that those fruits are in- 
 significant ; the most w I'etchcd dauher. //// har- 
 houHlii/r, a player of dance-music who is |)ai(l 
 li\c- ko[)eks an evening,- all of them are more 
 useful than you, because thex arc representatives 
 of civilisation, and not of crude Mongolian force! 
 ^ ou imagiiK- that you aic leaders, hut the onlv 
 proper place for you is in a Kalmyk tent I A 
 force! But prav lecolleel. in conclusion, vou 
 
 yi
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 forceful gentlemen, that there are only four men 
 and a half of you, but there are millions of those 
 who will not permit you to trample under foot 
 their most sacred beliefs, who will crush you! " 
 
 " If they crush us, tliere lies the road," — said 
 BazarofF. — " Only, that question has not yet been 
 decided. We are not so few in nmiiber as you 
 sup2)ose/' 
 
 " What? Jesting- aside, do you think vou will 
 be able to manage things; that you are more than 
 a match for the whole nation? " 
 
 " ^Moscow was burned to the ground by a far- 
 thing candle, you know," — replied BazarofF. 
 
 " Precisely, precisely. First an almost satanic 
 pride, then derision. That — that is what seduces 
 the j^oung generation, that is what subjugates the 
 inexperienced hearts of wretched little boys! 
 Look! there sits one of them by your side; you 
 see that he is almost worshipping you; admire 
 him." (Arkady turned aside and frowned.) 
 " And this infection is already widely dissem- 
 inated. I am told that our artists in Rome never 
 set foot inside tlie Vatican. They regard Ra- 
 phael as almost a fool, because, forsooth, he is an 
 authority; but they themselves are disgustingly 
 impotent and sterile, and their imagination goes 
 no further than ' A Girl at the Fountain,' say 
 what you will! And the girl is very badly painted, 
 to boot. They are fine fellows in your opinion, 
 aren't they?" 
 
 92
 
 FATIIKHS AM) C II 1 1 .DHF-X 
 
 " In my opinion." — retorlid H.i/iiioir: — " Ra- 
 pliail is n't worth a cojjpcr I'artliinn-; arid tlicy 
 arc better than he! "' 
 
 " l?i-a\()! hra\<)I Listen. Ai'kady .... that's 
 tlie \\a\- \()iinn' nun (d" thr present (la\- oimiit to 
 express thein.selves! i\n(l. wlicn yon eoine to 
 think ol' it, how ean thev heli) i'ollowiiiir xoul In 
 former days, youno- i'olUs had to stndy. they (h'd 
 not care to hear the re|)ntation of i<4iiorainnses, 
 so thev worked, willv-nillv. But now, all thev 
 have to do is to say: ' Everything in the woi'ld is 
 nonsense! ' — and that's the end of the matter. 
 The young folks are overjoyed. And, in fact, 
 fonnerlv thev were simi)lv I)loekheads, hut now 
 thev liave suddenlv heeome nihilists." 
 
 ft k 
 
 " That 's where your ])oasted .sense of jjersorial 
 dignity has fooled you,'" remarked Ha/arofl' 
 eoollv, while Arkadv flared up, and his eves 
 
 * ft I » 
 
 flashed.- " Our dispute has gone too fai-. . . I 
 think it would be better to j)ut an end to it. And 
 I shall he ready to agree with you." he added, 
 rising, " when you ean iniiig foiward a single 
 institution of oui- e()ntemj)oraiy c-xistenee, either 
 domestic oi- social, \\hich docs not ehaile?ige total 
 rejection." 
 
 I will present to you millions of such insti- 
 tutions,"— exclaimed T^a\(l Petrovitch: — " mil- 
 lions! Why, take the commune, for example." 
 
 A cold sjicer curled Razarof)"^ lips. — " Well, so 
 far as the commune is concerned," — said he: — 
 
 98
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 " vou had better talk witli vour brother. I think 
 he has now found out, in practiee, what the com- 
 mune is hke: thorough security, sobriety, and all 
 that sort of thing." 
 
 " The family, then, — the family, as it exists 
 among our peasants!" — shouted Pavel Petro- 
 vitch. 
 
 " That question, also, I think, it would be better 
 for you not to inquire into in detail. You have 
 heard, I fancy, of men making love to their sons' 
 wives? Listen to me, Pavel Petrovitch: give 
 yourself a couple of days of grace ; it is n't likely 
 that you will be able to find anything on the spot. 
 Sort over all classes of our societv, and meditate 
 well over each one, and, in the meantime, Arkady 
 and I will ..." 
 
 " Sneer at everything," — put in Pavel Petro- 
 vitch. 
 
 " Xo, cut up frogs. Come on, Arkady; fare- 
 well for the present, gentlemen ! " 
 
 The two friends quitted the i-oom. The bro- 
 thers wei-e left alone, and, at first, they merely 
 stared at each other. 
 
 " There," — began Pavel Petrovitch at last: — 
 " there 's the youth of the present day for you! 
 There they are — our heirs! " 
 
 " Our heirs,"— repeated Xikolai Petrovitch^ 
 with a sigh of depression. He had been sitting on 
 hot coals, as it were, during the whole course of 
 
 94
 
 FATIIKirs AM) ( IIILDHKX 
 
 tlie dispiilc, and had iiicivly cast I'lirliM-. paiiud 
 •glances at Arkady.- " Dost tlioii know. Inotljcr, 
 wliat lias rcciirrt'd to my mind' ( )nc day, 1 (juar- 
 relk'd witli oui* dccvasid molliri': slic screamed, 
 and would nol listen to me ... At last I said 
 to lier, — ■ Wni eannot undcfstand me.' said I : ' we 
 belong to two dift'eri-nt ^ciui'Mlions," said 1. She 
 was IViii-litfulIv antiTV. and 1 thouiilit to m\- 
 .self: W'liat is to l)e done:' Tlic ])ill is hitter 
 hut it must hf swallowed. So now. our tui'u 
 has eonie, and our sueeessors can say to us: 
 Vou are not of our generation — swallow the 
 pill.' •' 
 
 " Thou art too kind-heai"ted and modest," — re- 
 turned Pavel Petroviteh; — " on the contrary. T 
 am convinced that thou and I are far more in the 
 light than those little gentlemen, although we ex- 
 ])ress ourselves. |)erhaj)s, in somewhat anti(juate(l 
 language, liave riclli. and do not ])()ssess that au- 
 dacious self-conceit. . . ^Vnd how puffed up 
 the young ])eople of the j)resent day are! ^Vsk 
 one of them: ' AMiat wine do you |)refer. red or 
 wliite?' — 'I am accustomed to prefer red!* he 
 rej)lies in a hass \()ice, and with as j)ompous a 
 vi.sage, as though the whole univer.se were gazing 
 at him at the mouKJit. . ." 
 
 " ^^^)ul(l not you like some more tea!"" said 
 Fenitchka, sticking Ik r Iu;id in at the door: she 
 Iiad not been able to briiiii' herself to enter the 
 
 95
 
 1 ATIIEKS AND CHILDREN 
 
 (Irawiiig-rooni while the voices of the disputants 
 were resouiKhng there. 
 
 " No, tliou inayest give orders to liave the 
 samovar removed," — rephed Nikolai I'etroviteh, 
 rising to greet her. Pavel Petrovitch abruptly 
 wished him " Bon soir" and went off to his owr 
 study. 
 
 96
 
 XI 
 
 Half an hour Inter, Nikolai l^etrovitcli betook 
 liimsclC to tlie garden, to his raxourite arl)our. 
 iSK'laiK'iioly tlioii<^hts had taken j)ossessioii of liiiii. 
 For tlie first time he clearly realised the hreaeh 
 l)et\veen himself and his son; he had a foreboding 
 that with every j)assing day it would beeome 
 wider and wider. So it was in \ain that he had 
 sat, at Petersburg, over the newest books, during 
 the wintei-; in vain had he listened to the eonver- 
 sations ol' the young men: in \ain had he rejoieed 
 when he had succx?eded in interpolating a I'emark 
 of his own into their fervent sj)eeehes. " My 
 brother says tliat we are in the right," be thought; 
 " and setting aside all self-eofieeit, it seems to me, 
 also, that they are furthei' from the trutli than 
 we are; and, at the same time, I feel that thev 
 bave something whieh wv do not possess, some su- 
 periority over us. . . ^'outh:' Xo: it is not youth 
 alone. Does not their sujxriority consist iji the 
 fact, that in them there :u'v fewei' traces of the 
 ge!»try regime tluiii In us'"" 
 
 Nikolai Petr<')vitch hung bis bead, and passed 
 his band ovrr his face. 
 
 "Hut must one reject poctiy!'" he said to 
 
 97
 
 FATHERS xVXD CHlLDllEX 
 
 liiiiiself again: "is one to feel no sympathy for 
 art, for nature? . . ." 
 
 And he cast a glance around him, as though de- 
 sirous of understanchng liow it was })()ssihle not to 
 feel symjjathy for natiu'e. The shades of twihght 
 were already heginning to descend; the sun had 
 hidden itself behind a small aspen grove, which 
 lay half a verst distant from the garden; its 
 shadow stretched out illimitabh^ across the mo- 
 tionless fields. A peasant was riding at a gallop 
 on a white horse, along the dark, narrow road 
 which skirted the edge of the grove: his whole 
 figure was clearly visible, everything about him, 
 down to the patch on his shoulder, in spite of the 
 fact that he was riding in the shadow; the hoofs 
 of the horse flashed out with pleasing distinctness. 
 The rays of the sun, on their side, made their way 
 into the grove, and piercing tlirough the thick- 
 ets, flooded the boles of the trees with so Marm a 
 glo\\', that tliese were made to resemble the boles 
 of pine-trees, while their foliage turned almost 
 blue, and abo\'e it rose the pale azure sky, 
 faintly crimsoned by tlie sunset. The swallows 
 were flying high; tlie breeze had completely died 
 down ; belated bees hummed languidly and sleep- 
 ily in the lihic blossoms; midges hovered in a pillar 
 above an isohited, far-outstretching branch. " JNIy 
 God, liow beautiful!" tliought Nikolai Petro- 
 vitch, and liis favourite verses were on the point of 
 springing to his lips: he recalled Arkady,— "Stofi" 
 
 98
 
 FATIIKUS AM) CIIILDHKX 
 
 und Kraft "-and fell sik'iit, hut c-oiilinucd lo sit 
 on, continued to surrender liiniscH' to the sad and 
 eheering play of liis solitary meditations. He 
 lo\ed to meditate: country life liad d( \ cloijcd in 
 him this capacity. It was not so very lon*^- since 
 lie had meditated as he waited for his son at the 
 postin«>"-stati()n. and since then a ehan<4e had 
 taken place, and their relations, which had still 
 been ill-detined at that time, had become clearly 
 defined .... and in what a way! Again his de- 
 ceased wife presented herself to him. but not as 
 he had known her durin<»- the course of manv 
 years, — not as a thrifty, kind housewire. but as a 
 voun<>- ijirl with a slender form, an imiocentlv- 
 incjuiring glance, and hei- Iiair closely coiled on 
 her childish neck. lie recalled her as he had be- 
 held h<M' for the first time. I le w as a student then. 
 Tie had met bei- on the staircase of the lodgings 
 in which he li\ed, and.iniintentionallv, he had ios- 
 tied her, had turned round, had endea\()ured to 
 excuse himself, and had onl} been a])le to stam- 
 mer, "Pardon, nuni.siciir'' while she had l)cMt her 
 head, had laughed, and then, suddenly, had 
 seemed to take fright, and bad tied: but at the 
 turn of the staircase she iind thrown a u'lanee 
 backward at him, bad assumed a serious mien, and 
 had blushed. And then, the fiivst timid \ isits, the 
 half-words, the iialf'-smilis. and tlu- a\v kwardness, 
 and the sadness, and the outl)uists, and, at List, 
 that panting joy. . . W'liither liad all tiial whirled
 
 FATHERS AND CIIILDKEN 
 
 away? She had become his wife; he had been 
 happy as few on earth are happy. . . " But," he 
 thought : — ' 'those dehghtfiil first moments ; — why 
 could not they hve forever, with hfe immortal? " 
 
 He did not attempt to elucidate his thouglit to 
 himself, but he was conscious that he would have 
 liked to hold fast to that blissful time by some- 
 thing more forcible than memory; he woidd have 
 liked to possess once more tangible evidence of his 
 jNlarj'a's nearness, to feel her warmth and her 
 breath; and he had already begun to fancy that, 
 above him 
 
 " Nikolai Petrovitch," — resounded Fenitchka's 
 voice near him: — " where are you? " 
 
 He sliuddered. He was neither pained nor con- 
 science-stricken. . . He did not even admit the 
 ]3()ssil)ility of a com])arison betw-een his wife and 
 Fenitchka, ])ut he regretted tliat she had taken a 
 notion to hunt liim u}). Her voice instantaneously 
 reminded him of his grey hair, his advanced age, 
 his present .... 
 
 The world of enchantment, into wliich he had 
 already entered, wliich liad s])rung fortli from the 
 misty waves of the past, trembled, — and vanished. 
 
 "I am here," — he replied: "I will come; go 
 along." " Here are traces of the old gentry re- 
 gime," flashed through liis mind. Fenitchka 
 peeped silently at him in the arbour, and disap- 
 peared; and lie noticed, with surprise, that night 
 had descended since he had begun to meditate. 
 
 100
 
 FATTIKHS AXl) CIITT.DHKX 
 
 Tsvcrytliin^ had •>r()wii dark and siknt round 
 about, and FcuitfliUa's face flitlt-d before bini, 
 \ ery u Iiite and small. I le half-rose from his seat, 
 and was about to sit out homeward; l)ul his soft- 
 ened lieait would not ealm dow n in his breast, and 
 he be<)an to sti'oll slowK' about the garden, now 
 thou;'ht full\- stai'iim' at the <>roini(l beneatli liis 
 feet, now raisin*^- his eyes to the sky, wjiere the 
 stars were swarming and twinkling. He walked 
 for a long time, almost to fatigue, and still the 
 tumult w ithin him, a sort of importunate, unde- 
 fined, nielaneholy tumult, did not subside. Oh, 
 how Hazaroft' would have laughed at him, had he 
 known what was going on within him then! Ar- 
 kady himself would have eondemned him. Tears, 
 eauseless tears, welled up in his eyes — in the eyes 
 of tlie agrieulturist and estate-owner; this was 
 a hundredfold worse than the violoneello. 
 
 Nikolai Petroviteh continued to walk, and 
 could not bring himself to enter the house, that 
 peaceful and cosey ?u'st, whicli gazed with such 
 welcome at him from all its illuminated windows; 
 he was not able to tear himself away from tlie 
 darkness, from the garden, fi-om the feeling of 
 the cool air o?i his face, and from that sadness, 
 that agitation .... 
 
 At a turn in the |)ath, P;i\'el iVtiox itch met 
 him. 
 
 " \\'hat is the matter with thee?" — he asked 
 Xikohii I'etnnitch : '■thou art as pale as a 
 
 101
 
 FATHERS AXD CHILDRFA 
 
 ghost; thou art not well; why dost not thou go to 
 bed?" 
 
 Nikolai Petrovitch explained to him, in brief 
 words, his spiritual eondition, and walked on. 
 Pavel Petr6^'itch went to the end of the garden, 
 and he also became thoughtful, and he also 
 raised his eyes to heaven. But in his fine, dark 
 eyes there was notliing reflected except the light 
 of the stars. Pie had not been born romantic, and 
 his elegantly-dry and passionate soul, misan- 
 thropic after the French fashion, did not, know 
 how to meditate. . . . 
 
 "Dost thou know what?" said BazaroiF to 
 Arkady, that same night. — " A magnificent idea 
 has come into mv head. Thy father said, to-day, 
 that he had received an invitation from that dis- 
 tinguished relative of yours. Thy father will not 
 go; let 's flit off, thou and I, to * * * ; that gentle- 
 man has invited thee also, tliou knowest. For 
 thou seest ^^'hat sort of weather has set in here; 
 but we will have a drive, we '11 take a look at the 
 town. We '11 lounge about five or six days, and 
 — basta!" 
 
 " And wilt thou return here from there? " 
 
 " No, I must go to my father. Thou knowest 
 he is thirty versts from * * *. I have not seen him 
 for a long time, nor my mother either; I must, 
 comfort the old folks. They are good people, 
 especially my father : he 's very amusing. And 
 I 'm their only child." 
 
 102
 
 I ATIII'-KS AM) C IlILDinA 
 
 Ami wilt llinu remain lon^- willi thinif " 
 I think not. I shall hr hortd, 1 fancy. " 
 And wilt thon drop in to sec ns on tin' \\a\ 
 hack^" 
 
 I don t know . . . I shall sec. Conic, hnw is it 
 to he ( Shall we i^o!' " 
 
 11" thon wishes!. '" i-cmai-kcd Ai'kiidy lazily. 
 
 At heart, he was i»reatly delighted at hi^: 
 
 IViend's |)i-()j)()sal. hnt he considered hiniselt' 
 
 honnd to conceal his feeling. Xot for nothing 
 
 was he a nihilist. 
 
 On the follow ing day, he dioxc off with l5a/<-i- 
 rotr to * * *. 'ITic yonng people at Marino re- 
 gretted their (le])artnre: Dnnyasha even fell t(< 
 weeping . . . hut the older men hre-itlicd more 
 frech'. 
 
 nm
 
 XTI 
 
 The town of * * *, wliillicr our iVieiuls luul be- 
 taken themselves, lay in the jurisdiction of a gov- 
 ernor who belonged to the younger generation, 
 was ])rogressive and a despot, as is often the case 
 in Russia. In the course of the first year oi' his 
 rule, lie managed to quarrel, not only with the 
 ^Tarshal of the Nobility for the Government, a 
 retired staff'-ca])tain of cavaliy in the Guards, 
 a horse-breeder and hos])itable man, but also with 
 his own officials. The altercations which arose in 
 conscquen.ee finally attained to such dimensions 
 that the ^linistry in Petersburg found it indis- 
 pensable to send a confidential ])erson with a 
 commission to investigate everything on the spot. 
 The choice of the administration fell ujx)!! ^Fat- 
 vyei Hitch Kolya/in, the son of that Kolyazin un- 
 der whose protection the Kirsjinoff brothers had 
 once been. Tic, also, was one of the " young gen- 
 eration," that is to say. he had only recently passed 
 his fortieth birthday: but be was already aiming 
 to become a statesman, and wore a star on each 
 side of his breast. One, to tell the truth, was of a 
 foreign Order, and of a ])etty Order, at tliat. 
 T.ikc the Governor, whom he ]iad come to judge, 
 
 10 J.
 
 FATHKKS AM) ( IIII.DKKX 
 
 lie ir«;ar(l(.'(l liiiiiscH' as |)r()«»Tcssivc', and, hting 
 already a l)ig-\\ig, did not rc.sciHl)!^ tlit- majority 
 of l)io-\vios. lie clR'rislR'd llii' loflit-st opinion of 
 liiniscll": liis \anil\ knew no l)OMn(ls; l)ut he bore 
 Iiiniseli' simply, his <^a/c was approvin*^", lie lis- 
 tened att'ahly and smiled so good-naturedly that, 
 at first sight, he might have ])assed for a " splen- 
 did fellow." Hut, on important occasions, he 
 knew how to kick up a row, as the expression goes. 
 '' Knergy is indispensable, " — he was wont to say 
 then, — " Vciicr^ic est la premiere qualite d'un 
 Jioi/ime d'ctdt" : but, notwithstanding this, he gen- 
 erally got left in the lurch, and any official who 
 was in the least degree experienced rode him at 
 v\ill. Matvyei Hitch referred with great respect 
 to (iuizot, and tried to im])ress upon all and sun- 
 dry that he did not belong to the class of 
 routine men, and bureaucrats, who were be- 
 hind the times, that he let not a single important 
 phenomenon of social life escape his attention. . . 
 All such words were ^vell known to him. He 
 even watched, w ith careless haughtiness, it is tiuie, 
 the development ol' contempoi'arv literature: like 
 a gi"ow n man who. on encountering upoji the 
 street a ])rocession of small boys, sometimes joins 
 theii- i-anks. In reality. Matvyei ilitch had not 
 got very far away from those statesmen of the 
 epoch of Alexander, who, Avhen ])re])aring to 
 sp<iid the evening with Madame Svetchin, who 
 then i-esidcd in Petersburg, were accustomed to 
 
 10.)
 
 FATHERS AND ClllLDREX 
 
 ,.eaaapa,eo.Co„ai,Iacinthe„,o,.ni.,,:o,„,,| 
 his methods were different — more modern. He 
 was a cle^•er eourtier, a very artful blade, and 
 nothin"' more: he did not understand business, 
 he had no mind, but he knew how to manage his 
 own affairs; no one could saddle and ride him 
 in that quarter, and that is the chief thing, after 
 all. 
 
 iMat\yei Hitch received Arkady with the affa- 
 bility pecidiar to an enlightened dignitary, — we 
 will say more : with playfulness. Nevertheless, he 
 was amazed when he learned that the relatives 
 whom he had invited had remained in the country. 
 " Thy ird\yd was always a queer fish," he re- 
 marked, twirling the tassels of his magnificent 
 velvet dressing-gown; and, all at once, turning to 
 a young official in the most well-intentioned, 
 closely-buttoned inidress-uniform, he exclaimed, 
 with an anxious aspect, "AVhat^' The young- 
 man, whose lips were glued fast together through 
 prolonged silence, rose, and stared at his superior 
 with surprise. Rut, after having stunned his sub- 
 ordinate, Matvyei Ilitcli j)ai(l no I'ui-ther atten- 
 tion to him. Our officials, in general, are fond of 
 stunnina" their suboi-dinates, and the means to - 
 which they resort for the attainment of this end 
 are decidedly varied. The following method, 
 among others, is fre(]uently employed, — " is quite 
 a favourite," as the Knglish say: the dignitary 
 suddenly ceases to understand the most sim[)lc 
 
 106
 
 KATUI^KS AM) C'lIILDIiKX 
 
 words, ikal'ncss dcsceiuls upon liiiu. He will ask, 
 for exani])lc': " AVliat daN' is to-dav? " 
 
 TTi' is inf'oi-iiR'd, in the most r('S])ectfnl man- 
 ner: '■ To-day is I*'i-ida\ . youi- C . . clrn . . . cv." 
 
 "How:' \\'liat :' \\'lial do you mean by l^'j'i- 
 dayf What Friday r" 
 
 l''i"i(lay. yoiu' C . . . . ccc . . . ccc* 
 
 lency. is a day of the week." 
 
 " Come. now. liast tliou taken it into th}' head 
 to teach meC " 
 
 ^latvyei Ihtcli was a dignitary, all the same, 
 althou<>h lie considered himself a liberal. 
 
 " 1 a(h ise thee, my friend, to call upon tlie 
 (iovenio)-." — he said to Arkjidy: — " tliou under- 
 standest, I <4'ive thee this advice, not because 1 am 
 wedded to antique conceptions as to the necessity 
 of going and making one's ]k)w to tlie powers 
 that be, but simi)ly ])ecause the Governor is a 
 nice man; moreover, tliou art, probably, desirous 
 of makijig ac(juaintance with the local society. . . 
 For thou art not a beai-, I liope? And he is going 
 to give a great ball the day after to-morrow." 
 
 " Shall you be at tlie ball:' " — inquired Arkady. 
 
 " He is giving it in mv honouj-,"— said Matvvei 
 Hitch, almost with compunction. " Dost thou 
 dance? " 
 
 "Yes. but badly." 
 
 " That is a mistake. Tliere are pretty women 
 here. mjkI it is a shame for a young man not to 
 dance. And again. I say this not in virtue of an- 
 
 107
 
 FATIIKIJS AM) ( IIILDKKX 
 
 tiqiie itieas; I do not. in liie least, assiinie tliat tlic 
 ))rain must Ik- located in tlie feet, but Byronism is 
 ridienlous, /"/ d fail son Ir/n j)s." 
 
 " AN'liy, uncle, il is not in tiie least because ol' 
 Byi'onisni tliat 1 
 
 " I will introduce tliee to tlie vouu"' ladies here. 
 I will take thee under my wing," — interrupted 
 jNIatvyei Hitch, and laug'hcd in a self-satisfied 
 way. " Thou wilt find it warm, hey? " 
 
 ^V servant entered and announced the arrival 
 of the chaii'man of the Court of Kxchequci-. a 
 soft -eyed old man. with wrinkled lips, wlio was ex- 
 tremely fond of nature, especially on a summei- 
 dav, when, according' to his words. " everv little 
 bee takes a bri]:>e from every little ])lossom. . . 
 Arkady withdrew. 
 
 He found Bazaroff in the inn where they had 
 put up, and tried for a long time to persuade him 
 to go to the Governor. " There 's nothing to be 
 done!" said BazjirofF at last, — "as you have mad* 
 your bed, so you must lie u])on it. We have come 
 to ins])ect the landed gentry, so let 's inspect 
 them! " 
 
 The Governor received the voung men cour- 
 teously, but did not invite them to sit down, 
 and did not sit down himself. lie was forever 
 laistling and hunying; he donned his tight un- 
 dress-uniform in the morning, and an excessively 
 tight neck-cloth, never ate or drank liis fill, was 
 forever gi\ing orders. TTe had been nicknaiiied 
 
 108
 
 FATIIKKS AM) C IIILDHKX 
 
 ill IIr' (i()\ iTiniK'iit " HoiirdaloMc, '" llic allusion 
 iiol l)c-iii^' to lIic rainoiis I''i'inc'Ii j)i'c'ac'licr, lail lo 
 })nrda.^ lit' i(i\ilt'(l Kii's;'moir and Ha/aroll' lo 
 his hall, and a ('oii|)k' of iiiiniitrs later \\v iii\ itfd 
 thi'iii a second lime, nndei" the iiii|)i'essi()n that 
 thcv were hrotliers, and calling' them " Knisa- 
 roff." 
 
 They were on tlicii- way home IVom the- (Gov- 
 ernor's when, sii(ldinl\, from one of tlie passin«4' 
 th"()/likies there sj^raii^' out a man of sliort stature, 
 ill a Slavyaiio))hil liussar jaeket, and with the 
 shout, ■' Kv<>'eny \^asihtch! " flung' himself on l?a- 
 zaroff'. 
 
 "xVlil so it \s you. llei'i- SftnikofF," — said lia- 
 Ziiroff, and he continued to stride along the side- 
 walk: — " hou do yon hai)j)en to he here^ " 
 
 "Just imaginel (|uite hy accident," — replied 
 tlie other, and, turniiii'' towaixl the drozhkv, he 
 waved liis hand five times, and shouted: " Follow 
 us, follow us I My father has husiness here," — lie 
 went on, as he sprang across the gutter: — " well, 
 and so he invited me. ... I learned to-day of 
 your anixal, and have already heen to see yon."' 
 (In fact, the rrieiids, on tliiii- rctnin to their 
 room, found there a card with the corners turned 
 down, and the name of SitJiikoli' in r'reiich on 
 one side and in Slaxonic sci'i])t on the othei'. ) " I 
 ho))c yon air not coming IVom tlic ( i()\('rnoi':' " 
 
 "Do not hope, we arc straight from liim. ' 
 
 ^ ,\ bad, iiiiiddy brvcr.ip-. 'liiANSiATdR. 
 
 lO'J
 
 FATHERS AND CIIJI.DRKX 
 
 " Ah! in tliat case 1 shall eaiJ upon him also. . . 
 Evgeny Vasihtch, introduce nie to your ... to 
 him. . ." 
 
 '' Sitnikoft'—Kirsanoff,"— growled liazaroff, 
 
 witliout lialting. 
 
 " I feel greatly flattered," — began Sitnikoff, 
 walking sideways, grinning, and hastily i)ull- 
 ing off' his far too elegant gloves. — " I have 
 heard a great deal .... 1 am an old acquain- 
 tance of Evgeny \'asilitch, and, I may say, his 
 disciple. I am indebted to him for my regenera- 
 tion 
 
 Arkady looked at BazarofF's disci])le. An agi- 
 tated and stupid ex})ression lay upon the small 
 hut am-eeable features of his smoothlv-licked 
 face; his small eyes, which had the appearance of 
 beinii" crushed in, stared intently and uneasilv, 
 and he lauohed uneasilv, with a sort of curt, 
 wooden laugh. 
 
 "Would you Ix^'lieve it," — he went on: ''that 
 when Evgeny Vasilitch said, for the lirst time, 
 in my ])resence, that one ought not to respect the 
 authorities. T expei'ienced such rapture .... 1 
 fairly seemed to have recovered my sight ! Here, 
 said I to myself, I have found a man, at last ! Ry 
 the way, Evgeny Vasilitch, you nuist, without 
 fail, call on one of the ladies here, who is thor- 
 oughly in .1 position to understand you, and for 
 whom voui- \ isit will constitute a veritable festi- 
 val" you have heard of her, I think:' " 
 
 no
 
 rA'niKJiS AM) C 111L1)1{K\ 
 
 " Who is slie? " — articulated Ba/arofr iinwill- 
 mgW. 
 
 MadaiiK' Kuksliin, Kudoxie. — Kvdoksiya 
 KuUsiuii. SIk- is a rc'inai'kal)lc nature, cmaiici- 
 ju'c in tile liiii- sense ol' tlie word, a k-adin^- 
 woman. Do you know what:' Let's go to her 
 now, all togetlu'i'. She h\es a eouple oi" paces 
 from here. We will hreaki'ast theie. Vou have 
 not hreakf'asted yet, of course? " 
 
 " Not yet." 
 
 '* Well, that \s tine. She lias separated from 
 her hushand, you understand; she is not depen- 
 dent on anyhody." 
 
 " Is siie pretty;* " interruptetl IJazaroff. 
 
 " X . . . no, I cannot say that she is." 
 
 " Then, why the devil do you invite us to go 
 to her?" 
 
 " Well, you jester, you jester! . . . She will 
 set us u}) a bottle of champagne." 
 
 " You don't saj' so! The practical man is vis- 
 ible at once. By the way, is your father still en- 
 gaged in revenue-farming? " 
 
 " Ves," — said Sitnikoff hastily, and emitted a 
 shrill laugh. " Well, how is it to be ^ Is it a go? " 
 
 " I really do not know." 
 
 " Thou hast desired to observe people, .so go," 
 — remarked Arkady in an undertone. 
 
 "But what of you, Mr. Kirsjinoff;' " inter- 
 posed SitnikofV. " Tray come also; we cannot 
 gt^t along w itbout \-ou. " 
 
 111
 
 FATIIEKS AM) CTTTLDUEX 
 
 " But liow can we all descend u^^on her at 
 once f 
 
 " Xever mind. Kid^slifna ' is a splendid fel- 
 low." 
 
 "Will there he a hottle of champagne?" in- 
 (jiiired Bazjiroff. 
 
 "Three hottles! " exclaimed SitnikofF.-'* I 
 o'uarantee that." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 " 15y my own head." 
 
 " By your father's purse would he hetter. 
 However, we will ffo. 
 
 
 1 The feminine form of the surname, without prefix, is sometime- 
 used, as well as the masculine. — TRANsi.AToit. 
 
 11!^
 
 XI 11 
 
 TiiK tiny liousc ol" ii()l)ility. al'ti-r the Moscow 
 i'asiiioii, ill wliicli dwelt AxchHya ' X ikitisliiui, oi' 
 Kxdoksiya Kiikslii'ii. was sitiialcd on one ot" tlu- 
 recently-hurned streets ol' the town of * * *; (it 
 is a well-known i'aet tliat onr provincial capitals 
 burn down e\-ery ti\'e yeai's) . At the door, over a 
 visiting-cai'd nailed u[) askew, the hell-handle was 
 visible, and in the anteroom the visitors were met 
 by a woman, \\ ho was eithei" a sei'vant or a com- 
 panion, in a cap, — plain tokens of the house-mis- 
 tress's progressive tendencies. Sitnikoft' iiKjuired 
 whetlier Axdotya Xikitishna was at liome. 
 
 " Is that you. \"ictor :" " — rang out a shrill voice 
 i'rom the adjoining room. " Come in." 
 
 The woman in the caj) immediately vanished. 
 
 " r am not alone," — said Si'tnikofl', hi-iskly 
 Hinging aside his Ilungai-ian cloak, undei" which 
 a|)])eared something in the natnre of a \\aistcoat, 
 or a sack -coal, and casting a daring glance at Ai- 
 kady and Ha/aroff. 
 
 " \<> matter," replied the xoiee. " lliiircz! '* 
 
 The young men entered. The loom in which 
 the>' found tliemsehes resembled a working- 
 
 ' Avd«5tya is tli<- viiljf.ir, jiDpiilir loriu of Kvdoksiya. - Thansi.atdh. 
 
 jia
 
 FATHERS AM) ClULDKEX 
 
 study rather than a drawing-room. Documents, 
 letters, thick numbers of Russian journals, chielly 
 uncut, were scattered about on the dusty tables; 
 everywhere the discarded butts of cigarettes 
 gleamed whitely. On the leather couch half- 
 reclined a lady, young, fair-haired, rather dishev- 
 elled, in a silk gown which was not quite clean, 
 with big bracelets on her short arms, and a lace 
 kerchief on her head. She rose from the divan, 
 and carelessly dra^^'ing up on her shoulders a vel- 
 vet cloak lined with ermine which had grown yel- 
 low, she languidly said, " Good morning, Victor," 
 and shook Sitnikoff by the hand. 
 
 " BazarofF, Kirsanoff," — said he abruptly, in 
 imitation of BazarofF. 
 
 " You are welcome," — replied jNIadame Kuk- 
 shin ; and riveting upon BazarofF her round eyes, 
 between which, like an orphan, her tiny, snub nose 
 gleamed redly, she added: — " I know you," — and 
 shook hands with him also. 
 
 BazarofF knit his brows. There was nothing 
 monstrous about tiie tiny and liomely figure of tlic 
 emancipated woman: but the expi'cssion of her 
 face liad an un))k'asant effect on the spectator. 
 One involuntarily wanted to ask her: " \Miat 's 
 the matter? Art tliou hungrv? oi" bored f or 
 afraid? AVliv ai't tliou so gloomv?" Her 
 soul, like that of SftnikofF, was always aching. 
 She talked and mo\'ed in a very free-and-easy 
 Avay, but, at the same time, awkwardly: evidently
 
 1 ATIIKUS AND ClIiLUUI.X 
 
 she regarded lierself as a <4()()(l-iiatiired and sim- 
 ple being, and yet, no matter wiiat slie tlid, it con- 
 stantly seemed to you that that was not ])recisely 
 what she meant; everything turned ont with her, 
 as the ehildren say. done " on |)uii)ose " — that is 
 to sav, not simi)l\-. not naturali\. 
 
 \ es. yes, I know you. Ha/a rot!*," — she re- 
 peated. (She had a lial>it. })eeuhar to many pro- 
 vineial and Moscow ladies, of calling men by their 
 surnames on first acquaintance.) "Will you 
 have a cigar? " 
 
 " A cigar is all well enough," — chimed in Sit- 
 nikotr, who had managed to throw himself into an 
 arm-chair, in a lolling posture, and stick iiis foot 
 up in the air: — " hut i)ray give us some breakfast. 
 We are frightlully hungry; and order them to set 
 up a botile of cham])agne." 
 
 " Sybarite,"— said Evdoksiya, and laughed. 
 ( Wiien she laughed her up])er gum was laid bare 
 above her teeth.) —" Tie 's a Sybarite, isn't lie. 
 BaziirofF? " 
 
 " 1 love comfort, life," — remarked Sitnikoif 
 pompously. — " That does not ])revent my being 
 a liberal." 
 
 Ves. it does- it does ])revent!" — exclaimed 
 Kvdoksiya: but, ne\ ei'theless, she ordered her 
 maid-sti-\ aiil to attend to tlic ])reakfast and the 
 ciiampagne. — '" What do you think about it?" — 
 she added, addressing Hazaroff. — " J am con- 
 vijiced that you share my opinion." 
 
 11.5
 
 1 AlITKUS AM) ciiiM)in:\ 
 
 " \\'('ll. no,"— returned Haziirofl': — "a piece 
 of meat is ])ettei- tlian a piece ol' bread, even from 
 the chemical j)()int oi' view." 
 
 " And do vou occu])v yourself with chemistrv:' 
 It is my ])assion. I have even invented a mastic 
 myself." 
 
 '"A mastic r You?" 
 
 " Yes, I. And do 3'ou know witli what object? 
 In order to make dolls, and heads which shall not 
 ])reak. Foi- T am ])ractical too. But all is not 
 vet ready. 1 must still read Liebi"-. 15 v the way, 
 have you read KislyakoiF's article about woman's 
 woi'k, in the Moscorc Neics? Read it, please. 
 You are interested in the woman question, of 
 course? And in schools also? AVhat does your 
 friend do? What is his name? " 
 
 jNJadame Kukshfn drop])ed all her questions, 
 one after another, with enervated carelessness, 
 without waitino- for answers; s])oilcd children talk 
 to their nurses in the same way. 
 
 " My name is Arkady Xikolaevitch Kirsa- 
 noff." — said Arkady: — "and I do nothing'." 
 
 Kvdoksiya laughed aloud. — " Is n't that nice? 
 What, don't you smoke? Yictor, you know that 
 I am an^ry with you." 
 
 " What'for?"" 
 
 " I hear that you have l>egun to ])raise Georges 
 Sand again. She 's out of date, and that 's all 
 there is about it! How Is it i)ossible to compare 
 
 116
 
 1 A'l'IIKHS AM) ( II1IJ)HK\ 
 
 her with ImiktsomI SIk' has no idias wiiatt-vcr 
 as to educatioii, or pliysiolonry, or aiiylhin«4'. I am 
 foiiviiicc'd that she luvir e\(.ii Inai'd of ciiihry- 
 olo^y; and in our tinie- how can you «4rt alon<»- 
 without that? " ( Kvdoksiya even Hun^- licr hands 
 apart.) " iVkh, \\hat a wonderful article Klisye- 
 vitch has ^\■l•ittl■n on thai suhject! Tie is a tal- 
 ented ,i»entlenian/' (K\(16ksiya eonstanth' used 
 the woid "gentleman" instead of "num.") — 
 " Bazaroff , sit down heside me on the divan. Per- 
 haps you do not know that I am frightfully afraid 
 of you." 
 
 " Why so, permit me to incjuire." 
 
 " You are a (lan<>'erous <4entleman ; you are such 
 a critic. .\kh, m\- (iod! I am ridiculous, 1 am 
 talking- like some landed pi()|)i-ietress on the 
 steppe. However, I really am a landed [)r()prie- 
 tress. 1 manage my o\vn estate, and just imag- 
 ine! my sn])erintendent. Krofei, is a wonderful 
 type, just like Coo])ei-'s Tathfinder: there is some- 
 thing direct ahout him. I ha\ e settled down here 
 foi- good. The town is intolerahle, is n't it:* l?nt 
 wluit is one to do? " 
 
 " The town is just like the a\eraue town." — re- 
 marked liazaroff coolly. 
 
 " >M1 the interests are so ])etty, — tlial is what is 
 .so dreadful ! I used to li\e in Moscow (luiinu" the 
 winter . . . hut now my s|)ouse. M'sieu Kukshin, 
 lives tliere. And tlu-n. too. Mosc(jw is now . . . 1 
 
 117
 
 FATIIKKS AM) CIIJLDKKX 
 
 don't know what, — but not what it sliould be. 1 
 think of going abroad; 1 was on the very point 
 of going last year." 
 
 "To Paris, of course? " — asked BazarofF. 
 
 " To Paris, and to Heidelberg." 
 
 "Why toll ei(lel})ergr' 
 
 " Good gracious! — why, Bunsen is tliere." 
 
 BazarofF found no answer to this. 
 
 " Pierre Sa2:)6zhnikofF ... do you know him? " 
 
 " No, I do not." 
 
 "Good gracious! — Pierre SapozhnikofF . . 
 he 's forever at Lydie KhostatofF's house." 
 
 " I do not know her, eitlier." 
 
 " Well, he ofFered to escort me. Thank God, 
 1 am free, I have no children. . . What was that 
 I said: thank God!— However, it makes no dif- 
 ference." 
 
 Evdoksiya rolled a cigarette with her fingers 
 which were stained brown with tobacco, passed 
 her tongue across it, sucked it, and lighted it. A 
 maid-servant entered with a tray. 
 
 "Ah, here is breakfast! Will you have some 
 appetiser? Victor, uncork the bottle. That 's iu 
 your line." 
 
 " It is, it is," — muj-mured SitnikofF, and again 
 he laughed shrilly. 
 
 "Are there ]n-etty women here?" — in(|uired 
 BazarofF, as he (h-ained liis tliird glass. 
 
 " Yes," — replied Evdoksiya:-" but they are 
 all sucli empty-headed things. Vnv Instance, man 
 
 118
 
 1 A Til l':US AM) (II I LDUKN 
 
 u/fiic. Madaiiu ( )(lirit/.(>fr, isn't bad-looking. 
 It 's a pity that ini- itpuiatioii is rather .... Hut 
 thiit would he nothing", ordy sIk.- lias no freedom 
 of views, MO i)readth, no .... yon Ufiow wliat. 
 The whole system ol" edueation must he ehan^ed. 
 I ha\e alread\' ;>i\«'n thouiiht to that suhjcet: our 
 women are vei-y hadly hi'on^iit up." 
 
 ^'ou ean do nothing' with them." -inter[)o,se(l 
 Sitnikoif". - ■ One must .seoin them, and I do 
 .seorn them, wholly and eompletely! " (The j)os- 
 sibility of seornin^' atid expressing his seorn was 
 a mo.st a«ireeahle sensation for Sftiiikoff : he at- 
 taeked uoiik ii In i)ai"tieulai'. \vIthout a suspielon 
 that, a tew months later, he was doomed to eriii<re 
 hei'ore his own \\ife, merely heeause she had l)een 
 horn a Princess Dnrdoleosoff. ) — " Xot one of 
 them has e\er heen in a condition to comprehend 
 our conversation; not one of them Is worth it — 
 that we, serious men, should talk about her! " 
 
 " A\u\ they have no need whatever to compie- 
 hend our conversation," — said Ha/arof!'. 
 
 "Of whom arc you speaking^" — j)ut in 
 Kvdnksiya. 
 
 '^ ( )f |)i'etty women." 
 
 "What' .So you share the oj)inion of 
 Prud'hon ' " 
 
 lia/aroff dre\\ himseir u|) hauj^htily. " I shai'c 
 no one s opinions : I lia\ c my o\\ ii." 
 
 "Down with authoi'ityl' shouted Sitnik(dl", 
 dclinhtcd al llu' opportiniity to ixpress himscH"
 
 FATIIKKS AND CHILDREN 
 
 luirslily ill the presence of a man licfore wlioiii he 
 cringed. 
 
 '• Rut ]Macauhiy liimsell' . . ." began Madame 
 Kukshi'n. . . 
 
 "Down witli ^Maeauhiy! " — thundered Sitni- 
 kofF. — " Do you stand u]) for those mean peasant 
 women? " 
 
 " Xot for the ])easant women, but for the rights 
 of women, whom 1 have sworn to defend to the 
 last drop of my blood." 
 
 " Down with them!" — But here Sitnikoff came 
 to a halt. — " But I do not deny them," — said he. 
 
 " Yes, I see that you are a Slavyano])hil! " 
 
 " No, I am not a Slavyanophil, although, of 
 course . . . ." 
 
 "Yes, yes, yes! You are a Slavyanophil! 
 You are the continuer of " The Houscliold Regu- 
 lations.' ' You ought to have a whip in your 
 hand." 
 
 " A whi]) is a good thing," — remarked Baza- 
 roff : " but here we have got to the last dro])s. . ." 
 
 " Of what? "—interrupted Evdoksiya. 
 
 " Of tlie c]iam])agne, most respected Avdotya 
 Xikitishna, — of the eliam])agne — not of your 
 blood." 
 
 " I cannot listen with indifference when you 
 attack women," — went on Evdoksiya. — " It is 
 
 1 "The Doinostroy" ("The House Ue^riilator ": or, "The Honse- 
 liold Re)jfijl;iti()ns "h nimlcd to he h\ Priest Sylvester, tlie fiiinoiis 
 Confessor of Ivan the Terrilile in his youth. Its |treee|)ts eonei-rnin^r 
 women and their treatment are of patriarehal rigour- —Thaxsi.atok. 
 
 1'20
 
 lA rii IMS AM) c II iLi)in-:\ 
 
 (liradful. (licM(ll'ul. Instead of attacking- them, 
 yon had hcttei- read Mic-Jielet's ' 1 )e V Anionr.' 
 It 's wo!i(lerl'nlI (ientleniiii. let us talk of love," 
 
 added lM(l('»Usi\ a. Ian<4nidly di'o|)|)ing' her hand 
 on the ei-nm))led |)ill<)\\ of (hi- divan. 
 
 A sndden silenee ensued. -" No, why talk 
 al)out lovef" — remarked Ha/;irof!': "hut you 
 mentioned Madame Odfut/ofK a while ai»'o- 1 he- 
 lievi- that is what xou ealUd hei-:' \\']u) is that 
 lady^' 
 
 " iV eharmin^', ehannin^- creature!" scjueaked 
 Sitnikoft*. " 1 will introduce you. She is clever, 
 wealthx", a w idow. Unfortunately, she is not yet 
 sufficiently developed. She ought to become more 
 intimately ae(|uainted with our Kvdoksiya. I 
 drink to your health. IJiido.vic! T.et us clink 
 ^•lasses! ■ Kt toe. et tin-tin-tin. Kt toe. et toe, et 
 tin-tin-tin I " "\ . . . 
 
 " A"iet(')r. you ai'c a scapegrace." 
 
 lireakf'ast lasted a long time. The first hottle 
 of champagne- was followed hy a second, a thii-d, 
 and even a foiu'th. . . . Kvdoksiya chattered in- 
 cessantly; Sitnikofi' seconded her. They talked 
 a great deal on th(- subjects: what is man-iage — 
 a j)rejudiee or a crime f and liow are j)eople Ixirn 
 -all alik(- oi not f and in what, precisely, does 
 individuality consist? At last, tlu- discussion 
 reached a point where Kvdoksiya. all flushed crim- 
 son with the wine she had dru?ik, and lapj)ing 
 the k(-ys (>(' -i discordant ]>ianfi with hci- flat n.-uls. 
 
 1-Jl
 
 FATIIKHS AM) C HILDHKX 
 
 began to sing, at first gipsy songs, then the ro» 
 mance of Seymour-Schiff, " Sleepy Granada 
 shnnbers ": and Sitnikoff bound up his liead witli 
 a scarf and rei)resented the dying lover, at tiic 
 words: 
 
 "And melt my mouth witli tliinr 
 In :i buniini;' kiss. "" 
 
 At last Arkcidy could endure it no longer. 
 " Gentlemen, this has come to resemble Bedlam," 
 he remarked aloud. Eaziiroff, who had only in- 
 terjected a sneering word now and then into the 
 conversation, — he was mainly occupied with the 
 champagne, — yawned loudly, rose, and without 
 taking leave of the hostess, went away, in com- 
 pany with Arkady. Sitnikoff rushed after them. 
 
 " Well, wliat do you think, — well, what do you 
 think?" — he kept asking, obsequiously running 
 now to the right, now to the left: — " did n't I tell 
 you she 's a remarkable })erson ! We ought to 
 have more women of that soi-t! In her way, she 
 is a higlily-moral ])lienomenon." 
 
 " i\nd is that establishment of ///// father a 
 moral plienomenon also? " — said Bazaroff, jerk- 
 ing his finger in tlie direction of a dram-shop 
 which they were passing at the moment. 
 
 Again Sitnikoff emitted a squealing laugh. 
 He was very much ashamed of his origin, and did 
 not know whether to feel flattered or insulted by 
 Bazaroff's unexpectedly addressing him as thou, 
 
 ] '2-2
 
 XI\' 
 
 A KKW (lays later [\\v hall caiiK- off at tiu' (iov- 
 criioi-'s. Mat\ yci Hitch was tlu- fcal " lici'o oi' Hit' 
 f'esli\al "; the Marshal ol' Xohility lor tht' (iov- 
 ernnieiit annoiinc'cd to all and suiulrv that he liad 
 come especially out of respect for liini, and the 
 Governor, even at the hall, even although lie still 
 remained impassive, continued to " issue orders." 
 Matvyei Hitch's softness of manner was equalled 
 only hy his stateliness. lie flattered e\ ery 
 one — some with a touch of i'astidiousness, others 
 with a touch of res])ect; he lavished his attentions 
 upon the ladies, " ni rrai chevalier fran^'ais," and 
 laughed incessantly, with a ringing, isolated 
 laugh, as was hefitting a dignitary. He slapped 
 Arkady on the hack, and loudly called him his 
 "dear little nephew": confeii'cd upon Ha/aroft', 
 who was dressed in a rather old dress suit, a pi'c- 
 occupied Iiut condescending, sidelong glance 
 acr»)ss his cheek, and an uninteHigihle hut coui'- 
 teous hellow . in w hich the ojdv' sounds distiuii'uish- 
 ahle were " I and " ssina ': ga\e one finger to 
 Si'tnikof!'. and smiled at him. hut \\ith his liead 
 already tm-ned away: e\cn to M.-idame Kukshin, 
 wlio made hei" appearance at the hall w ithout au\' 
 
 I L'a
 
 FATHERS AND CIULDKEX 
 
 crinoline wliatever, and in dirty gloves, but with 
 a bird of paradise in her hair,— even to ]Madame 
 Kukshin lie said " Tjuchautc." There was a mul- 
 titude of people, and of eavaliers there was no 
 lack; the civilians chiefly congregated along the 
 wall, but the niilitary men danced assiduously, 
 especially one of them who had spent six weeks 
 in Paris, where he had learned divers audacious 
 exclamations, such as: "Zut," " ^IJi jichtrrrc," 
 " Pst, pst, mon h'lhi'' and so forth. He pro- 
 nounced them to perfection, with genuine Pa- 
 risian chic, and, at the same time, he said " si 
 j'auj'ais " instead of " -s7 j'avais," " ahsolument " 
 in the sense of "without fail"; in a word, ex- 
 pressed himself in that Great Russian-French 
 dialect at which the French laugh so heai'tily 
 when they are under no necessity to assure us that 
 we speak their language like angels — '' commc dcs 
 angcs." 
 
 ^Vrkiidy danced l)adly. as we already know, and 
 BazjirofF did not dance at all: both of them en- 
 sconced themselves in a corner, where Sitnikoff 
 joined them. AVith a sneering smile depicted on 
 his face, and emitting venomous comments, he 
 stared insolently around, iind seemed to be gen- 
 uinely enjoying himself. All at once, his face 
 anderMent a change, and turning to Arkady, he 
 said, as though discomfited: "Madame Odint- 
 zoff has arrived." 
 
 ^Vrkady looked about him, and descried a ^vo- 
 
 1-24.
 
 fa'iiii<:hs AM) c iiiLDin^y 
 
 iiuni ot* lofty statui-f, in a hlack ^onvii, who was 
 staiMlin^r at \\\v door oC tlic hall. She imj)rcssc(l 
 hii)i hy the (li^Dity of \\vr carria^-c. Tier ])are 
 arms Imii^- hcaiiti fully aloii"' Iki- stately fi|^iii-t'; 
 li^ht sj)i-ays of fuchsia fi-lK alon«4- with licr oleani- 
 iiio' hair. ii|)on hci- sloj)iii<)- shonhk-i-s: ]\vv l)rioht 
 cyrs ^a/c'd calmly and intcllio'cntly — that was ex- 
 actly it. calmly, not thon«iht fully from beneath 
 her somewhat o\ erhan<>ino- white l)row, and her 
 lips were wreathed in a barely ])erce|)tible smile, 
 A sort of soft, caressing force emanated fi-om her 
 face. 
 
 "Do you know her? "~ -Arkadv asked Sitni- 
 
 kofr. 
 
 *' Intimately. AVould you like to have me in- 
 tioduce you? " 
 
 " Pray do .... after this (juadrille." 
 
 Ha/aroff also turned his attention to ^ladame 
 Odint/oft'. 
 
 " A\'hat sort of a figure is that?"— he said.— 
 ' She does not resemble the othei- women." 
 
 I laving awaited the end of the (juadrille. Sitni- 
 kotr led .tVi-kady up to Madame Odi'ntzoft'; but he 
 did not seem to be intimately ac(|uainted with her, 
 and got tangled up in his speech, and she stared 
 at him in some sur])rise. lint her face assumed a 
 cordial expression when slu' heard Arkady's sur- 
 name. She asked him whether he was not the son 
 of Xikolai Petrovitch:' 
 
 1 cs. 
 
 1 2.5
 
 KATIIKHS AM) ClIILDin'A 
 
 " I have seen your father a couple of times; and 
 I have heard a great deal about him," — she con- 
 tinued;—" I am very glad to make your acquain- 
 tance." 
 
 At that moment, some adjutant or other flew 
 11 1) to her. and iinited her for a quadrille. She 
 accepted. 
 
 "Do you dance? "-aslvcd xVrkady respect- 
 fully. 
 
 " Yes. But what makes you think that I do 
 not? Is it that I seem to you too old? " 
 
 "Good gracious, liow can you! ... In tliat 
 case, permit me to invite you for the nuwurka." 
 
 ]Madame Odintzoff smiled graciously. " Very 
 well," — she said, and looked at Arkady, not ex- 
 actly with condescension, but as married sisters 
 look at very youthful brotliers. ^ladame Odin- 
 tzoff was a little older than Arkadv, — she was 
 nine-and-twenty, — but in her presence he felt 
 himself a school -boy, a student, as though the dif- 
 ference of years between them were much greater, 
 ^latvyei I'litcli a})])roached her with a majestic 
 mien and obsequious speeches. Arkady stepped 
 to one side, but continued to observe her: he never 
 took his eyes from her during the entire course of 
 the quadrille. She chatted with her partner as un- 
 constrainedly as with the dignitary; she moved 
 her head and eyes softly, and laughed softly a 
 couple of times. Her nose, as is the case with 
 most Kussinns, was rather tliick, and lier coni- 
 
 1 -Jf)
 
 rATJII'Jrs AM) C IIILDKKX 
 
 pk'xioM N\a.s not prrftrtly cKar: iiotu illistaiidiri^- 
 this, Aikiidy luadc iij) iiis iiiiiid that he liad luvi-i- 
 vet met so channiii^ a woman. The sound of lier 
 \'oiee (hd not (|uit his eai's: it seemed as thont^li 
 tlie xcTN' folds oC Ik T o-ow n fell (h llVrently tVoni 
 thosi' nf otiur women, in hi'oader, more stalely 
 wise, and lier moM-ments were |)ai"tieidaily IIons- 
 in<4- and natui'al. at one and the same time. 
 
 Ai'kady I'elt a eertain timidity at heart when, 
 at the first sounds of* the ma/,ni-ka,' he seated liim- 
 .self hy the side of his lady. and. [)repariii«i' to 
 enter into eonvei'.sation, merely pa.s.sed liis hand 
 over liis hair, and could find not a sin«»'le word to 
 say. Hut he did ?iol remain cjuakin*^' and agitated 
 Ion*;'; Madame Odint/.off's composure eommuni- 
 eate{l itself to him: a (|uai"ter of an honr liad not 
 ehipsed hefore lie was tellinj^' her ahout his lather, 
 his uncle, life in Petershurg -uid in die country. 
 Madame ( )dint/,off' listened to him with polite in- 
 terest, lightly opening and shutting her fan; his 
 chit-chat cea.sed wlien cavaliers led hei- out: Si'tni- 
 koff', among others, inxited her twice. She re- 
 tui'ued. sal down again, took up hei- fan. and \uv 
 ])osom did not excii lira\c more ra|)idly. while Av- 
 kiuly hegan again to chattel', all |)ermeated with 
 ha|)piness to find himself neai- lier, to talk with 
 her, ga/ing into hei' lyes, at her luanlifid hrow. 
 .•il the whole of li« r Inxcly. dignified, and elc\cr 
 
 ' Tlif iii:i/iirk;i >frr;»lly rr.scinlilcs flir cotillnii: Inil (iifTcrs in fhr 
 ■'ttiiin.'itrd, i;rni"<-)iil sirp |ir<'nli.ir f<> il. .-iiid its spirited iiUmuInn, whrn 
 prujurly d.iiuTii. 'I hax.si aidh.
 
 FATIIKKS AM) CHILDREN 
 
 countenance. Slie lierself talked little, but know- 
 ledge of life A\as revealed in her words; from some 
 of her remarks. Arkadv inferred that this vouni'' 
 woman had already succeeded in feeliu"' and 
 thinking a great deal. . . . 
 
 " Who was that you were standing with," — 
 she asked him, — " when ]Mr. Sftnikoff led you up 
 to me? " 
 
 " Did vou notice him:' '' — asked ^Vrkadv in liis 
 turn. — " He has a s])len(lid face, has n't he? He 
 is a certain BazarofJ". my friend." 
 
 xVrkady began to talk about " his friend." 
 
 He talked about him in such detail, and with 
 such enthusiasm, that ^ladame Odfntzoff turned 
 toward him, and looked attentively at him. In 
 the meantime, the mazurka was di"awing to its 
 close. Arkadv was sorrv to ])art from his hidv: 
 he had passed about an hoiu- so pleasantly witli 
 her! To tell the truth, during the whole course 
 of that time he had constantly felt as thouoh she 
 were condescending to him, as though he ought to 
 be grateful to her . . . but young hearts are not 
 oppressed by that feeling. 
 
 The music st<)|)ped. " Mcrci, " — said IMadame 
 Odi'ntzoff, risi?ig. — " Vou liave promised to call 
 on me: bring your friend with you. I have a 
 great curiosity to see a man who lias the boldness 
 not to believe in anything." 
 
 The Governor a|)])roachcd ^ladamc Odi'ntzofr. 
 armounced tjial suj)per was I'eady, and, with a 
 
 128
 
 FATII VMS AM) ( 1111,1 )1{K\ 
 
 careworn coinitriiancr. ofl'ircd lu r liis arm. As 
 sIk' walked a\\a\. slie tinned lonnd lo bestow a 
 lasl smile and nod on Aik.idy. lie liowcd low, 
 «^'a/e(l altti" her ( liow siendc i- lu i' liL^nre seemed to 
 Iiini. hatlied in the oreyish hisire ol" the l)laek 
 silk!), and thinlNin<4\ '' At tliis moment slie has al- 
 I'eadx' i'()r<>"otten my existence. " he I'ell mi his 
 soul a sort of* e\(|uisite sul)mission. . . . 
 
 Well, what now !* " — lia/aroft' asked Arkady, 
 as soon as the latter I'etni'ned to him in his eoi-ner. 
 
 I last thon had |)lcasMi-<' :■ A n'cntleman has 
 just hecn telling- me that that lady oi. oV, oV; hut, 
 apparently, the «4entleman is a tool. AN'ell, and, 
 in thy opinion, what is she. I'callv ' oi. oi. o'l V" 
 
 I do not in the least understand that defini- 
 tion,"— replied Ark/idy. 
 
 'I'he ideal What innocence!" 
 
 In that case. I do not understand your frentlc- 
 man. Madame Odnit/otr is \cry loxcly. that is 
 in(lis])utal)le. l>nt she heais lu isell' so coldly and 
 
 strictly, that 
 
 "Still waters . . . thou kno\\est! " — ))ut in 
 liazjiroff'. " Thou sayest she is cold. That "s 
 precisely whei-e the savoui* comes in. 'I'liou ait 
 fond of ice-cream, art thou not ^ " 
 
 ■' I'ei'haps." stanunered Aik;idy. — *' I cannot 
 iudiic as to that. She wishes to make tliv ae- 
 (juaintance, and has asked me to hiiuLi' thee to 
 lur." 
 
 1 can ImaLi'ine how Ihon hast deserihed me; 
 
 l'J<.»
 
 FATIIKKS AM) C'lIILDliFA 
 
 However, thou liast done well. Take me. What- 
 ever she may be, a simple provineial lioness, or 
 an ' cmaucipcc ' after the style of ^ladame Kuk- 
 shi'n, I have not seen sueii shouhlers as liers in a 
 lont^' time." 
 
 Ai'kjidy wi'itlied at Ha/aroff's eyiiieism: and. as 
 ire(]nently haj)pens. he reproved liis friend, hut 
 not for tlie precise thini>- wliieli he did not like in 
 him. . . . 
 
 " Why ai't not thou willing to admit freedom 
 of thouglit in women? " — he said in a low voice. 
 
 " IV^cause. l)iT)Hier, according to my observa- 
 tions, only the monsters among women think 
 freely." 
 
 At tliis the conversation terminated. l^oWx 
 young men went away immediately after supper. 
 jNladame Kukshin laughed beliind tlieir backs, in 
 a nervously-venomous way, but not without trep- 
 idation : her vanity had been profoundly wounded 
 by the fact that neither of them had paid lier any 
 attention. She remained later than any one else 
 at the ])ali. and at three o'clock in tlie morning 
 danced the ])olka-ma'/nrka with Si'tnikofF, in the 
 Parisian style. And with this edifying spectacle 
 the gubernatorial festi\'al wound up. 
 
 130
 
 XV 
 
 IjI:'!' u>s sec to \\ liat class of mammals tlicse 
 persons Ih'Io?!^-." said Ha'/aroll' lo Aikady on 
 the roIlowin«4- day, as, in compaiiy with him, he as- 
 i-eiided the stairs oC thi' hotel in whieli Ma(himc 
 ( )dii)t/.()fr was stoj)j)iii<i-. — '' My nose scents out 
 that everything- is nol (|witc as it shonld he." 
 
 I am amazed at thee! " — exclaimed .\rkady. 
 
 W'hatf 'IMioii. tlioii. l^azarof!'. art wedded to 
 that nari'ow moi'ality which " 
 
 What a (jucer I'cllow Ihouai't!" interrupted 
 Hazjiroft' carelessly. " Is it |)ossihlc that thou 
 dost not know that in oin- jargon, and with the 
 like of" us, ' not <juite as it should he ' siuiiififs ' a.s 
 it should he "' It means tlurc is S()mcthin<!- to he 
 ^•ained out of" it. Didst not thou thyscll' sa\' to- 
 day that siic had married stranjicU ^ -althouu'lK 
 in my opinion, lo maiiy a wralthx old man is not 
 at all a sti'an^^e afl'aii". hut, on the contiarx, sen- 
 sible. I do not hcliexc the tow n gossip: hnt 1 like 
 to think, as our cultured (Governor says, that it 
 is just." 
 
 Arkady niad<' no rcplx and knocked at the door 
 of the room. A yonn;^' tootman in li\'erv con- 
 tluctcd hotli I'ncnds inl<»a larnc rooni, hadlx' I'nr- 
 
 l.'U
 
 FATIIEKS AND CIllI.DUEN 
 
 iiished, like all rooms in Russian hotels, but tilled 
 witli flowers. ^ladanie Odintzoff soon made her 
 appearanee in a simple morning gown. She 
 seemed still younger, in the light of tlie spring- 
 sunshine. ^Arkady presented Bazaroff' to lier, and 
 observed, with secret surprise, that the latter ap- 
 peared to be disconcerted, while JNladame Odin- 
 tzoiF remained perfectly tranquil, as on the pre- 
 ceding evening. Bazaroff himself felt that lie 
 was confused, and he grew vexed. " There thou 
 goest!— thou art afraid of a woman!" he 
 thought ; and lolling in an arm-chair, in a manner 
 quite equal to Sitnikoff's, he began to talk with 
 exaggerated freedom, while ]Madame Odintzoff 
 never took her bright eves off him. 
 
 Anna Sergyeevna Odfntzoff was the daugh- 
 ter of Sergyei Xikolaeviteh J^okteff. a famous 
 beauty, speculator, and gamblei-, who, after hav- 
 ing held out and bi-awled for fifteen years in Pe- 
 tersburg and Moscow, had ended by utterly ruin- 
 ing himself at cards, and being compelled to settk' 
 down ill the country, where, however, he speedily 
 died, leaving a diminutive j)r()perty to his two 
 daughters, iViina, aged twenty, and Katerina, 
 aged twelve years. Their mother, from the |)()v- 
 
 erty-strickeii race of llie l^rinces X had 
 
 died in Petersbin-g while her husband was still in 
 full feather. The position of Anna, after her 
 father's deatli, was very ])ainful. The brilliant 
 education which she had received in Petersbuig 
 
 Vi2
 
 FA rill'Jrs AM) ( IIIIJ)KK\ 
 
 liad not j)rt'j)ar<.'(l lui- for tlu- endurance of cures 
 connected w ith liousekee[)in<»' and the- liouse, — for 
 dnil country Id'c. She knew positively, no one in 
 the whole nei<^hhourlioo(l, and had no one \\\[\] 
 whom fo lake eonnscl. \\r\ falher had endea\- 
 oured h) a\()id I'elaliotis wilh the tiei^^hhoni's : he 
 scorned thiin and Ihey scorned him. each after 
 his fashion. But she did not lose hei- liead, and 
 iniinediately w i-otc to hei' mother's sistei', Princess 
 
 A\(lotya .Ste])ano\ na X a malicious and 
 
 conceited old woman, who. when she settled 
 (low n in hi r nieces' house, a|)|)i()j)riate(l to herself 
 tlic hest I'ooms. ^rumhled and ^rowkd fi'oni 
 moi"nin<4' till ni^ht, and ne\er walked, even in the 
 «j:arden. otherwise than attended 1)\ her solitary 
 .serf, a surh" laeke\- in a threadhare, vellowish-"rev 
 livery, with hlue galloons and a thi'ee-cornered 
 hat. Anna j)atiently endured all hei- aunts 
 whims, occui)ied herself somewhat with her sis- 
 ter's education, and, a|)|)arently, had already rec- 
 onciled herself to the- idea of withering" awa\- in 
 the wilds. . . . Hut fate decreed ditrercritly foi- 
 her. A C( i-tain Odi'nt/.off saw her hy accident, a 
 very rich man of six-and-forty, an eceeni lie. a h\ - 
 ])ochon(lriac. |)lnin|). Iiea\y. and sour, hut not 
 stuj)i(l. and not l)ad-teiii|)ei-ed : he fell in loxc with 
 hei*, and ofVei'ed her his hand. She eniiseiiled to 
 Ih' his wife. — and he li\cd w illi her six \-eai"s. then 
 died, having- he(iueatli((l his entii-e j)i'o|)ei-t\ to 
 her. Anna .Sei-n-vee\ ni did no! I<a\c the eonn- 
 
 I :\:)
 
 FATIIKKS AM) CIIILDHKA' 
 
 try at all, for about a year after his death; then 
 she and her sister went abroad, but sojourned only 
 in Germany: she was bored, and returned to re- 
 side in her beloyed Xikolskoe. whieh was situated 
 about foi'ty ycrsts from the town of * * *. Tliere 
 she had a ma^'niticeut. ^^ ell-furnished house, and 
 a ])eautifiil ])ark. with liotliouses: the late Odin- 
 t/oif liad denied himself n()thin<^". ^Vnna Ser- 
 ^•yeeyna yery rarely made her appearance in 
 town, and then chiefly on business, and that not 
 for long. She was not liked in the (ioyernment; 
 their had been a <^reat outeiy over her marriage 
 with Odint/off ; all sorts of idle tales wei'e nar- 
 rated about hei": it was asserted that she had aided 
 her father in his cheating scra])es, that she had 
 not gone abi'oad without a cause, compelled 
 thereto to conceal the unfortunate consequences 
 . . . . "You understand of what?" — the in- 
 dignant narrators were wont to wind up.— 
 " She has been through fire and water," they 
 said of her; and the familiar goyernmental wit 
 generally added: " and through brass trum])ets." 
 All these comments reached her; but she let them 
 pass: she had a iv^tit and rather decided 
 character. 
 
 Madame Odfntzoff sat, leaning against the 
 back of her arm-chaii-. and, clasping her liands, 
 she listened to J^azaroff . Contrary to his wont, he 
 talked a good deal, and eyidently made efforts to 
 
 134
 
 1 A'riii.us AM) c iiiLi)in:\ 
 
 iiilfic'sl liis ink rlociilor, which a^aiii surprised 
 Arkady. He coidd not make up his mind w hellicr 
 Ma/aroir was altaiiiiii*'' his ohjcct oi- not. It was 
 <hf!i('ull to (li\ ini- IVoni Anna Sc'r«4vec'vna"s lace 
 wha* iin|)i"(.'ssi()ns sl)c was rcfi'i\inL»": it |)iTsri'\od 
 oFK' and the saini' (•\|))'(ssion. coniMcons. iH'fincd: 
 hvv l)i'anlirul cncs hianicd with attention, hut un- 
 l)erturl)e(l attention. Hazarofl's airs (hu'in^" tiie 
 first inoineiits ol' his \ isit liad acted unpleasantly 
 on her. like a had siiieil or a hai'sh sound; l)ut she 
 iimnediately eonipirheruU-d that he was sutreriiig' 
 i'roin confusion, and this was evi'ii Hattcrin<^' to 
 her. ()nly the coninionj)lace repelled her, and no 
 one coidd ha\c accused Ha/.-ii-oH' of hein**" coiu- 
 nionplaci'. It was Ai'kiidy's late to he kej)t in a 
 constant state of wonderment on that day. He 
 had anti<-ipated that Hazaroff would talk to Mad- 
 ame Odintzoff', as she \\as a ch\ ei- woman ol" his 
 convictions and views: she herself had expressed a 
 desire to listen to a man " w ho has the audacity to 
 hcheve in nothing"': hut. instead of that, Hazjiroff 
 talked of medicine, of iiom(i'0|)alliy, ol hotany. 
 It turned out that .Madame Odinl/olf had not 
 wasted her time in hei" isolation: she had I'cad se\- 
 cral ""ood hooks, and e\i)rcssed herself in coi'i-ect 
 liu.ssian. .She turned the convci'sation on music. 
 hut |)erceivin;4' that Ha/jiroff did not i-eco<^'nise 
 art, she (juictly returned to hotany, althou<;h Ar- 
 kady had stalled in to discuss the siLifnificajicc of
 
 FAM^TTKRS AM) ( IIILDHF.X 
 
 popular melodies. ]Madanie Odintzoff continued 
 to treat him like a younger brother; aj)parently, 
 she prized in him the goodness and simple-mind- 
 edness of youtli — and tliat was aU. 'Die conver- 
 sation lasted more than three hours, leisurely, 
 varied, and animated. 
 
 At last the friends rose and began to take leave. 
 Anna Sergyeevna gazed cordially at them, of- 
 fered each of them her beautiful, white hand, and, 
 after brief reflection, she said, with a decided but 
 agreeable smile: — " If you are not afraid of 
 being boi-ed, gentlemen, come to visit me at 
 Xikolskoe." 
 
 " Keally, iVnna Sergyeevna,"— exclaimed Ar- 
 kady,—" I shall regard it as a special happi- 
 ness. . . ." 
 
 " And you, ^lonsieur Bazaroff ? " 
 
 Baziiroff merelv bowed, — and Arkadv was 
 obliged, for the last time, to marvel: he liad ob- 
 served that liis friend was blusliing. 
 
 " Well? " — said he to liim in the street: — " art 
 tliou still of tlie same opinion, that slie is — ' oi", 
 
 Ol, Ol f 
 
 " Who knows! Thou seest how she froze her- 
 self!" — retorted ]5azaroff', and, after a ])ause. 
 lie added: — "A duchess, a reigning ])ersonage. 
 All she needs is to wear a train })ehind her and a 
 crown on her head." 
 
 " Our duchesses do not speak llussian lil<L 
 that," — remarked Arkadv. 
 
 130
 
 FiVni i:hs and c ii i i.i)hi<:\ 
 
 SIk' lias Ikh II made oxer, my dear fellow : sIk 
 lias caltii our hrcad/ 
 
 And, iic\ (.■rtlic'k's.s, she is c-liaiiiiiii^," — said 
 Arkady. 
 
 '■ Such a rich hodyl"" wtiit on Hn/.nmlV: — 
 " she iiiii^ht ^'o sti-ainht into the aiiatoiiiieal 
 theatre." 
 
 ■' Sto|). for (iod's sake, K\neiiy! Who ever 
 heard the like 1 ■■ 
 
 Well, don't ^-et an^ry, softy. T have said it 
 
 she 's fii'sl class. Wv must <^() to her house." 
 
 •• \Vhenr" 
 
 Why. su])|)ose we make it the day after to- 
 
 monow . What is there for us to do liere! Drink 
 
 champagne with ^ladame Kukslifn? listen to 
 
 thy relati\e, the liheral hi<4-w i^^l' So let 's flit out 
 
 tliere the day after to-nioriow. Hy the way, too, 
 
 my father's little manoi-house is not i'ar from 
 
 there. 'I'hat Xikolskoe is on the *** road, 
 
 IS 11 t \{i 
 
 1 es, 
 
 " Ojttinif. There's no use in ]iesitatin«»'; only 
 fools hesitate -and wise men. I tell thee: t is a 
 rieii hody ! " 
 
 'I'hree (la\s later, holli friends wci'e drl\in<«' 
 along the j'oad to Xikolskoe. Tlie day was hiight, 
 and not too hot, and the fat ))ostin<>-h()rses trotted 
 briskly, slightly twitching their twisted and 
 ])laited tails. Arkady ga/ed at the road, and 
 smiled, w illiout himself know ing why.
 
 FATHERS AM) CTlli.DKKX 
 
 '• Congratulate me,"— exckiiiiied IJazarott' sud- 
 denly,— " to-day is the twenty-second of June, 
 the day of my guardian angel. Let us see how- 
 he takes care of me. They are exi^ecting me at 
 home to-day," he added, lowering his voice. . . . 
 " AVell. let them wait; it's of no great impor- 
 tance! 
 
 138
 
 XVT 
 
 Tin: nKiiior-lioust' in wliicli dwell Anna St-i-- 
 gyeevna stood on a slo[)ino-,()pcii hill, not l"ar Ironi 
 a yellow stone church with a green roof, white 
 ])illars, and jin al fresco paintin^- ()\ ci- the ])rin- 
 cipal entrance, repi-esenting the " liesurrection 
 of Christ," in the " Italian " taste. Especially 
 noteworthy for his rounded contours was a 
 swarthy warrior, in a short jacket, who sj)rawled 
 over the foreground. Behind the church, in two 
 long rows, extended tlie village, with chiuinevs 
 ])eeping ahove the straw thatches here and there. 
 The manor-house was spacious, in the same style 
 M'ith the church — the style which is known among 
 us by the name of the Alexandrine; this house also 
 Mas painted yellow, and had a green roof an(I 
 white ])illars, and a pediment with a coat of arms. 
 The governmental architect had erected both 
 buildings, with the apjn'obation of the deceased 
 Odint/off". who could not tolerate any empty and 
 new-fangled ca])rices, as he expressed it. Close 
 to the house on both sides lay tiie dusky trits of 
 the ancient park; an avenue ol' cli[>pe(l tirs led 
 to the entratice. 
 
 Oui" friends wvvv i-cccixcd in the anteroom by
 
 FATtlKHS AM) ('IIIM)HK\ 
 
 two robust footmen in livery ; one of tliem imme- 
 diately ran for the butler. The butler, a fat man 
 in a blaek dress-coat, immediately j)r(sriited him- 
 self, and directed tlie guests over the i-iig-coNcred 
 staircase to a special room, where already stood 
 two beds, with all the accessories of the toilet. It 
 was evident that order reigned in the liouse: 
 everything was clean, and there was some agree- 
 able perfume everywhere about, just as in minis- 
 terial receptions. 
 
 " Anna Sergyeevna begs that yoii w ill come 
 to her in hall* an hour," — announced the but- 
 ler: — "'have you no orders to give in the mean- 
 while?" 
 
 " We have no orders, my most respected," — re- 
 plied Baziiroff : — " unless you will be so good as 
 to bring a glass of vodka." 
 
 " I obey, sir," — said the butler, not without sur- 
 prise, and retired, with squeaking boots. 
 
 "What grand geniT! "—remnrked Bazaroff: 
 — " 1 believe that is what it is called in your lan- 
 guage? A duchess, and that 's all there is 
 about it." 
 
 "A good duchess," — replied Arkady; — " the 
 very first time she met such mi<>htv aristocrats as 
 thou and I, she invited ns to her house." 
 
 " Kspecially I, who am a medical man, the son 
 of a medical man, the grandson of a cha?iter. . . . 
 Of course thou knewest that I am the grandson 
 of a chanter? " 
 
 110
 
 FATHERS A\l) C'lIILDHKX 
 
 " Like Speransky," ' — added IJa/aroiV, alUi- a 
 brief silence and curling his li])s. '* 15ut slic lias 
 indulged herself, all the same; okh, liow tliis l;idy 
 has indulged herself. Ouglit not ^^(■ to ditii (nii- 
 dress-suits? " 
 
 Arkady merely slirugged liis sliouhk'i's; . . . 
 hut he, too, felt some agitation. 
 
 Half an hour later RazarofF and Arkjidy en- 
 tered the drawing-room. It was a spacious, lofty 
 room, furnished witli considerable luxury, but 
 without any particular taste. Tlie heavy, costly 
 furniture stood in the customary affected order 
 along the walls, wliich were covered with light- 
 brown paper witli gilded flowers. Och'ntzoff had 
 ordered it from ^loscow tiirough liis friend and 
 commissioner, a li(iuor deak'r. Over the ceiitiai 
 divan hung the portrait of a shrivelled, fair-liaired 
 man, — and it seemed to be staring at the \ isitors 
 in a hostile manner. " It must be he," whispered 
 BazarofF, and wrinkling up his nose, lie added, 
 " Shan't we decamp? " 
 
 But at that moment the hostess eiileied. She 
 wore a light barege gown; her hair, biuslud 
 smoothly behind her ears, imi)arted a virginal ex- 
 pression to her ])ui'e, fresh face. 
 
 " Thank you for having kept your won!/' she 
 began;— "stay a while with me: il really is not 
 had here. 1 will introduce yon to my sister: she 
 
 1 Speransky rost; to be a Count, and a MinisLr of 
 Alexander I.— Thansiatoii.
 
 FATIIKUS AND CIIILDHEX 
 
 plays well on the jjiano. That makes no differ- 
 ence to you, M'sieu Hazarort': hut I think you are 
 fond of music, ^I'sieu Kirsanotf : in addition to 
 my sister, m\- old aunt li\es with me. and a nei^h- 
 houi- sometimes droj^s in to play cards: that is our 
 entire society. Hut now let us sit down." 
 
 Madame Odintzoff uttered this little speech 
 with pecuhar distinctness, as thouoh she had com- 
 mitted it to memory; then she turned to Arkadv. 
 It appeared that her mother had known Arkady's 
 mother, and had even heen the coniidante of her 
 love for Nikolai Petrovitch. Arkady began to 
 talk with fervour about the dead woman; and. in 
 the meantime, Bazaroff occupied himself with in- 
 specting the albums. " What a meek individual 
 I have become," he said to himself. 
 
 A handsome greyhound, with a blue collar, ran 
 into the drawing-room, clattering his claws on tlie 
 floo]-, and after him entered a young girl of eigh- 
 teen, with black hair and browi' com]dexion. a 
 rather chubby but pleasing face, and small dai-k 
 eyes. She held in her hand a basket filled with 
 flowers. " Ilej-e is my Katya." said Madame 
 Odnitzoff, indicatiiig hei- by a movement of the 
 head. 
 
 Katya made a slight curtsey, ])laced herself be- 
 side her sister, and began to sort owv her flowers. 
 The greyhound, whose name was Fifi, appi-oached 
 each visitor in linii. wagging his tail, and thrust 
 his cold nose inlo llie hand ol" each of them. 
 
 11-2
 
 FATIIKKS AM) C IIILl)ln^^• 
 " Didsl llioii pluck all those thyscll*^ "' asked 
 JNIadaine Odint/off. 
 
 " Ves," — replied Katya. 
 And is aimty coming to tea? " 
 
 " AT" " 
 
 Yes. 
 
 When Katya spoke she smiled vec\ |)iettily, 
 bashfully, and eaudidiy, aiul looked upwaids from 
 helow in a comical Iv-grim manner. Kver\ thiim 
 about her was still extremely youthful: lier voice, 
 and the fine down all over her face, and hei* rosy 
 hands, with whitish circles on the palms, and her 
 rather cram])ed shoulders. . . She was inces- 
 santly })lushing and hastily catchino- hei- bi'cath. 
 
 Madame Odint/oft' turned to Ha/aioll'.— 
 " You are looking at those pictures out oi' ])olite- 
 ness, Evgeny Vasilitch," — she began.— ' They do 
 not interest you. \'on had better move up nearer 
 us, and we will get into an argument over some- 
 thing or other." 
 
 BazarofF ajjproached. — " What shall we argue 
 about? " — he said. 
 
 " About anything you like. T warn yon that 
 I am a frightfully (piarrelsome ))erson." 
 1 on f 
 
 " Yes, I. That seems to surprise you. A\'hy ( " 
 
 "Because, so far as 1 can judge, you have a 
 calm and cold nature, and for dis])ut<' enthusiasm 
 is necessary." 
 
 " How is it that you have succeeded in finding 
 me out so promptly ? In the first ])la('e. 1 am iin- 
 
 i4;j
 
 FATTTKHS AM) C'lIILDHK.X 
 
 patient and j^ei'sistent : ask Katya if 1 am not; 
 and, in the second ]:)lacc, I am very easily aroused 
 to enthusiasm." 
 
 Baziiroff looked at Anna Sergyeevna. — " Per- 
 haps you ouo'ht to know l)est. So you would like 
 to dispute, — very well. I have heen looking over 
 the views of the Saxon Switzerland in your 
 album, and you have remarked to me tliat that 
 could not interest me. You said that l)ecause you 
 do not suspect me of having artistic sense, — and, 
 is a mattei- of fact. I have not: ])ut T might take 
 an interest in those pictures from a geological 
 point of view — from the })oint of view of the for- 
 mation of mountains, for example." 
 
 " p]fxcuse me; as a geologist you would be more 
 likely to have recourse to a book, to a special work, 
 and not to a drawing." 
 
 " The drawing ])resents to me at a glance 
 tliat which in the book is set forth in ten whole 
 pages." 
 
 Anna Sergyeevna was silent for a while. 
 
 " And have \'ou reallv not a tinv drop of artis- 
 tic sense? " — slie said, setting her elbows on the 
 table, and by that very movement bringing her 
 face closer to Bazaroff . — " IIow do you get along 
 without it? " 
 
 " AMiat is the use of it, permit me to inquire? " 
 
 " Why. if for nothing else, that one may learn 
 Iiow to understand and study ])eo])le." 
 
 Bazjiroff laughed. — " In the first place, the ex- 
 
 144
 
 FATITEKS AND C'llILDUKN 
 
 perience of life exists for tliat pur])()sc-: and, in 
 the second place, T must inform you that it is nnl 
 worth while to study separate individuals. All 
 people resemble one another, in soul as in Ixxly: 
 each one of us has brain, s])leen, heart, lun^s, ol" 
 identical structure; and the so-called moral (juali- 
 ties are exactly alike in all: the slight difference 
 of aspect signifies nothing. One specimen of liu- 
 manity is sufficient to enable us to judge of all the 
 rest. Men are like tlie trees in a forest — not a 
 single botanist will busy himself with eacli sepa- 
 rate birch." 
 
 Katya, who was matching flower to flower in 
 a leisurely way, raised her eyes to Bazaroff in snr- 
 prise, — and encountering his swift and careless 
 glance, flushed crimson to her very ears. ^Vnna 
 Sergyeevna shook her head. 
 
 " The trees in the forest," — she repeated.— 
 " So, according to you, there is no difference be- 
 tween a stupid and a clever man, between a good 
 one and a bad one." 
 
 " Yes, there is: as there is between a well man 
 and a sick one. The lungs of the consnnii)li\(' 
 are not in the same conditions as youi-s and nunc 
 are, although they are constructed in tlif same 
 manner. We know, approximately, wlience come 
 bodily ailments; but moral ailments proceed from 
 a bad education, from all sorts of nonsense with 
 which peo])le's heads are stuffed from tluir in- 
 fancy, from the abnormal condition of society m
 
 FxVTlIKKS AM) ClllLDKKX 
 
 a word, reform society, and there will be no dis- 
 ease.' 
 
 Baziiroff said ail this with an aspect which 
 seemed to indicate that, at the same time, he was 
 savin"" to himself: ' Wliether vou believe me or 
 not, it 's all one to me! " lie slowly drew his long- 
 fingers through his side-whiskers and his eyes 
 wandered about the corners of the room. 
 
 " And you assume," — said Anna Sergyeevna, 
 — " tliat when society shall have been reformed 
 there will be no more stupid, no more wicked, 
 men f 
 
 " At all events, with a regular arrangement 
 of society, it will not matter whether a man is 
 stupid or clever, wicked or good." 
 
 "Yes, I understand; all will have identically 
 tlie same s])leen." 
 
 " Precisely tliat, madam." 
 
 ^ladame Odint/off turned to Arkady. — " ^Vnd 
 wliat is vour oi^inion, iVrkadv Xikolae\itch!' " 
 
 " I agree with Kvgeny, ' — he replied. 
 
 Katya cast a sidelong glance at him. 
 
 " You amaze me, gentlemen," — said Madame 
 Odfntzoff; — "but we will discuss this later on. 
 iVnd now I hear my aunt coming to drink tea; we 
 must spare her ears." 
 
 Anna Sergveevna's aunt. Princess X . . . , a 
 thin, small woman, with a face about the size of 
 one's fist, and staring, malicious eyes beneath her 
 grey wig, entered. and hardly sahiti?ig the visitors, 
 
 140
 
 1 ATIIKKS AM) C IIII.l)IM<:N 
 (ll•()ppc(^ down ill a c'aj)acit)us velvet ariii-cliair. in 
 which no one except herself had a ri^ht to sit. 
 Kiitya placed a stool under her feet: the did 
 woman did not thank her, did not even look at 
 Iiei-, oidy moved her hands ahont undei* the ncIIow 
 shawl, which covered almost tlie whole of liei- 
 pnnv l)o(l\'. The Princess loved vellow : she also 
 had hri<»ht yellow rihhons on her ca}). 
 
 "How have you slept, aunty? " — asked Ma- 
 dame Odintzoff', lowering- her voice. 
 
 " There 's that dog here again," — growled the 
 old woman in response; and noticing that Fifi 
 took a couple of undecided .steps in her direction, 
 she cried out: " Scat! scat! " 
 
 Katya called Fifi, and o])ened the door for him. 
 
 Fifi rushed joyously forth, in the hope that 
 he would he taken for a walk, hut on finding hini- 
 .self alone outside the door, l)egan to sci-atch and 
 whine. The Princess frowned. Kiitya started to 
 go out. . . . 
 
 "Tea is ready, I think :* " — said Madame 
 Odintzoff. — " Come, gentlemen; aunty, please 
 come and drink tea." 
 
 The Princess ro.se in silence from hei- chair and 
 left the di-awing-room first. All followed lu r to 
 the dining-room. A page-hoy in liveiy noisily 
 moved away from the tahle a chair garnished w itli 
 ])illows, also sacred to hei- use, in which the Piiii- 
 cess seated herself; Katya, when she poured tlu 
 tea, served her first in a cuj) with a painted coat 
 
 U7
 
 IWrill^lJS AM) ( IIILDUKX 
 
 of arms. The old woman put honey in her cup 
 (she thoutJ'ht it sinful to drink tea with sugar,' 
 and e\j)ensive, altliou«>h slie lierself did not spend 
 a fai-tliin«>- on this), and suddeidy iiujuired, in ;i 
 lioarse voice: " xVnd ^\llat does Prance Ivan 
 writer " 
 
 Xo one answered her. Baziiroff and Arkady 
 speedily divined that no one paid any attention to 
 her, although they treated lier respectfully. " For 
 tlie sake of maintaining tlieir dignity, hecause she 
 is a princely sprig," tliouglit 15azaroff. . . After 
 tea xVnna Sergveevna suggested that tliey should 
 go for a stroll, but a fine rain began to fall, and 
 the whole company, with the exception of the 
 Princess, returned to the drawing-room. The 
 neiiihbour who was fond of cards, bv name Por- 
 firy Platdnitch, arrived, — a fat, grey-haired man, 
 with short legs, w hich looked just as though they 
 liad been turned in a lathe, a very ])olite and 
 entertaining person. Anna Sergyeevna, wl.o had 
 been chatting principally with Baz.-iroff. askrd 
 "-liim whethei" he would not like to liave an old-fash- 
 ioned battle at ])reference M'ith him. Bazaroff 
 consented, saying that he must ])re])are himself 
 in advance for the duties of a country doctor 
 which awaited him. 
 
 " Take care," — remarked Anna Sergveevnfv, — 
 
 1 Probably, on tlie same ground that the devout do not use sugar 
 during tlic Churcli fasts, viz., because it is clarified with blood — an 
 animal substitnce. - Tiiaxsi.ator. 
 
 148
 
 FATIIKKS AM) C nilJ)HKX 
 
 " Porfirv Platoiiitcli and J sliall l)cal \<)ii. And 
 do thou, Katya," — she added, — " phiy sonietliinii/" 
 for Arkady Xikohievitcli; he is fond oi' mnsic, 
 and we will listen also." 
 
 Katya went nnwillin<4ly to tlie |)iano; and Ar- 
 kady, althon<>ii lie really was fond ol' ninsie, un- 
 willingly followed her: it seemed to liiin that Ma- 
 dame Odintzoff was sending him away, and in 
 his heart, as in the heart of every young man of 
 his age, there was seething an agitated and op- 
 pressive feeling, resemhling a presentiment of 
 love. Kiitya raised the lid of the i)iano, and. 
 without looking at Arkady, said in an undertone: 
 
 " What shall I ])lay for you? " 
 
 " Whatever vou like," — replied Ai-kad\- indil- 
 
 ferently. 
 
 "What sort of musie do you prefer^' -re- 
 peated Kiitya, without ehanging her position. 
 
 " Classical," — replied Arkady, in the same 
 
 tone. 
 
 " Do vou like ^lozart? " 
 
 " Ves>' 
 
 Katva "ot !»lo/art'^' Sonata-Fantasia in C 
 minor. She ])layed very well, although lather se- 
 verely and dryly. She sat motionless and stit!', 
 never taking her eyes from her notes, and with 
 lips tightly compressed, and only toward the end 
 of the sonata did her face grow tlnshed. and a lit- 
 tle strand of uncurled hair Call on li< r rorehcad. 
 
 Arkady was partieiilariy struck hy tli. last 
 
 141^
 
 FATIIKUS AM) CIIll.DUEN 
 
 part of tlie sonata — by that part in which, tlirough 
 the enchanting mirth of the care-free melody, 
 hursts of such mournful, almost tragic woe, sud' 
 denly penetrate. . . But the thoughts evoked in 
 liini 1)V the strains of ^Mozart did not refer to 
 Katya. As he ga/ed at liei- he merely thought: 
 " lleallv, this vomm" ladv does not i^lax- hadlv, and 
 she herself is not bad-looking." 
 
 AN'hen she had finished the sonata Katya in- 
 quired, without removing her hands from the 
 keys, " Is that enough? " Arkady declared that he 
 did not dare to inconvenience her furthei-. and l)e- 
 gan to talk to her about ^lozart; he asked her 
 whether she had chosen that sonata herself, or liad 
 some one recommended it to her? 15ut Katya an- 
 swered him in monosyllables: she had hidden her- 
 self, retreated into herself. A\^hen that happened 
 with her she did not speedily come to the surface ; 
 at such times her very face assumed an obstinate, 
 almost stupid expression. She was not precisely 
 sh}', but distrustful and i-atlier tei-rified by hei- 
 sister, who had reared her, x\hic]i the latter, of 
 course, did not even sus[)ect. Arkady ended l)v 
 calling up Fifi, who had returned, and, by way of 
 keeping himself in countenance, began to stroke 
 his head, smiling benevolently. Katya betook 
 herself again to her flowers. 
 
 And, in the meantime, Ba/arofV kept losing 
 and losing. Anna Sergyeevna played a masterly 
 hand at cards; Porfiry Philoiiitch also could 
 
 1.50
 
 FATHKKS AM) CIIILDKKX 
 
 stand up for hiinsclf. Hazjirof!' was tin- losi-r, 
 and although not to any considciahle extent, yet 
 it was not altogether pleasant for liim. iXftci- 
 su})per Anna Sergyeevna turned the eonversation 
 u])on botany again. 
 
 " Let us go for a walk to-morrow inorning/" 
 she said to him: — '* I wisli to leaj-n I'rom you tin- 
 Latin names of the field-})lants and their pi-()))ei- 
 les. 
 
 " AN^hat do you want with the Latin names:' ' 
 — asked Bazarotf*. 
 
 " One nuist have order in everything,' —she re- 
 plied. 
 
 " What a marvellous woman i\nna Sergye- 
 evna is." — exelaimed iVrkady, when lie was 
 alone with his friend in the ehamber assigned Id 
 them. 
 
 " Ves," — replied Bazaroft', — " a woman w ith a 
 brain. Well, and she has seen sights." 
 
 " In what sense dost thou say that, Ivgvny 
 Vasilitch? " 
 
 " In a good sense, a good sense, my dear Ai- 
 kiidy Nikolaeviteh! I am eonvineed that shr 
 manages her estate excelleiitly. Hut the niar\ tl 
 is not she, but her sister." 
 
 "What^ That brown-faeed little tiling^" 
 
 " Yes, that brown-faeed little thing. Shr s 
 fre.sh, and unsullied, and timid, and lacitinii. ;iii(l 
 anything you like. That s a ])erson one cmii gel 
 interested in. ^'ou can make nf Ik r anything y«»ii 
 
 151
 
 1 ATIIKKS AND CIIILDKKX 
 
 take it into your lieatl to make: but tlie other— is 
 a shrewd ereature." 
 
 Arkady made no reply to Ba/aroff, and ])otli 
 of them hiy down to sleep with speeial thouglits 
 in their heads. 
 
 And Anna Sergveevna on that same evening- 
 was thinking of lier guests. She liked Ba/tiroff* 
 — his absence of co(juetry and the very harshness 
 of his judgments. She discerned in him some- 
 thing new which she had not hitherto chanced to 
 encounter, and she was curious. 
 
 Anna Sergyeevna was rather a strange being. 
 Devoid of prejudices, devoid even of any strong 
 beliefs, she yielded to no one and followed no one. 
 She saw much clearly, mueli interested her, and 
 ncjthing completely satisfied her; and complete 
 satisfaction was hardly what she wanted. Her 
 mind was inquisitive and indifferent at one and 
 the same time : her doubts were never appeased to 
 forgetfulness and never increased to alarm. Had 
 she not been wealthy and independent, she miglit 
 possibly have flung herself into tlie fray and liave 
 known })assion. . . l^ut lite was easy for lier, al- 
 though she was sometimes bored: she continued 
 to ])ass (lav after dav in a leisurelv man- 
 ner, only growing agitated now and then. Rain- 
 bow hues sometimes flashed uj) before her eyes 
 also, but she breathed more freely when they had 
 faded awav, and slie did not regret them. ^\vv 
 imagination carried her excii Ix voih] the bounds 
 
 1.V2
 
 FATI1K1{S AM) C IIILDKI'.X 
 
 of that which, according to tlie orcHnarv hiws of 
 iiiorahty, is considered ])crniissihle; hut even then 
 lier hlood flowed as (juietly as ever in hei- entrane- 
 in»»lv-statelv and ti'antiuil hodv'. 'I'lieri' wcic 
 times wlien, on eniergiTig from a jxi ruined hatli. 
 all warm and enervated, she took to meditating 
 u])()n the insignitieanee of life, its woe, toil .md 
 evil. , . Pier soul woukl he filled with sudden au- 
 dacity, would seethe with nohle asj)ii'ation; hut 
 let a draught hlou through the half-open 
 window and Anna Sergveevna would shrink to- 
 gethei-, and complain and almost wax angi'y, and 
 she wanted only one thing at such moments: 
 that that hateful wind should not hlow uj)on 
 her. 
 
 Ijike all women who have not managed to tail 
 in love, she wanted something— precisely what slie 
 did not know. As a matter of fact, she wanted 
 nothing, although it seemed to lier that she wanted 
 evervthing. She had harelv tolerated the late 
 Odintzoff (she had married liim from ealetdation. 
 although, in all ])r()hahility, she would not ha\c- 
 consented to be his wife if she had not regarded 
 him as a kind man) , and had aecjuired a secret dis- 
 gust for all men, whom slie ])ictured to herself as 
 dirty, lieavy and indolent. im))otently tiresome 
 heings. Once, somewhere ahroad, she- had met a 
 young man, a handsome Swede, with a knightly 
 expression of countenance, with honest hlue eyes 
 beneath an o])en ])row: he had made a strong im 
 
 1 y.i
 
 FAIIIKHS AND C'lIILDKKX 
 
 pjrssion ii])<)n licr. but this liad not prcNcutod Iter 
 returning" to Russia. 
 
 " .V strange man, that doetor! " slie thought, 
 as slie la\' down in her niagnifieent l)ed on h.er hiee 
 pillows undei" a light silken ec^vei'let. . . . Anna 
 Ser^>'/'jevna had inherited I'roiu her i'athei- a i)oi-- 
 tioi' I r his inelination for luxury. She had been 
 \ery fond of her sinl'ul hut kind father, and he 
 had idolised her. had iested with her in friendh' 
 wise as witli an equal, and had trusted her utterly 
 — had taken counsel with her. She hardly remem- 
 bered her mother. 
 
 "That doctor is a strange fellow!'' she re- 
 peated to herself. She stretched herself, smiled, 
 threw her arms behind her head, then ran her eyes 
 over the pages of a cou])le of dull French ro- 
 mances — and fell asleep, all ])ure and cold, in her 
 clean and perfumed linen. 
 
 On the following morning ^Vnna Sergyeevna. 
 immediately after breakfast, went off to botanise 
 M-ith l^a/Jiroff, and returned home just before din- 
 ner; Arkady did not go off' anywhere, and spent 
 about an hour with Katya. He did not find him- 
 self bored in her society; she offered of her own 
 accord to repeat for him the sonata she had ])laye(l 
 on the day before: but when, at last, Madame 
 Odint/off returned, when he beheld lier— his 
 J)eart instantly contracted within him. . . . She 
 was walking through the garden with a some- 
 what fatigued step; her cheeks were of a vivid 
 
 154
 
 FATliKKS AM) CII il. DUKX 
 
 scarlet, and her eyes N\ere sliiiiiii^ iiumc l»rillianll\ 
 than usual l)eiieatli liei- i-ouud straw li;il. Slic was 
 twirling- in liei* tin«4'ers the sleiidei- stem of ;i wild 
 fiower, her light mantilla had slipped down lo liei- 
 elbows, and the broad grey ribbons of Ik r liat 
 elung closely to her bosom. Ha/arott' was walk- 
 ing behind her in a self-confident, careless way. 
 as always, but the expression of his face, although 
 it was cheerful and even bland, did not please 
 Arkady. ^Muttering through his teeth, "(rood 
 morning! " — Bazaroff went off' to his room, and 
 ]Madame Odintzoff' shook hands with Ark.idy in 
 a preoccupied way, and also walked on past liim. 
 Good morning/' — thought i\i-kady. . . . 
 " But have we not seen each other already to 
 day?" 
 
 155
 
 XVII 
 
 It is a familiar fact that time sometimes flies like 
 a bird, sometimes crawls like a worm; but a man 
 is particularly happy when he does not notice 
 wliether it is passing swiftly or slowly. In pre- 
 cisely this manner did Arkady and Bazaroff 
 spend a fortnight at ^Madame Odintzoff's. This 
 result was contributed to by tlie order which she 
 had introduced into her houseliold and her life. 
 She adhered strictly to it, and made others con- 
 form to it also. Throuohout the whole day every- 
 thing w^as done at an appointed time. In the 
 morning, exactly at eiglit o'clock, the whole com- 
 pany assembled for tea; from tea until bi-eakfast 
 each one did whatever lie wished, and the liostess 
 busied herself witli liei- steward (tlie estate was 
 managed on the (luit-rent system), with her but- 
 lers, and with tlie head-housekeeper. Before din- 
 ner the com])aiiy again assembled for conversa- 
 tion or reading: the exeiiiiig was devoted to 
 strolls, cards, music; at half-past ten Anna Ser- 
 ^-s^eevna retired to her own room, issued orders 
 for the following day, r.nd went to bed. BazarofF 
 did not like this measured, somewhat solemn reg- 
 •vlaritv of daily life:-" You roll along as though
 
 FA'lIIKHS AM) ( IIILDKIv^ 
 
 on rails,' he asserted; tlie liveried laekeys, tlit, 
 stately butlers, offended his demoeratie leelingi 
 lie thou(>ht that if it had come to tliat then tluv 
 ought to dine in Knglish fasliioii. in (h-css-snits 
 and white ties. One day he stated his views on 
 iliis point to Anna Sergyeex na. She hoi-e herself 
 in such a manner that any man could, without eii- 
 cumlocution, exj)ress his opinions in her presence. 
 She heard him out, and said: " From your point 
 of view, you are right — and, perhaps, in that case, 
 — T am a gentlewoman; hut one cannot live with- 
 out ordei" in the country, — one woidd he bored to 
 death," — and went on in her own way. Hazjirofl' 
 grum])led, but he and Arkady found life easy 
 at ]Madame Odintzoff 's, because everything in her 
 house did " run as though on rails." Nevertlie- 
 less, both young men underwent a change from 
 the very first days of their stay at Nikolskoe. A 
 trepidation hitherto non-existent made its api)ear- 
 ance in Bazaroff, whom Anna Sergyeevna ob- 
 viously favoured: he was easily irritated, talked 
 umvillingly, wore an angry aspect, and could no! 
 sit still in one place, just as though sonuthing 
 made him uneasy; and Arkadv, who had finalK 
 decided in his own mind tliat he was in lo\e w ith 
 Madame Odint/off, began to surrender himself 
 to gentle melancholy. However, this melancholx' 
 did not prevent his becoming intimate with 
 Katya; it even aided him to enter into friindlw 
 affectionate relations with liei'. " SJir does ?iot 
 
 1.37
 
 FATIIKHS AM) C'TIILDKKy 
 
 apprcciiitc me! So he it! . . . Hut here is a kind 
 being who will not s])iirn nie," he thought, and 
 his heart again tasted tlie sweetness of magnani- 
 mous sentiments. Katya dimly eomprehcnded 
 that he was seeking some soi't of eonsolation in lier 
 society, and did not refuse to him or to herself 
 the innocent gratitieatioii of a half-l)ashful. half- 
 confiding friendshi]). Tliey did not talk to eacli 
 other in the j^resence of Anna Sergyeevna: Katya 
 always contracted ])eneath her sister's keen 
 glance, and Arkady, as was befitting a man in 
 love, in tlie presence of his adored object could 
 not devote any attention to anything else; but he 
 was lia})py alone witli K.itya. He felt that he was 
 not capa])]e of interesting Machime Odintzoff ; he 
 iK'came timid and lost his presence of mind when 
 he was left alone with hei-: and she did not know 
 what to say to him : he was too yoiuig for her. On 
 the other hand, witli Katya Arkady ^^•as at home, 
 as it were; he treated her condescendingly, did not 
 interfere with lier expressing the impressions 
 awakened in her by music, tlie i)erusal of novels, 
 of poetry, and by other ti"iHes, without himself 
 perceiving oi" acknowledging that these trifles in- 
 terested him. i\rktidy was at ease with Katya, 
 iSIadame Odintzoff with Ha/aroff, and conse- 
 quently this was the usual order of things: the 
 two couples after remaining a short time together 
 Avent their separate ways, especially during ram- 
 ])les. Katya adored nature, and .Arkady loved it, 
 
 158
 
 FATHERS AM) CIIILDKKX 
 
 altlioii<^h lie (lid not dare lo coiil'css it: .Madame 
 Odintzoff was (juitc iiidili'erenl to it, as was also 
 Hazaroft'. The almost eonstant se})arati()ii ol' mii 
 friends did not remain ^^itllout results: the- rela- 
 tions between tliem he^an to undergo a elian^e. 
 IJa/aroff eeased to talk to Arkady ahont Madame 
 Odint/off, eeased even to revile liei- " aiistoi'ratie 
 habits"; it is true that he lauded Kj'itya as before. 
 and only advised that her sentimental tenden- 
 cies shoukl be cheeked, but liis praises were hasty, 
 his advice curt, and. in general, he talked much 
 less to Arkadv than of vore: . . . he seemed to 
 shun him, as though he were ashamed in his pres- 
 ence. . . . 
 
 ^Vrkadv observed all this, but kept his obserxa- 
 tions to himself. 
 
 The real cause of all this '" novelty "' was the 
 sentiment with which ^ladame Odintzoff had in- 
 spired BazarofF— a sentiment which tortured and 
 enraged him, and which he would have spurned 
 on the instant, with scornful laughter and cynical 
 sneers, had any one hinted, even distantly, at tlu 
 Dossibility of that which had taken place in him. 
 liazaroff. Bazaroff was vciy Coiid of women 
 and of feminine beauty, but lo\ e in the ideal, or. 
 as he ex])ressed it, the romantic sense, he called 
 balderdash, unijardonable folly: regarded chival- 
 rous sentiments as a sort of deformity or maladx . 
 and had more than once gixcii uticranr. lo his 
 amazement at theii- not ha\ ing \n\\ Toggenhin-g. 
 
 i.y.)
 
 FATHERS AM) CIllLDUEX 
 
 aloiit'- \\ itii a]] liis iiiiiincsingers and troiil)a(l()iirs, 
 in ? mad-house! " If a woman pleases j'oii," lie 
 had been wont to sav, " trv to "et to the bottom 
 of the business; l)iil it' that is impossible, 
 well, vou don't want her: turn awav, she's not 
 the onl;r on-y i^i the Avorld/' ]Madame Odintzoff* 
 pleased bipi: the rumours in circulation ab()ut her, 
 the freedoni and independence of her thoughts, 
 her indubitable liking for him, — everything, ap- 
 parently, spoke in his favour; but he speedily 
 comprehended that with her one could not " get 
 to the bottom of the business," and that, to 
 his own amazement, h6 had not the strength 
 to turn awav from her. His blood beoan to 
 boil as soon as he called lier to mind; he 
 could easily have controlled his blood, but some- 
 thing else had taken u]) its abode in him, which 
 he in nowise admitted, over which he was forever 
 sneering, which revolted his pride. In his conver- 
 sations with Anna Sergyeevna he more than ever 
 expressed his indifferent scorn for everything ro- 
 mantic: and when he was left alone he recognised 
 with wrath the romantic in himself. Then he 
 went off to the forest and i-oamed about it in hu"-e 
 strides, breaking the boughs which came in his 
 w^ay, and cursing in an undei-tone both her and 
 himself; or he ensconced himself in the hay -loft, 
 in a shed, and, obstinately shutting his eyes, he 
 forced himself to slee)), whieh, as a matter of 
 '•oui'se, he did not always succeed in dointi-. i\ll 
 
 iGO
 
 FA'rin:us and c iiildkkx 
 
 at once it would seem to liiiii as tliou^li those, 
 eliastc anus were eneireliii<»- his neek, tliose proud 
 lij)s N\ (ic res])oudiii«j" to his kisses, those iiitelh«^eut 
 eves were riveted teudel^lv, — \es. Itiidci'lN', on 
 
 ft • • • 
 
 his eves, and liis liead would he^in to reel, and he 
 Mould forget liiniselC i'or a nionienl until indit^iia- 
 tion again ihu-ed up witliin liini. I le eaught hiiii- 
 seli' in all sorts of "shaniet'ul" thouglits, as tiiough 
 a demon Avere tormenting liim. It sometimes 
 seemed to him that a eliauge was taking place in 
 ^Madame Odint/off, tliat in tlie exj)ressi()n of her 
 faee something ])eeuliar had made its ai)])earanee, 
 hut that possihly. . . . l^ut at this point he gen- 
 erally stamped his foot, or gnaslied liis teeth, and 
 menaced himself with his clenched fist. 
 
 Xevertheless, BazarofF was not mistaken. He 
 had struck ]Madame ()dintzoi!'\s imagination: he 
 interested her, and slie thought a great deal ahoiit 
 liim. She was not hored in liis absence, slie did not 
 wait for him, hut his appearance immediately 
 im|)arted animation lo her; she willingly i-emained 
 alone witli liim, and liked to talk with him, v\v\\ 
 when he angered her, or offended her taste, her 
 eleaant habits. She seemed to be desirous of both 
 testing him and sounding herself. 
 
 One day as he was strolling in the garden witli 
 her he suddenly said, in a surly voice, that lie 
 intended soon to go away to the village to his 
 father. . . She tm-ned ])ale, as though sonuthing 
 liad stung her heart, and stung it in such wise that
 
 1 A'lIlKir^ AM) C'II1L1)1?KX 
 
 she was surprised, aiul iiRnlitateil lor a long time 
 what this niight mean, l^azaroflf had informed 
 her of liis departure, not witli the idea of putting 
 hei- to tlie test to see M'hat would eome of it: he 
 never "' inventetl." On the morning of that dav 
 lie liad had an interview with his father's man- 
 ager, his former valet. Timofeiteli. This Timo- 
 feitch. an experienced and alert old man. with 
 faded yellow hair, weather-heaten red face, and 
 tiny tear-drops in his hlinking eyes, had unex- 
 j)e"cte(lly presented himself to Bazaroff in his 
 sliort overcoat of thick, greyish-hlue cloth, girt 
 with a fragment of leather, and in tarred hoots. 
 
 "Ah, old man, how art thou I" — exclaimed 
 Bazaroff. 
 
 '' Good morning, dear little father Evgeny Va- 
 silitch." — l^egan the little old man, and smiled 
 iovoiislv. which caused his n\ hole face suddenlv to 
 1)6 covered with wrinkles, 
 
 ' Whv art thou come? Have thev sent thee 
 for me? "" 
 
 '■ Good gracious, dear little father, nr>\v can vou 
 think that! " — lisped Timofeitch (he called to 
 mind the strict orders he had received from liis 
 master when he set out).— ' I wan going to 
 town on business and heard about your grace, so 
 I turned aside on the way, that is— to have a look 
 at vour "•race : .... but how could an v one feel 
 uneasy? " 
 
 " Come, don't lie,"— Baz.*»roff internipted hitu. 
 
 102
 
 FATliKKS AMJ eJULDHKX 
 
 — ■■ D(jst thou mean to say that tliy njad to town 
 hes here? " Tinioieitch hesitated and made no re- 
 ply.— " Is my father well:' " 
 
 ■ Yes. Glory to God, sir." 
 " And my mother f " 
 
 ■ And Anna Vlasiex na also, glory to Thee. ( ) 
 Lord." 
 
 *' I suppose they are expecting me I " 
 
 The httle old man hung his tiny head on one 
 
 side. — ■■ Akli, Evgeny Vasilievitch. how can tliey 
 
 help expecting you. sir! As you believe in GckI. 
 
 my heart has ached as I lookeil at your parents." 
 
 ■ ^^ ell. verv' good, xerv good: Dont describe 
 it. Tell them that I will come soon." 
 
 ■' I olxry. sir." — replied Timofeitch. with a sigh. 
 
 As he emerged from the house he banged his 
 cap down on his head with both liands. climbed 
 into the mean racing drozliky which he had left 
 at the gate, and drove off at a trot, only not in the 
 direction of the town. 
 
 On the evening of the same dav Madame 
 Odintzoff ^vas sitting in her r<x)m with Bazarotf. 
 w hile Arkady was pacing the music-room and lis- 
 tening to Katvas playing. The Princess had re- 
 tired to her own room u[)-stairs: in general, slie 
 could not bear \-isitors. and in particular these 
 ■" sans culottes." as she called them. In the state 
 apartments she did nothing but pout: on the «)tlier 
 hand, in her own room, in the presence of her 
 maid, she sometimes broke out into such abuse-
 
 FATllKliS AM) ClllLDUEX 
 
 that lier ca}) flew off her head in company witli 
 her wig. ^Madame 0(h'nt/,()fF was aware of this. 
 
 " Why are you preparing to leave," — she be- 
 gan;—" and how about your promise? " 
 
 Bazaroff started. — " What promise, machim f " 
 
 " Have you forgotten? You were to give me 
 a few lessons in chemistry." 
 
 " What is to be done, ma'am '. ]My father ex- 
 pects me; I can delay no longer. However, you 
 can read: Pelouze et Fremy, ' Notions Generates 
 de Chimie ' ; it is a good book and clearly written. 
 In it you will find everything that is necessary." 
 
 "But remember you assured me that a book 
 cannot take the place .... I have forgotten how 
 you expressed yourself, but you know what I 
 want to say, .... do you remember?" 
 
 " What is to be done, ma'am? "—repeated Ba- 
 zaroff. 
 
 " Whv oo?" — said Madame Odintzoff, lower- 
 
 ing her voice. 
 
 He glanced at her. Slie had thrown her head 
 against the back of the arm-chair and had crossed 
 her hands— lier arms were bare to tlie elbow — on 
 her la]). Slie seemed paler by the liglit of tlie soli- 
 taiy hull)), sliaded by a nct\N()i-k of cut i)ai)er. 
 Her amjile wliite gown almost completely covered 
 her with its soft folds; the tips of her feet, which 
 were also crossed, were barely visible. 
 
 " And why stay? " — replied Bazjiroff. 
 
 Madame Odint/olf lui-ned her head slightly.— 
 
 1(J4<
 
 FA'llir.HS AM) ( IIIIJ)Kl:\ 
 " Wliat do you mean by asking wliy? Don't yon 
 find things cheerful in my liouse;f Or do you 
 think tliat no one will regret vou liere!' " 
 
 " I am convineed of tliat." 
 
 jNIadame Odint/off was silciii for a space. — 
 
 Ynw iivc mistaken in thinking so. However, 1 
 do not believe you. ^'ou cannot have said that 
 seriously." 
 
 BazarofF continued to sit there motionless. — 
 " Kvgeny Vasilievitch. wliy do not you speak:*" 
 
 " Rut what can I say to you? It is not worth 
 wliile to I'egret j)eople in general, and me in i)ar- 
 tienlar." 
 
 "Why so?" 
 
 " I am a sedate, uninteresting man. I do not 
 know how to talk." 
 
 " You are begging for a compliment, Kvgeny 
 Vasilievitch." 
 
 " That is not mv habit. Do not you know vour- 
 self that the elegant side of life is inaccessil)le to 
 me, the side which you value so highly? " 
 
 INIadame Odintzoff nibbled the eoi'ner of Ik i' 
 liandkerchief.-" Think wliat you like, but 1 
 shall find it dull when yoi' are gone." 
 
 " Arkady will remain," — remarked lia/arolf. 
 
 Madame Odintzoff shrugged her shoulders 
 slightly.—" I shall find it dull,"-she repeate(b 
 
 "Really? Tn any case, yon will not be bored 
 long." 
 
 " Why do you assume that? " 
 
 1 ().7
 
 FAlIIKirs AM) C'II1LI)I{K\ 
 
 ' Because vou yoursell' have told nie that you 
 are bored only when your order is disturbed. You 
 l^nc an-anged your hfe in such a?i iinpecca])ly- 
 i-e<>ulai" manner that tliere can l)e no room in it 
 for irksomeness or (hdness . . . or for any pain- 
 ful feelings." 
 
 "And you think tliat T am impeccable? . . . 
 that is to sav, that 1 have arranged mv life in sudi 
 a regulai" manner? " 
 
 " Certainly! Here, for example: in a few min- 
 utes the clock will strike ten. and I know before- 
 hand tliat you will di-ive me away." 
 
 " Xo. I sliall not drive you away. Kvgeny Va- 
 sflievitch. Yim may stay. Open tliat window. . . 
 I feel stiHed for some reason." 
 
 BazarofF rose and pushed the window. It im- 
 mediately flew open with a bang. . . He had not 
 expected that it would open so readily ; moreover, 
 his hands were trembling. The dark, soft niglit 
 peered into the room with its almost black sky, 
 faintly rustling trees, and fresli odour of the open, 
 pure air. 
 
 " Pull down the shade and sit down," — said 
 Madame OdintzofF: — " I want to have a chat with 
 you before your departure. Tell me something 
 about yourself; you never talk about yourself." 
 
 " I try to talk to you about useful subjects, 
 Anna Sergyeevna." 
 
 " You are very modest. . . But I should like to 
 know something about }'Ou, about your family, 
 
 - IGG
 
 FATHERS AND CIIILDUKX 
 
 about your father, for wlioni >()u arc ahandon- 
 ing us." 
 
 " Why does she say sueli words? " thought Jia- 
 zaroff. 
 
 " All that is not in the least interesting," he 
 articulated aloud: — " esjjeeially I'oi- yon; we arc 
 ordinary people " 
 
 " And 1, in your opinion, am an aristoerat '. "' 
 
 BazarofF raised his eyes to jMadanie Odinl/oll'. 
 — " Yes," he said, with exaggerated sharpness. 
 
 She laughed. — " I see that vou know nie very 
 little, although you assert that all people are 
 alike, and that it is not worth while to study 
 them. I will narrate the story of my life to you 
 
 some day; hut first you must tell me 
 
 yours." 
 
 " I know you very little," — repeated Bazaroff. 
 — "Perhaps you are right; perhaps, in reality, 
 every human being is — a riddle. Just take your- 
 self, for example: you shun society, it is a burden 
 to j^ou, — and you have invited two students to re- 
 side with you. Why do you, M'ith your mind, ^vith 
 your beauty, live in the country? " 
 
 " What?"^ What is that you said? "-Madame 
 OdintzofF caught him uj) with animation — " With 
 my beauty? " 
 
 Bazaroff frowned. — " That is nothing,"— he 
 muttered; — " I wanted to say that 1 do not thor- 
 oughly understand why you have settled down in 
 the country." 
 
 167
 
 FATHERS AND CIIILDREX 
 
 " You do not understand tliat. . . . But you 
 explain it to yourself in some way or other? " 
 
 "Yes; I suppose you remain eon- 
 
 stantly in one place because you have indulged 
 yourself, because you l()\'e comfoi-t, ease, and are 
 very indifferent to everything else." 
 
 ^Madame Odintzoff laughed again. — " You are 
 positively determined not to believe that I am 
 capable of being carried away? " 
 
 BazaroiF cast a sidelong glance at her. — " By 
 curiosity, — ]^)erhaps, but not otherwise." 
 
 " Really? Well, now I understand why you 
 and I have become friends; for you are just such 
 a person as myself." 
 
 " We have become friends . . . ." said Baza- 
 roff , dully. 
 
 "Yes! .... but I had forgotten that you 
 want to go away." 
 
 Bazaroff rose. The lamp bm-ned dimly in the 
 centre of the shadowy, perfumed, isolated room; 
 through the curtain, which iluttered now and 
 then, the exhilarating fresliness of the night was 
 wafted in, its mysterious whis])ei-ing was audible. 
 Madame Odintzoff did not move a single mem- 
 ber, but a secret agitation was gradually seizing 
 hold u])on her. ... It communicated itself to 
 Bazaroff. She suddeidy became conscious that 
 he was alone with a young and beautiful 
 woman. ... 
 
 " Where are you going? " — she said slowly 
 
 168
 
 FATHERS AND CHTT.DHKX 
 
 He made no reply and dn)pi)c'(l into a c I tir. 
 
 " So yon regard me as a calni, eflVmiiiatc, 
 spoiled being," — she went on in tlic same tone, 
 never taking her eyes from tlic window. — " Hut 
 as for me, I know as to myself that 1 am un- 
 happy." 
 
 " You are unhappy! ^Vhy? Is it possil)lc tlial 
 you can attach any significance to vile gossip^ " 
 
 ]Madame Odintzoff knit her brows. She was 
 vexed that he had understood her in that wa\'. 
 
 " That gossip does not even disturb me, Kv- 
 geny Vasilievitch, and I am too ])n)ud to pei-rnit 
 it to worry me. I am unhap])y because ... I 
 have no wish, no desire to live. You look al fir* 
 incredulouslv ; von are thinking: An ' aristocrat,' 
 all covered with lace and seated in a \ elvet arm- 
 chair, is saying that. And T do not dissimulate: 
 I do love what yon call comfort, and. at the same 
 time, I have very little desire to live. Accept 
 this contradiction as you like. However, all this 
 is romanticism in your eves." 
 
 BazarofF shook his head. — " '\^)u are healthy, 
 independent, rich: wliat more do you required 
 What do you want? " 
 
 "What do T want? " — re])eate(l Madame 
 Odintzoff, and sighed. " I am very weary: I 
 am old; it seems to me that T have been living for 
 a very great while, ^'es. I am old." she added. 
 gently drawing the ends of hei- mantilla o\er her 
 bare arms. — Her eyes encountered Ha/aroff's 
 
 169
 
 FATHERS xVXD CHILDREN 
 
 eyes, and she blushed faintly. — " There are so 
 many memories behind me: life in Petersburg, 
 wealth, then poverty, then my father's death, mar- 
 riage, then a trip abroad, as was proper. . . . 
 jNIanv memories, but it is not worth while to recall 
 them; and before me — is a long, long road, but 
 I have no goal. . . And I do not want to go 
 on. 
 
 " Are you so disenchanted? " — asked Bazaroff. 
 
 " No," — rejoined INIadame Odintzoflf bro- 
 kenly, — " but I am dissatisfied. I think that if I 
 could become strongly attached to anything . ." 
 
 " You want to fall in love,"— BazarofF inter- 
 rupted her, — " and you cannot fall in love; 
 therein lies your misfortune." 
 
 Madame OdintzofF inspected the sleeve of her 
 wrap. 
 
 " Cannot I fall in love? " — she said. 
 
 " Hardly! Only I erred in calling that a mis- 
 fortune. On the contrary, he is rather deserving 
 of com})assion to whom that fate befalls." 
 
 " Befalls, — what? " 
 
 " To fall in love." 
 
 " And how do you know that? " 
 
 " By hearsay," — re])lied Bazaroff angrily. 
 
 "Thou art flirting," he thought; "thou art 
 bored and art teasing me for the lack of some- 
 thing to do, and I . . . ." In fact, his heart was 
 fairly breaking. 
 
 *' Besides, you ma}' be too exacting," —he said, 
 
 170
 
 FATIIKUS AM) CIIILDUKX 
 
 bending his whole hody i'orwiinl iind playing with 
 the fringe on the aiin-ehair. 
 
 *' Possibly. Aeeonhng to niN- view, il is all or 
 nothing. A life for a life. Thou hast taken mint . 
 hand over thine, and then we ean proceed w itlioiit 
 regret and without return. Otherwise, IkUlt 1< t 
 it alone." 
 
 " What then? "-remarked Bazaroff.-" That 
 condition is perfectly just, and I am surprised 
 that up to this time you .... have not found 
 what you want." 
 
 " But do vou think it is easy to surrendei- one's 
 self entirely to anything whatever? " 
 
 " It is not easy if one takes to reflecting and 
 waiting and sets a value on one's self— esteems 
 one's self, that is; but to surrender one's self ^^ ith- 
 out reflection is very easy." 
 
 " But how can one help valuing one's self ^ If 
 I have no value, who wants my devotion ? " 
 
 " That is no aiFair of mine; it is the aff'air of 
 some one else to examine into the question ol' ni\ 
 value. Th<^ principal thing is to know how to sur- 
 render one's self." 
 
 Madame Odintzoff separated herself from llu 
 back of her chair. — " You si)eak," — said she 
 " as though you had gone thron.gh all that." 
 
 " It was a slip of the tongue, Anna Sergye- 
 evna: all that, as you know, is not in my line." 
 
 " But would you know how to surrender yoin- 
 self?" 
 
 171
 
 FATHERS AND CTTTT.DREN 
 
 " 1 do not know liow; I will not boast." 
 
 ^Madame Odintzoif said nothing, and Bazaroif 
 relai)sed into silence. The sounds of the piano 
 were wafted to them from the drawing- 
 room. 
 
 "What makes Katya play so late?"— re- 
 marked ^Madame Odintzoff. 
 
 Bazaroff rose. "Yes, it really is late; it is 
 time for you to go to bed." 
 
 " Wait. Whither are you hastening. . . I 
 must say one word more to you." 
 
 "What word?" 
 
 " Wait,"— whispered Madame Odintzoff.— 
 Her eyes rested on BazarofF; she seemed to be at- 
 tentively inspecting him. 
 
 He paced the room, then suddenly approached 
 her, said hastily " Farewell," gripped her hand so 
 that she almost screamed aloud, and went out. 
 She raised her fingers, which stuck together, to 
 her lips, blew upon them, and rising suddenly, im- 
 pulsively from her cliair, walked to the door with 
 rapid steps, as though desirous of recalling Baza- 
 roif. . . . Her maid entered the room with a carafe 
 on a silver salver. INIadame Odintzoff stopped 
 short, ordered her to leave the room, seated 
 herself again, and again fell into thought. 
 Her hair uncoiled and fell on her shoulder like a 
 dark-hued serpent. The lamp burned for a long 
 time still in Anna Sergyeevna's chamber, and for 
 a long tin^e she remained motionless, only now 
 
 172
 
 FATHERS AM) CIIILDKKN 
 
 ami then ])assin«»" lier fingers over her arms, wliieli 
 the night air stnng rathei- sliarply. 
 
 But Ba/aroif two hours hiter retuiiied lo liis 
 room with hoots dani]) fron: the dew, (hslievelled 
 and surly. He found Arkady at the writing- 
 tahle with a hook in his hands and his coat hut- 
 toned to the throat. 
 
 " Thou art not yet in hed? " — he said, as tliough 
 in vexation. 
 
 " Thou hast sat a long time this e\ening witli 
 Anna Sergyeevna," — remarked ^Vrkady, \\ ithoiit 
 replying to his (juestion. 
 
 " Yes, I was sitting with her all the while that 
 you and Katerina Sergyeevna were playing on 
 the piano." 
 
 "I was not ])laying . . . ." hegan Arkadx, 
 and stopped shoi-t. He felt the tears NveUiiig uj) 
 in his eyes and he did not wish to weep in the i)res- 
 ence of his jeering friend. 
 
 173
 
 XVIII 
 
 On the following day, when ^Nladtun*-'. Odintzoft' 
 made her appearance at tea, Bazaroff sat for a 
 long time bent over his cup, then suddenly cast a 
 glance at her. . . She turned toward him, as 
 though he had nudged her, and it seemed to him 
 that her face had grown somewhat paler over^ 
 night. She soon went away to her own room and 
 did not appear again until breakfast. From early 
 morning the \\eather had been rainy, and walking 
 was impossible. The whole company assembled 
 in the drawing-room. ^Vi'kady got the last num- 
 ber of the newspaper and began to read aloud. 
 The Princess, according to her wont, first ex- 
 pressed amazement on her face, exactly as though 
 he were plotting something improper, then riveted 
 her eyes maliciously u])on him ; but he paid no at- 
 tention to her. 
 
 " Evgeny Vasilievitch," — said Anna Sergye- 
 
 evna, — " come to mv room I want to ask 
 
 vou .... vou mentioned yesterday a guide . . ." 
 
 She I'ose and went toward the door. The Prin- 
 cess glanced around with an ex})ressi()n which 
 seemed to say, " Look, look, how astonished 1 
 am! " and again bored her eyes into Arkady, but 
 
 174
 
 FATHERS AM) Cllll.DHKX 
 
 he raised his voice, and excliangiii^- a i^hmci' w illi 
 Katya, beside whom lie was sitting, went on 
 reading. 
 
 Madame 0(h'ntzott', with hasly slcj)s. bclook 
 herself to her boudoir. Baziiroff briskly followed 
 her, without raising his eyes, and merely eatehing 
 with his ear the faint whirr and lustle of her 
 silken gown, which was gliding on ifi front of him. 
 JNladame Odintzoff dro})|)ed into the same aini- 
 chair in which she had sat on the preceding e\en- 
 ing, and BazarofF resumed his former place. 
 
 " So what is the title of that booki* " — she 1k'- 
 gan, after a brief silence. 
 
 " Pelouze et Fremy, ' Notions Generales,' "... 
 replied Bazaroff. — " But I can also recommend 
 to vou Ganot, ' Traite elementaiie de Phvsiciue 
 Experimentale.' In this work the illustiations are 
 exact, and, on the whole, that manual ... 
 
 Madame Odintzoff stretched out her hand. — 
 " Evgeny Vasilievitch, pardon me, but T ha\e not 
 summoned you hither for the purpose of discus- 
 sing manuals. I wished to renew oin- conversa- 
 tion of last night. You went away so suddenly. 
 . . You will not find it irksome? " 
 
 " I am at your service, Anna Sergyeevna. 
 But, dear me, what was it we were talking about 
 last night? " 
 
 Madame Odintzoif ca.st a sidelong gliuiee al 
 BazaroiF. — " We were talking about bappiness, 
 I believe. I was telling you about my.self. H> 
 
 175
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 the way, I have nieiitioiicd the word ' hap2)iness. ' 
 Tell me why, even when we are enjoying music, 
 for exami)le, a fine evening, a conversation with 
 sympathetic persons,— why does it all seem rather 
 a hint of some illimitahle happiness, which exists 
 somewhere or other, than real happiness— that is, 
 the sort such as we ourselves possess? Why is 
 this? Or, perhaps, you do not feel anything of 
 that sort?" 
 
 " You know the adage: ' That place is fair 
 where we are not,' "—returned BazarofF;— " he- 
 sides, you j^ourself said last night that you are 
 dissatisfied. And, as a matter of fact, such 
 thoughts do not enter mv head." 
 
 " Perhaps they seem ridiculous to you?" 
 " No, but they do not enter my head." 
 " Really ? Do you know, I should very much 
 like to know what you think about? " 
 " What? I do not understand you." 
 " Listen, I have long wanted to have an expla- 
 nation with you. There is no necessity for telling 
 you — you know that yourself — that you do not 
 belong to the class of ordinary men : — you are still 
 young— all life is before you. For what are you 
 preparing yourself? What future awaits you? 
 I mean to say— what goal do you wish to attain? 
 whither are you going? what have you in 
 your soul?— in a word, who are you? what are 
 vou?" 
 
 " You amaze me, Anna Sergyeevna. You 
 
 176
 
 FATHERS AM) CIIILDUKX 
 
 know that 1 am occupied with tlie natural sciences. 
 And as to who I am . . . ." 
 
 " Yes, Avho are you ? " 
 
 " I have ah-eady informed you that J am to he 
 a country doctor." 
 
 Anna Sergyeevna made a movement of im- 
 patience.—" Why do you say that? You do not 
 heheve that yourself. Arkady might answei- me 
 in that manner, but not you." 
 
 " But why should Arkady " 
 
 " Will you sto]:) ? Is it possible that you are sat- 
 isfied with so humble an activity, and are not you 
 j^ourself forever asserting that medicine does not 
 exist for you? You — with your })ride — a district 
 doctor! You answer me in that ^^'ay ^^•ith the ob- 
 ject of getting rid of me because you have no 
 confidence in me. But do you know, Kvgeny 
 Vasilitch, I have learned to understand you: 
 I myself have been poor and proud, like you: 
 I have passed, perhaps, through the same trials 
 as you." 
 
 " All that is very fine, Anna Sergyeevna. but 
 you must excuse me; . . . in general, I have not 
 been used to expressing myself; and between yon 
 and me there is such a gulf " 
 
 " What gulf ?— Are you aoing to tell me again 
 that I am an aristocrat? Enough. Evgeny Xn- 
 sihtch; it seems to me that 1 have demonstrated 
 
 to you " 
 
 "Yes, and in addition to that,"— interrupted 
 
 177
 
 FATHERS AM) CHILDREN 
 
 Haziiroff, — " what is the use ol' (liseussiug a 
 future, M'hich, in the main, does not depend on 
 us? If an opportunity to do sometliing fine 
 should turn up — very good; and if it does not turn 
 up — at all events, one can be satisfied that one has 
 not prated uselessl}^ in advance. . ." 
 
 " You call a friendly chat prating .... or, 
 perhaps, you do not regard me as a woman worthy 
 of your confidence ? You scorn us all, j^ou know." 
 
 " I do not scorn you, Anna Sergyeevna, you 
 know that." 
 
 " Xo, I know nothing. . . . But let us assume 
 that I understand your reluctance to talk about 
 your future vocation ; but what is taking place in 
 you at the present moment " 
 
 " Taking place! " — repeated Razaroff, — " as 
 tliough I were some kingdom or other, or a soci- 
 ety! In any case, it is not in the least interesting; 
 and, moreover, can a man always say aloud every- 
 thing that is ' taking place in him'? " 
 
 " But I do not see wlty it is impossible to speak 
 out everything which one has on one's soul." 
 
 " Can you? " — inquired Bazaroff. 
 
 ''' I can," — replied Anna Sergyeevna, after a 
 slight hesitation. 
 
 BazarofF bowed his head. — " You are more for- 
 tunate than I." 
 
 Anna Sergyeevna looked inquiringly at him. — 
 " As you like," — she went on; — " but, neverthe- 
 less, something tells me that it is not for nothing 
 
 178
 
 FATTTET^S AM) (IIILDKKX 
 
 that we have beeoine iiiliiiialc, that \vc shall hr 
 good friends. 1 am convinced tliat — how shall 1 
 say it— tliis intensity, tliis Tcserve ol" yoms, will 
 vanish in the end." 
 
 " And have you noticed in nic reserve . . . how 
 was it you expressed it . . . intensity?" 
 les. 
 
 BazarofF rose and went to the wiiidow. — " Aih\ 
 you woukl hke to know the cause of that reserve? 
 — you would like to know what is taking- place in 
 mef 
 
 " Yes," — repeated Madame Odintzoff', with a 
 certain alarm, which had hitherto l)een unknown 
 to her. 
 
 " And 5'ou will not be angry? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " No? " — Bazaroff was standing with his l)ack 
 to her. — " Then j'ou must know that 1 love you 
 stupidly, madly. . . That is what you ha\ t- hecn 
 trying to get." 
 
 Madame Odintzoff stretched both arms out in 
 front of her, but Bazaroff leaned his brow against 
 the window-pane. He was suffocating: his whole 
 body was visibly quivering. But this was not the 
 quiver of j-outhful timidity, not the sweet terror 
 of the first confession, which had taken possession 
 of him; it w^as passion thi-()b])ing in him, strong 
 and heavy — passion resembling wrath, and. per- 
 haps, allied to it ^fadame Odintzoff 
 
 was terrified at him, and sony I'or him. 
 
 179
 
 FATIIKUS AND CIIILDREX 
 
 " Evoeny Vasilitcli," — she said, and wvol- 
 iintary tenderness resounded in her voice. 
 
 He wheeled hastily round. Hung a devouring 
 glance at her, — and seizing hoth her hands, sud- 
 denly drew her to his hreast. 
 
 She did not innnediately free herself from his 
 emhrace : hut a moment later she was standing far 
 away in a corner and gazing thence at Bazaroff . 
 He rushed toward her. . . . 
 
 " You have not understood me aright," — she 
 whis]3ered in swift alarm. It seemed to her that 
 if he took another step she should shriek. — Baza- 
 roff bit his lip and left the room. 
 
 Half an hoin- later a maid handed Anna Ser- 
 gyeevna a note from Bazaroff; it consisted of 
 only a single line: " Am I to go away to-day — 
 or may I stay until to-morrow? " — " Why go 
 away? I did not understand vou — you did not 
 understand me,"— Anna Sergyeevna replied to 
 him, and thought to herself, " And I did not un- 
 derstand myself either." 
 
 She did not sliow herself until dinner, and kept 
 pacing back and forth in her room with her hands 
 crossed behind hei\ lialting from time to time, 
 ll()^v in front of the window, then in front of the 
 mirror, and slow ly ])assing her handkerchief over 
 her neck, on which slie still seemed to feel a burn- 
 ing spot. She asked lierself what liad made her 
 " try to get," to use BazarofF's expression, his 
 frankness, and whether slie had not suspected any- 
 
 180
 
 FATIIKKS AM) ( HILDin-A 
 
 thing. ... "1 am to blame," she said aloud, 
 "but 1 could not foresee tliis." Slie fell int(» 
 thought, and blushed, as she recalled Ha/iirofV "s 
 almost fierce face when he had rushed al iui-. . . . 
 
 " Or? " — she suddenly articulated, and halted 
 and shook her curls. . . . She l)ehel(l herself in 
 the mirror; her head thrown back, with a siiiiN 
 on the half-})arted, half-closed eyes and lips. 
 seemed, at that moment, to be saying something 
 to her which reduced her to confusion. . . . 
 
 " No," she decided at last, — " God knows 
 whither that would have led; I must not jest willi 
 that; after all, tranquillit}' is better than anything 
 else in the world." 
 
 Her composure was not shaken; hut she grew 
 sad and even wept once, not knowing herself why, 
 only not from the insult which had been dealt lu r. 
 She did not feel herself insulted: she felt herseli", 
 rather, culpable. Under the influence of divers 
 confused sensations, the consciousness of \aiiisli- 
 ing life, the desire for novelty, she forced lierselt' 
 to toe the a})i)ointed mark, made herself look fiii- 
 ther— and beheld heyond it not even a chasm, 
 but a void .... or a horror. 
 
 181
 
 XIX 
 
 ^Mistress of herself as she was, liigh as she stood 
 above all prejudices, yet Madame OdintzofF felt 
 awkward when she presented herself in the din- 
 ing-room for dinner. However, it passed off 
 (juite successfully. Porfiry Platonitch came and 
 told various anecdotes; he had only just returned 
 from the town. Among other things, he informed 
 them that the governor, Eourdaloue, had ordered 
 his officials for s])ecial commissions to wear spurs, 
 by way of expediting matters, in case he should 
 despatch them anywhere on horseback. Arkady 
 chatted with Katya in a subdued voice and lis- 
 tened diplomaticalty to the Princess. BazarofF 
 preserved a sullen and persistent silence. JNIa- 
 dame OdintzofF looked twice — not stealthily, but 
 directly — at his face, stern and bitter, with low- 
 ered eyes, with tlie stamp of scornful decision on 
 every feature, and thought, " Xo . . no . . . 
 no. . . ." After dinner she an({ the entire com- 
 pany went into the garden, and, perceiving that 
 BazarofF wanted to speak with licr, she Avent a 
 few paces aside and sto])]:)ed. He approached 
 her, but even then he did not raise his eyes, and 
 said dully: 
 
 182
 
 FATHERS AM) CII11.13KKN 
 
 " I have a confession to make to you, Anna 
 Sergyeevna. You cannot but be angry willi nic." 
 
 " No, I am not angry with you, Kvgeny \'m- 
 siHtch," — replied ^Madame Och'nt/off'; " l)nl I am 
 grieved." 
 
 " So much the worse. In any case, I am sulli- 
 ciently ])unislied. My position, as yon will proli- 
 ably agree with me, is extremely stuj)i(l. \<n\ 
 have written to me: 'Why go?' ]5ul 1 cannot 
 and will not stay. To-morrow I shall \)v gone." 
 
 " Evgeny Vasilitch, why are you . . . . " 
 
 " Why am I going? " 
 
 " No, that was not what I meant to say." 
 
 " The past cannot be brought back, iVnna Ser- 
 gyeevna; . . . and sooner or later this must have 
 happened. Consequently, I must go. 1 under- 
 stand only one condition mider which I could ic- 
 main; but that condition will never come to pass. 
 For you— pardon my audacity — do not lo\-e me, 
 and will never love me." 
 
 BazarofF's eyes flashed for a moment iK'ueath 
 his gloomy brows. 
 
 Anna Sergveevna did not answer iiini. " I am 
 afraid of this man," flashed tln-ough her licad. 
 
 " Farewell, madam," said Bazaroff, as though 
 divining her thought, and v.ended his \\ a\- to the 
 house. 
 
 Anna Sergyeevna (juictly followed him. and 
 calhn"- Ktitva, took her arm. . . She did not dt- 
 tach herself from her until evening. Slic did not 
 
 183
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 play cards, and laughed a great deal, which did 
 not match at all with her pallid, agitated face. 
 Arkady was nonplussed and watched her, as 
 young men watch; that is to say, he incessantly 
 asked himself: " AVhat is the meaning of this? " 
 BazarofF locked himself up in his room; but he 
 came out for tea. Anna Sergyeevna tried to utter 
 some kind word to him, but she did not know how 
 to begin the conversation with him. . . . 
 
 An unforeseen incident extricated her from her 
 dilemma: the butler announced the arrival of Sit- 
 nikoif. 
 
 It is difficult to convey in words the quail-like 
 manner in which the youthful progressist flew 
 into the room. Having made up his mind, with 
 the audacity peculiar to him, to drive tc the coun- 
 try-house of a A\oman ^vhom he hardly knew, who 
 had never invited him, but who was entertaining 
 — according to the information he had gathered — 
 persons who were so clever and so near to him, 
 he was, nevertheless, intimidated to the very mar- 
 row of his bones, and, instead of uttering, to l)egin 
 with, the conventional excuses and greetings, he 
 stammered out some nonsense or other, to the 
 effect that Evdoksiya Kukshin had sent him to 
 inquire after the health of Anna Sergyeevna, and 
 that ^Vrkiidy Xikolaevitch also had always ex- 
 pressed himself to him in "the most laudatory 
 terms. . . . At this ])oint he broke down and be- 
 came confused to such a degree that be sat down 
 
 184
 
 FATin^HS AND CTTILDRKX 
 
 on his own hat. J?ul, as no one drove liini out, 
 and Anna Scrgyeevna even introthieed hiiu to 
 her aunt and her sister, he s])ee(hly recovered him- 
 self and chattered away famously. The a])i)e;ii- 
 ance of the common])hice is often iiselid in life: 
 it reheves the tension of chords too hi<4lily strung. 
 its sobers self-conceited or self-forgetful feelings 
 by reminding them of their clo.se connection with 
 it. With Sitnikoff's arrival everything became 
 more stupid and more simple; every one even ate 
 a more hearty supper, and they went off to bed 
 half an hour earlier than usual. 
 
 " I can re])eat to thee now," — said ^Vrkjidy. as 
 he got into bed, to Bazaroff, who was also un- 
 dressed,—" that which thou saidst to me one day: 
 ' Why art thou so sad? assuredly, thou hast ful- 
 filled some sacred duty?' " — for some time past 
 a sort of hypocritically free and easy jesting had 
 been established between the two young men. 
 which always serves as a sign of secret displeasure 
 or of unuttered sus])icions. 
 
 " I 'm going off to my father to-morrow," — 
 said Baztiroff. 
 
 Arkady half sat up and pr()pi)ed himself on 
 his elbow. For some reason or other, he was 
 both astonished and dcliglited. — " Ah! "— he 
 ejaculated. — " And is that what makes thee 
 
 sad'? " 
 
 Bazaroff yawned. — " If thou knowest t(X3 
 much, thou wilt grow old." 
 
 185
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 "And how about Anna Sergyeeviia ? " — went 
 on Arkady. 
 
 " What dost thou mean about Anna Sergye- 
 evna { 
 
 " I mean to say, is it possible that she will allow 
 thee to go? " 
 
 " I have not tied myself to her." 
 
 Arkady reflected, but Bazaroff got into bed 
 and turned his face to the wall. 
 
 Several minutes elapsed in silence. "Evgeny!" 
 — exclaimed Arkadv suddenlv. 
 
 " Well? " 
 
 " I 'm going away with thee to-morrow." 
 
 Bazaroff made no answer. 
 
 " Only I am going home," — ^xirsued Arkady. 
 — " We will go together as far as the Khokhloff 
 settlement, and there thou canst get horses from 
 Fctxldi. I should be glad to make the acquain- 
 tance of thy people, but I am afraid of incom- 
 moding them and thee. Tliou wilt come back to 
 us later on, wilt tliou not ? " 
 
 " I left my things at thy house," — replied Ba- 
 zaroff, without turning round. 
 
 " Why does n 't he ask me why I am going? 
 and as suddeidy as liimself ? " thought Arkady. 
 " As Ik matter of fact, why am I going? and 
 why is lie going?" lie pursued his medita- 
 tions He could not give a satisfactor}' re- 
 ])ly to his own question, but his heart was 
 lilletl to overflowing witli a caustic sensation 
 
 186
 
 1 ATllKKS AM) CIIILDKKX 
 
 He felt that it was painrul lo liim to part 
 with that hfe to which he liad grown so accus- 
 tomed; but to remain alone would seem somewhat 
 strange. "What has taken j)lace Ixlvvccn 
 them?" — he argued the matter with himscU"; 
 " and why should 1 show myseli' l)ef'ore her after 
 his de])arture? I shall make her tired oi' me i'ov 
 goodand all; and 1 shall lose my last hold." He 
 began to picture to himself Anna Sergyeevna, 
 and then other features gradually pierced their 
 way through the lovely image of the young 
 widow. 
 
 " I 'm sorry for Katya, too! " — whispered Ar- 
 kady to his pillow, on which a tear had already 
 fallen. . . . He suddenly flung back his hair and 
 said aloud: 
 
 "What the devil did that blockhead Sitnikoif 
 come for? " 
 
 Bazaroft' first moved in his bed and then emit- 
 ted the following: — " Thou, brother, art still 
 stupid, I perceive. SitnikofFs are indispensable 
 to us. I — mark this— I need such dolts, lleally, 
 it is not the business of the gods to bake ])ots! . ." 
 
 "Aha, ha! . . . ." thought Arkady to himself, 
 and only then was the wliole l)ottomless abyss of 
 Bazaroff's pride disclosed to him for an instant. 
 " So thou and I are gods? that is— thou art a god, 
 and am I the dolt, I wonder? " 
 
 " Yes,"— repeated Bazaroff grimly, " tlioii 
 art still stupid." 
 
 187
 
 FATITEKS AND CHILDREN 
 
 ISIadanie OdiiitzofF did not manifest any par- 
 ticnlar snrprise wlien, on the following day, Ar- 
 kady told her that he was going away with Baza- 
 roff ; she seemed preoccupied and weary. Katya 
 gazed silently and seriously at him, the Princess 
 even crossed herself under her shawl, so that he 
 might not perceive it, but Sitnikoff, on the other 
 hand, was thoroughly alarmed. He had just 
 come to breakfast in a new, dandified outfit, 
 which, on this occasion, was not Slavyanophil ; on 
 the previous evening he had astonished the man 
 appointed to wait on him by the amount of body- 
 linen he had brought, and, all of a sudden, his 
 comrades were abandoning him! PTe danced up 
 and down a little and rushed about like a hunted 
 hare at the edge of the forest, — and suddenly, 
 almost with terror, almost with a shriek, an- 
 nounced that he intended to leave. ^ladame 
 OdintzofF did not attem])t to dissuade him. 
 
 " I have a very easy calash," — added the un- 
 happy young man, turning to Arkady. — " I can 
 drive you, and Evgeny Vasilitch can take your 
 tarantas, as it will be more convenient that way.'^' 
 
 " But good gracious, it is not on your road at 
 all, and I live far away." 
 
 "That makes no difference, no difference; I 
 have plenty of time, and, moreover. I have busi- 
 ness in that direction." 
 
 "Connected with the li(|uor monopoly?" — in- 
 quired Arkady, quite too disdainfully. 
 
 188
 
 FATHERS A\D (TIILDHKX 
 
 But Sitnikofr was in sncli a stale of (lisj)aii 
 that, contrary to his wont, lie did not even smile. 
 — " I assure you iiiv cahish is e.\treniel\- easv," 
 — he stammered, — " and there will he room 
 for all." 
 
 "Do not grieve INIonsieur SitnikofV hy relns- 
 ing," — said Anna Sergyeevna. . . . 
 
 Arkady glanced at hei- and signilieantly liowt li 
 his head. 
 
 The visitors took their de])arture altei- hi-eak- 
 fast. 
 
 As she bade Bazaroff good-bye, Madame 
 OdintzofF offered him her hand and said, - '* \\'e 
 shall see each other again, shall we not ', " 
 
 " At your command," — replied l^azai-off'. 
 
 " In that case, we shall meet again." 
 
 Arkady was the first to emerge uj)on the porch: 
 he climbed into Sitnikoff's calash. The butler 
 respectfully assisted him, but it would have given 
 him great satisfaction to })eat the man. or to weep. 
 Bazaroff took his ])lace in the tai-antas. When 
 they reached tlie Khokhloff settlemenl. Aikady 
 waited until Feodot, the keeper of the posting- 
 station, had harnessed the horses, and, approach- 
 ing the tarantiis, said to Bazaroff' with his smile 
 as of old, " Evgeny, take me with thee; I want 
 to' go to thy house." 
 
 " Get in,"— articulated Bazaroff iK'tween his 
 
 teeth. 
 
 Sitnikoff, who was walki?ig u]) and down, whis- 
 
 189
 
 FATHERS AM) CHILDREN 
 
 tliim' eiieroeticallv around the wheels of his calash, 
 merely gaped when he Iieard these words, but Ar- 
 kady coolly took his things out of the calash, 
 seated liimself beside Razaroff, — and, politely sa- 
 luting his previous travelling companion, shouted, 
 " Drive on! " The tarantas rolled off' and soon 
 disajjpeared from view. . . . Sitnikoff, thor- 
 oughly discomfited, looked at his coachman, but 
 the latter was making the tail of his whip-lash 
 play over the side horse. Then Sitnikoff sprang 
 into his calash, and thundering out at two passing 
 peasants: "Put on your caps, you fools!" — 
 dragged himself off to the town, where he arrived 
 very late, and where, on the following day at 
 Madame Kukshin's, the two " disgusting, proud 
 boors " caught it lieavily. 
 
 As he took his seat in the tarantas beside Raza- 
 roff , Arkady pressed his hand warmly, and for a 
 long time said nothing. RazarofF appeared to 
 understand and value both the pressure and the 
 silence. He had not slept all the preceding night, 
 and for several days past he had not smoked, 
 and had eaten almost nothing. His haggard 
 profile stood out gloomily and sharply from be- 
 neath his cap, which was pulled down over his 
 eyes. 
 
 " Well, brother," — he said at last, — " give me 
 a cigar. . . . And look, see if my tongue is 
 yellow." 
 
 " It is," — replied Arkady. 
 
 190
 
 FATIIKUS AND CIIILDHKX 
 
 "Well, yes, and llic ci^ar lias no 
 
 flavour. The niacliinc is out of onki." 
 
 "Thou really liast ehanocd of late," — re- 
 marked ^Vrkady. 
 
 "Never mind! we shall ri^lit ourselves. One 
 tiling is a bore,— my mother is sueli a Icndrr- 
 hearted woman: if your ])auneh has n't <•!•,, vm, l,i,. 
 and you don't eat ten times a day. she simply 
 pines. Well, my father is all right: he has hcen 
 through all sorts of things himself. Xo, it 
 is impossible to smoke,"— he added, and Ihing his 
 eigar into the dust of the highway. 
 
 (( 
 
 It is twenty-five versts to thy estate? " — asked 
 Arkady. 
 
 " Yes. But ask that wiseacre tliere." — lit 
 pointed at the peasant on the box, Feodot's hired 
 man. 
 
 But the wiseacre replied: " AMio knows?— the 
 versts are not measured," — with his (pieer aeeenl. 
 and went on reviling the shaft-horse because it 
 jerked its head. 
 
 "Yes, yes," — began Bazaroff, — " a lesson lor 
 you, my young friend, a sort of edil'ying example. 
 The devil knows what nonsense it is! Kvery man 
 hano\s on a hair, tlie abyss may yawn iKiieatli him 
 at any moment, and he invents all sorts of un- 
 pleasant things for himself to boot: lie niiiis his 
 own life." 
 
 "At what art thou liinting^ "- incjuired Ar 
 kady. 
 
 191
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 " 1 'ill not liiiitiiig at anything; 1 'in saying 
 straight out that both you and 1 have been be- 
 having very stupidly. What 's the use of explain- 
 ing! But I have already observed in the clinic 
 that if any one gets angry at his pain, that man in- 
 fallibly conquers it." 
 
 " I do not understand thee in the least," — said 
 Arkadv. — " I should not think thou hadst anv 
 cause to complain." 
 
 . " And if thou dost not understand me in the 
 least, then I will tell thee this: In my opinion, it 
 is better to break stones on the highwa}^ than to 
 permit a woman to take possession of even so 
 much as the tip of thy finger. That 's all. . ." 
 
 Ba/aroff came, near uttering his favourite 
 word, " romanticism" — but restrained himself, 
 and said, " nonsense. — Thou wilt not believe me 
 now, but I will tell thee: thou and I have fallen 
 into feminine societv, and we have found it agree- 
 able; but to abandon such society is like drench- 
 ing one's self with cold water on a hot day. — A 
 man has no time to occupy himself with such 
 trifles ; a man ought to be ferocious, says a capital 
 Spanish proverb. I suppose, wiseacre,"— he 
 added, addressing the peasant on the box, — " that 
 thou hast a wife? " 
 
 The peasant exhibited his flat, mole-eyed face 
 to the two friends. 
 
 " A wife? Ves. How could I be Avithout a 
 wife?" 
 
 192
 
 FATTTEKS AM) C 1 1 1 1 .1 )in:\ 
 
 •'Dost thou iK'ut her?" 
 
 " ^ly wife? ^\11 sorts of things happc ii. We 
 don't beat her witliout cause." 
 
 " And that is well. Well, and does she Ijcat 
 thee?" 
 
 The peasant twitched tlie i-eins.- -" \\ hat a 
 word thou hast said, master. Thou wilt keep jest- 
 ing. . . ." Obviously, he was ollended. 
 
 Arkady laughed in a constrained way. and lia- 
 zaroif turned aside and never o])ened liis month 
 again the w^hole way. 
 
 The five and twenty versts seemed to iVi-kady 
 fully fifty. But at last, on the declivity of a slop- 
 ing hill, a tiny hamlet was revealed to view, where 
 dwelt the parents of T5a/arofl^. iVlongside of it. 
 in a young birch grove, a small manor-liouse w itli 
 a thatched roof was visible. I3y the first cottage 
 stood two peasants with their caps on (luai-ivlHug. 
 " Thou art a big hog," — said one to the other. — 
 " But thou art worse than a small sucking-|)ig." 
 — " And thy wife is a witch," retorted tlie other. 
 
 " From the unceremoniousness of tluii- iiitti- 
 course," — remarked Bazaroff to ^Vrkady. — '" and 
 from the playful turns of their s])eech, thon canst 
 judge that my father's serfs are not too niucli o|)- 
 pressed. But yonder is he himself coming out 
 on the porch of his dwelling. He must have 
 heard the carriage-bell. 'T is he, 't is he I icc- 
 ognise his figure. Ehe, he! but how' grey he has 
 grown, poor man ! " 
 
 193
 
 XX 
 
 Bazaroff leaned out of the tarantas, and Arkady 
 rhrust his head out behind his friend's back and 
 perceived on the httle porch of the manor-house 
 a tall, thin man, with dishevelled hair, and a thin, 
 aquiline nose, clad in an old military coat open on 
 the breast. He was standing with his legs far 
 apart smoking a long pipe and blinking at the 
 sun. 
 
 The horses came to a halt. 
 
 " Thou art come, at last," — said BazarofF's 
 father, still continuing to smoke, although his 
 chibouque fairly leaped in his fingers. — " Come, 
 get out, get out, we will embrace and kiss." 
 
 He began to embrace his son. ..." Eniiisha, 
 Kniiisha," rang out a quavering female voice. 
 Tlie door flew open and on the threshold apj^eai'ed 
 a plumj), short old woman, in a white cap, and a 
 short, motlej'-hued jacket. She cried out and 
 staggered, and certainly would have fallen had 
 not BazarofF su])])orted her. Her plump arms 
 instantly twined tliemselves around his neck, her 
 head pressed close to his breast, and all became 
 still. Nothing was au(li])le, save her broken sobs. 
 
 Old Baziii-off drew deep breaths and blinked 
 worse than before. 
 
 194
 
 FATIIE1?S AM) C'II1L1)1{KN 
 
 "Come, enough, enoiigli, iVn'slia! stop," — he 
 said, exchanging a glance with Arkady, who stood 
 motionless bj- the tarantas, while the peasant on 
 the box even turned away: — " Tliis is not in the 
 least necessary! please stop." 
 
 " Akh, Vasilv Ivanitch," — stam.Miered the old 
 woman, — " it 's an age since I have seen my dar- 
 ling, my Kniushenka . . ." and, nitliout releas- 
 ing her arms, she turned her face, all wet with 
 tears, agitated and moved, from Bazarofi", gazed 
 at him with blissful and comical eyes, and again 
 fell upon his breast. 
 
 " Well, yes, of course, this is all in the nature of 
 things," — said Vasily Ivanitch, — " only we had 
 better go into the house. A visitor has come with 
 EfVgen3\ Excuse me," — he added, turning -io 
 Arkady, and with a sliglit scrape of tlie foot, — 
 "you understand woman's weakness; well, and 
 the mother's heart " 
 
 But his own lips and eyebrows were twitching 
 and his chin was quivering; . . . . but he was e\ i- 
 dentlv trying to control himself and to appear 
 almost indifferent. xVrkady saluted him. 
 
 " Come, mother, really now," — said BazarofV, 
 and led the feeble old woman into the house. 
 After seating her in a comfortable arni-cliaii-. he 
 once more hastily embraced his fathc r. and intro- 
 duced Arkady to him. 
 
 " I am heartilv glad to make your ac-(|iiain- 
 tance," — said Vasilv Ivanovitch, — " onlv be not 
 
 195
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREX 
 
 exacting: everything here in my house is simple, 
 on a mihtary footing. Arina Vlasievna, do me 
 the favour to cahii thyself: what pusillanimity is 
 this? Our guest must think hardly of thee." 
 
 " Dear little father,"— said the old woman, 
 through her tears: — " I have not the honour to 
 know your name and patronymic " 
 
 " Arkady Xikolaitch," Vasily Ivanitch pom- 
 pously prompted her, in an undertone. 
 
 " Excuse me, I 'm stupid." The old woman 
 blew her nose and, bending her head now to the 
 right, now to the left, carefully wiped first one 
 eve, then the other. " You must excuse me. You 
 see I thought I should die before I saw my 
 da . . o a . . . a . . arling." 
 
 " But now you have lived to see him, madam," 
 — put in Vasily Ivanitch. — " Taniushka," he said, 
 addressing a barefooted girl of thirteen, in a 
 bright scarlet print gown, who was peeping tim- 
 idly from behind the door, — " fetch the mistress 
 a glass of water — on a salver, dost thou hear? — 
 and you, gentlemen," — he added, with a certain 
 old-fashioned ])layfulness, — " allow me to invite 
 vou into the study of a veteran in retreat." 
 
 " Let me hug thee just a little more, Eni- 
 lishetchka," — moaned Arina Vlasievna. Baz- 
 aroff bent over her. " But what a beauty thou 
 hast grown to be! " 
 
 " Well, he 's not exactly a beauty," — remarked 
 Vasily Ivanitch; — " but he's a man; as the say- 
 
 196
 
 FATHERS A\l) ( IIILDUF.X 
 
 in<^' is, honniic fail. I>iil now, 1 liojx', Antia 
 Miisieviia, tliat, after li:i\iii;4' satiated lliy ma- 
 ternal licart, tlioii will allciid l(» llu- IVcdiim- 
 of thy dear guests, l)eeause, as thou kiiowcst, it is 
 not fitting' to feed a niglitingale on I aides." ' 
 
 The ohl woman rose from licr chair. "This 
 very moment, Vasily Ivaniteli, the Lal)le will he 
 set; I will run to the kitchen myself and ordci- 
 the samovar to he ]3re])ared; they shall have every- 
 thing, everything. AVhy, it 's three years since I 
 saw him, fed him, gave him to drink, and is that 
 easy to hear? " 
 
 " Well, see to it, housewife; hustle ahout and 
 do not put thyself to shame; and do you, gentle- 
 men, be so good as to follow me. Here 's Timo- 
 feitch has presented himself to greet thee, K\'- 
 geny. And he 's delighted, I think, the old 
 watch-dog. AVhat? thou art delighted, art thou 
 not, old watch-dog? 1 pray you to follow me." 
 
 And Vasily Ivanitch hustled on ahead, shnffiing 
 and dragging his patched slii)])ers. 
 
 His entire httle house consisted of six tiny 
 rooms. One of them, the one into which li< Ui\ 
 our friends, was called the study. A fat-legged 
 table, with an accumulation of dust wliich liad 
 turned black with age, with d.oeuments wliicli 
 looked as though they had been smoked, occupied 
 the entire space between the two windows: on tlu- 
 walls hung Turkish guns, ka/ak whii)s. sabres. 
 
 1 "Fair words butter no parsnips."— Transi-atoh. 
 
 197
 
 FATIIKliS AND CHILDREX 
 
 two maps, sev-eral anatomical drawings, a portrait 
 of Hufeland, a monogram of hair in a black 
 frame, and a diploma nnder glass; a leather- 
 covered concli, cruslied down and tattered in 
 spots, stood between two hnge enpboards of Kare- 
 lian birch wood; on the slielves, in disorder, were 
 crowded books, small boxes, stuffed birds, bottles 
 and phials; in one corner stood a broken electrical 
 machine. 
 
 " I warned you, my dear visitor," — began 
 Vasily Ivanitch, — " that we live here, so to speak, 
 in bivouac. . ." 
 
 " Come, stop that, why dost thou make apolo- 
 gies? " — interrupted Bazaroff. — " Kirsanoff is 
 very well aware that thou and I ai'e not Croesuses, 
 and that thou hast not a palace. Where are we to 
 put him, that 's the question? " 
 
 " Good gracious, Evgeny; there is a capital 
 chamber yonder in my wing; he will be very com- 
 fortable there." 
 
 " So thou hast set up a wing? " 
 
 " Of course, sir; where the bath is, sir," — put in 
 Timofeitch. 
 
 " That is to say, alongside the bath," — hastily 
 subjoined Vasily Ivanitch. — " But it is summer 
 now. ... I '11 run over there at once and arrange 
 things; and, in the meantime, Timofeitch, thou 
 hadst better bring in their things. Of course T 
 place my study at thy disposal, Evgeny. Suum 
 cuique." 
 
 198
 
 FATHERS AND CIIII.DUEX 
 
 " There you have il! A very ainiisino- (,|,1 man, 
 and as kind as possihle," addid lia/arofl", as 
 soon as \^asi'ly Ivaniteli left tlie i-ooiii. ■.Iiisl 
 sueli anotlier eeeentrie as tliy latlici', otilx after 
 another fashion. He eluitters a <>reat deal."' 
 
 " And thy motlier. a])pai-ently, is a \ try fine 
 woman," — remarked ^Vrkady. 
 
 " Yes, she 's a guileless creature. Just wateh 
 what a (h'nner she '11 giv^e us! '' 
 
 " You were not exjjeeted to-(hiy, dear little 
 father; they have brought no beef," — said 'I'imo- 
 feitch, who had just (h-agged in Bazaroff 's trunk. 
 
 " We '11 get along without the beef; ii' there is 
 none, it cannot be helped. Poverty, as the atlage 
 goes, is no crime." 
 
 "How many souls' has thy father?" — sud- 
 denly inquired Arkady. 
 
 " The estate does not belong to him, but to my 
 mother; there are fifteen soids, if I remember 
 rightly." 
 
 " There are twenty-two in all," — remarked 
 Timofeitch with displeasure. 
 
 The scuffling of slippers became audible, and 
 Vasily Ivaniteli made his appearance again. "In 
 a few minutes your chamber a\ ill be ready to ir- 
 ceive you," — he exclaimed triumphantly, — " ^Vr- 
 kady'. . . . Xikolaitch? I believe that is what 
 you deign to be called? And here 's a servant for 
 you," — he added, ])ointing at a boy with elosely- 
 
 1 Male serfs. Transi.ator. 
 
 199
 
 FATHERS AND CIITT.DREX 
 
 clipped liair in a blue kalian whieli was torn on 
 the elbows, and some one else's shoes, who had 
 entered with him. — " His name is Fedka. ^Vgain 
 I repeat it, — although my son forbids me, — be not 
 exacting. However, he knows how to fill a pipe. 
 You smoke, of course? " 
 
 " I smoke chiefly cigars," — replied Arkady. 
 
 " And vou behave very sensibly, I myself give 
 the preference to cigars, but in our remote region 
 it is extremely difficult to obtain them." 
 
 " Come, have done with singing Lazarus," — in- 
 terrupted Baztiroff once more. " Thou hadst 
 better sit down there on the couch and let me have 
 a look at thee. 
 
 Vasily Ivanitch laughed and sat down. He 
 greatly resembled his son in face, only his fore- 
 head was lower and narrower and his mouth some- 
 what wider, and he kept in incessant motion, 
 twitched his shoulders as though his coat cut him 
 under the arms, winked, coughed and twiddled his 
 fingers, while his son was distinguished fi'om him 
 })y a certain careless impassivity. 
 
 "Singing Lazarus!" — re|:>eated Vasily Ivan- 
 itch. " Thou must not think, Kvgeny, that I am 
 trying to move our guest to pity, so to speak; as 
 much as to say, — just see in what a desolate hole 
 we live. On the contrary, 1 hold the opinion that 
 for a rations^ man there is no such thing as a deso- 
 late hole. At all events, I try, to the extent of my 
 
 200
 
 FATHERS AND CIIILDKKX 
 
 ability, not to get moss-grown, as the saying is, 
 not to lag behind the age." 
 
 Vasily Ivanitch pulled from liis jxH-kct a new 
 yellow bandana handkerehief, whicli Ik had con- 
 trived to eateh up as he ran to Arkjidy's room, 
 and proceeded as he flourislied it in the air: " 1 
 am not speaking of the fact tliat I, t'oi- exaniplf, 
 not without vSensible sacrifices on my own part, 
 have put my peasants on quit-rent and have given 
 them my lands by halves. I regarded that as my 
 rttity, common sense itself commands it in tliis 
 case, although other proprietors are not even 
 thinking of it: I am speaking of tlie sciences ol 
 culture." 
 
 " Yes; I see thou hast vonder ' Tlie Friend of 
 Health ' for 1855," remarked Bazai'off. 
 
 " A comrade sent it to me, for old accjuain- 
 tance's sake," — said Vasily Ivanitcli; — " l)ut we 
 have some conce])tion of plirenology," — he added, 
 addressing himself, however, more ])artieularly to 
 Arkady, and pointing at a small i)Iastcr luad 
 which stood on the cupboard broken np into nniii- 
 bered squares. — " SclKinlein also has not re- 
 mained unknown to us — and Hademacher." 
 
 " And do people still believe in Kademaelier in 
 the * * * Government? " asked ]?a/arofV. 
 
 Vasily Ivanitch began to cough. " In tlie 
 Government .... Of course, gentlenien. you 
 know best; how can \ve vie with you? ^'ou have 
 
 201
 
 FATHERS AND ClllLDREX 
 
 come to supersede us, you see. And in my time, 
 also, a certain humouralist Hoffman, and a ce? 
 tain Brown, with his vitalism, seemed veiy ridicu 
 lous, but they had made a great noise once upon a 
 time. Some new person has taken Rademacher's 
 place with you; you bow dovvai before him, and 
 twenty years hence, probably, people will laugh at 
 him also." 
 
 " I will tell thee, for thy consolation," — said 
 Bazaroff, — " that nowadays we laugh at medi- 
 cine in general, and we bow down before no one." 
 
 " How is that? Surely thou art going to be a 
 doctor? " * 
 
 " I am, but the one does not prevent the other." 
 
 Vasily Ivanitch poked his third finger into his 
 pi])e, M'here a little burning ashes still lingered. — 
 "Well, perhaps, perhaps — I will not contradict. 
 For what am I? — A retired staff-doctor, voila 
 tout, and now turned agriculturist. — I served in 
 your grandfather's brigade," — he addressed him- 
 self once more to Arkady. — "Yes, sir; yes, sir; 
 I have seen man^' sights in my day. And in what 
 company have not I been, n\ ith ^^'hom have not I 
 consorted! — I, this very I, whom you are pleased 
 to see before you, 1 have felt tlie pulse of Prince 
 Wittgenstein and of Zhukovsky ! I used to know 
 every one of tliose men, in the army of the South, 
 in the year 'fourteen, you understand " (here 
 Vasily Ivanitch pursed up his lips significantly). 
 'Well, and of course \\\\ b\isiness lay apart; 
 
 202
 
 FATIIKKS AND ClIli.DHKN 
 
 know how to use your liuicrl and llial "s iiiounh' 
 But your grandl'atlRT was a vtiy ^iiatly re- 
 spected man, a genuine warrior." 
 
 " Confess, he was a good deal of a hloeklu ad." 
 — said Ba/aroff' hizily. 
 
 " Akh, Evgeny, liow thou dost exi)ress tliysell'I 
 do show mercy. . . Oi' course (General Kirs.-inof!* 
 did not hek:)ng to the numl>er . . . ."" 
 
 "Well, drop him," — interrupted Ha/aroff". - 
 " As I drove hither I rejoiced at thy hiich groxr: 
 it has spread splendidly." 
 
 Vasih^ Ivanitch grew animated. — '^Vnd see 
 what a nice little garden I have now! I pkuited 
 every tree mvself. There are fruits in it and l)er- 
 ries, and all sorts of medicinal herhs. lU- as art- 
 ful as you may, young gentlemen, neverthek'ss 
 old Paracelsus uttered the sacred truth: /// Iicrhis. 
 verbis et lapidihus. . . For I, as tliou knowest. 
 liave given up practice and am ohhged to recall 
 my youth a couple of times a week. People eoiiie 
 for advice, — one cannot tui-n them out neck and 
 cfop. It sometimes hapi)ens that poor j)eo|)le 
 come for aid. And there are no doctors ;it nil 
 liere. One of the neighhoui's, just fancy, a retired 
 major, also makes cures. I ask ahout him: has 
 lie studied medicine:' T am told: no. he has not 
 studied; he does it mainly from |)liilanthr()pie 
 motives. . . . Ha, ha, i'rom philanthropic mo- 
 tives! ITev? What do vou think of tiiat r Ila. 
 lia! Ha, ha! " 
 
 203
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREX 
 
 " Fedka! fill my pipe! " said BazarofF sharply. 
 
 " And sometimes another doetor here comes to 
 the patient," — went on Vasily Ivaniteh, with a 
 sort of desperation, — " but the patient has alread}' 
 departed ad patrcs; and his servant does not ad- 
 mit the doetor; he savs: ' You 're not needed now.' 
 
 ' m.' 
 
 The doctor has not expected that; he gets con- 
 fused, and asks : ' Did your master hiccough be- 
 fore his death? '— ' He aid, sir.' — ' And did he hic- 
 cough a great deal? '— ' Yes.'—' All, wefi, that 's 
 good,' — and right about face back. Ha, ha, ha! " 
 
 The old man was the onh' one who laughed; 
 Arkady indicated a smile on his face. Bazaroff 
 merely stretched himself. The conversation was 
 prolonged after this fashion for about an hour; 
 Arkady managed to get away to his room, which 
 proved to be the anteroom of the bath, but very 
 comfortable and clean. At last Taniusha entered 
 and annoimced that dinner was ready. 
 
 Vasilv Ivaniteh was the first to rise. — " Come, 
 gentlemen! Be so generous as to forgive me, 
 if you have been bored. Perhaps my housewife 
 will satisfy you better than I have done." 
 
 The dinner, although hastily prepared, turned 
 out to be very good, even al)uii(lant: only the wine 
 was ratlier bad: the almost l)lack sherry, pur- 
 chased by Timofeitch in the town from a mer- 
 cliant of his acquaintance, had a flavour which was 
 not precisely that of brass, nor yet of resin; and 
 the flies too were a nuisance. ^Vt ordinarj' times 
 
 204
 
 FATHERS AND CITILDltKX 
 
 the boy house-serf drove them oif willi a hi^- jri-ccri 
 bough; but on this oecasion Vasi'ly Ivanitcli had 
 sent him away for fear of eriticism on the part of 
 the younger generation. iVrina \'hisie\?ia had 
 succeeded in arraying lierself ; she had domud ;i 
 tall cap with silken ribbons, and a hhie sliawl witli 
 a flowered pattern. Slie fell to wee])iiig again as 
 soon as she caught sight of her Kniuslia, l)ut Ik i- 
 hus})and was not obliged to exhort her: she wij)e(l 
 her tears away as pronij)tly as possi])le, lest she 
 sliould spoil her shawl. The young men alone 
 ate: the master and mistress of the house had 
 dined long before. Fedka waited on lliein, evi- 
 dently oppressed by his unwonted boots, and he 
 was assisted by a woman with a maseuhFie face, 
 who was also blind of one eve, Anfisushka hv 
 name, who discharged the duties of, liousekeeper. 
 poultry-woman and laundress. A^asfly I\;iiiitch 
 paced u]) and down the room dvn-ing the wliole 
 duration of the dinner, and with a tlioi-oughly 
 happy and even blissful as])ect talked ahout tlic 
 grave apprehensions with which the ])oli(y of Na- 
 poleon inspired him and the complications of the 
 Itahan question. Arina Vlasievna did not \)vv- 
 ceive Arkady, did not urge him to eat : with hii- fist 
 ■ propping up her round face, to which Iki- puffy, 
 cherry-coloured lips and the nioles on her chieks 
 and above her eyebrows imi)arte(l a very good- 
 natured ex])ression. she never took her eyes of! 
 her son. and sighed constantly: slie was dying 
 
 205
 
 FATHEKS AND CIIILDKEX 
 
 to find out for how long a time he had come, but 
 she was afraid to ask him. " Well, he will sav — 
 ' For a couple of days,' " she thought, and her 
 heart died within her. After the roast, Vasilv 
 lA'anitch disappeared for a moment and returned 
 with an uncorked half bottle of champagne. 
 " Here," — he exclaimed, — " although we do live 
 in the wilds, still, on festive occasions, we have 
 something where^^'ith to cheer ourselves!" He 
 poured out three glasses and a wine-glass full 
 proposed the health " of our inestimable visitors," 
 and having tossed off his glass at once in militar\" 
 fashion, he made Arina Vlasievna drain her wine- 
 glass to the last drop. AVhen the preserves were 
 brought on, Arkady, who could not endure any- 
 thing sweet, nevertheless considered it his duty to 
 taste foiu" different sorts, the more so as Bazaroff 
 flatly declined them, and immediately lighted a 
 cigar. Then tea made its appearance on the 
 scene, accompanied by cream, butter and crack- 
 nels; then Vasily Ivanitch led them all into the 
 garden, to enjoy the beauty of the evening. As 
 they passed a bench he whispered to Arkady, — 
 " On this spot I love to ])hilosophise, as I gaze 
 at the sunset: that is befitting a hermit. And 
 furtlier on, yonder, I have planted several of the 
 trees beloved by Horace." 
 
 " A\'^hat sort of trees? " — asked Bazaroff, wlio 
 was listening. 
 
 " W\\\ .... acacias, of course." 
 
 206
 
 FATHERS AND CIIILDHKX 
 
 ]5a'/{ii'ofF begun to yawn. 
 
 " I suppose it is time for tlie travelKrs to he- 
 take themselves to the arms of Morplieus," re- 
 marked Vasil}' Ivaniteh. 
 
 " That is to say, it is time to go to })e(l," — jxit 
 in Bazaroff. — "That reasoning is eorrect. It is 
 time, in fact." 
 
 When he bade liis mother good-niglil, he kissed 
 lier on the brow, — and slie embi-aeed him and 
 blessed him tlirice with the sign of tlie cross 
 stealthily behind his back. \'asily I\;initch 
 escorted Arkady to his chaml)er and wished 
 him " the same sort of beneficent repose winch 
 I used to enjoy at your age." And, in laet. 
 Arkady slept capitally in his bath vestil)uk'. 
 It was redolent of mint, and two crickets vied 
 with each other in chirping away soj)orifieally 
 behind the stove. Vasi'ly Ivanitcli. on Ka\- 
 ing Arkady, went to his study, and cuiliiig 
 himself up on the couch at his son's feet, i)repared 
 to have a chat with him; but l^azjiroff* iiiimedi- 
 atelv sent him awav, saving tliat he felt slee|)v; 
 ])ut he did not get to sleej) until morning. \\'iih 
 widely -opened eyes he stared angrily into the 
 darkness: memories of his childhood had no do- 
 minion over him, and. moreovei". he- had not yet 
 succeeded in detaching himself from his last bit- 
 ter impressions. xVrina Masiexiia fii-st prayed to 
 her heart's content : then she had a long, long con- 
 ference with xVnfisushka, \v1k), standi?ig in front 
 
 207
 
 FATHERS AND CHIT.DREX 
 
 of her mistress as though looted to the spot and 
 with lier sohtary eye riveted upon her, conmiu- 
 nicated to her in a mysterious whisper all her ob- 
 servations and conchisions regarding- Evgeny 
 Yasihevitch. The old lady's head A\'as all in a 
 whirl from joy, wine, and eigar-smoke; her hus- 
 band tried to talk to her, but gave it uj) in despair, 
 Arina Vlasievna was a genuine Russian gentle- 
 woman of the petty nobilit}^ of days gone by ; she 
 ought to have lived a couple of hundred years ear- 
 lier, in the times of ancient jNIoscow. She was very 
 devout and sentimental, she believed in all sorts 
 of omens, divinations, spells, dreams; she believed 
 in holy simpletons,' in house-demons, in forest- 
 demons, in evil encounters, in the evil eye, in pop- 
 ular remedies, in salt prepared in a special man- 
 ner on Great Thursday ~ in the speedy end of 
 the world; she believed that if the tapers did not 
 go out at the Vigil Service at Easter the buck- 
 wheat would bear a heavy crop, and that a mush- 
 room will not grow any more if a human eye 
 descries it; she believed that the devil is fond of 
 being where there is water, and tliat every Jew 
 has a bloody s])ot on his breast; she was afraid of 
 mice, snakes, frogs, sparrows, leeches, thunder, 
 cold water, draughts, horses, goats, red-haired 
 people, and black cats, and regarded crickets and 
 
 1 Half-witted men were formerly reprarded in Russia as divinely 
 inspired, almost in the lip^ht of prophets. — Translator. 
 
 -' The Thursday before Good Friday : called Maundy Thursday in 
 \he Western Church.- 'J'ransi.atoh. 
 
 208
 
 FATHERS AND (TIll.DHKX 
 
 dogs as unclean animals; siic ate ncilhcr veal, nor 
 pigeons/ nor crabs, nor clieese, nor asj)aragus, nor 
 artichokes, nor watermelons, hecansc :i water- 
 melon when it is cut n-minds one of Ihi' licid of 
 John the Baptist; and she ne\ei- iiictilioncd oys- 
 ters otherwise than with a shudder; she ss.is IoimI 
 of eating — and fasted strictly; slu- slept ten hours 
 a day — and never went to hed at ;ill if \'asily 
 Ivanitcli had a headache; she had never ixad a 
 single book, except " Alexis, or the Cottage in the 
 Forest "; she wrote one letter, at the most two let- 
 ters, a year; but she was an exi)ert in dried and 
 preserved fruits, although she never put her own 
 hand to anything, and, in general, was reluctant 
 to move from one spot. Arina Miisievna was 
 very good-natured, and, in her own way. not at 
 all stupid. She knew that tiiere are in the world 
 gentlemen whose duty it is to command, and com- 
 mon people whose duty it is to obey, — and there- 
 fore she did not disdain either obseciuiousness or 
 lowly reverences to the earth; but she treated Ik r 
 inferiors graciously and gentl\-; she ne\er Ut a 
 beggar pass without a gift, and she ne\ei- eoii- 
 demned any one. although she did occasionally 
 indulge in gossip. In her youth she had been 
 very pretty, had played on th.e clavichord, and had 
 spoken a little French; but in the course of wan- 
 derings, which extended over many years, with her 
 
 i The dove beiiip the svnih<il of the Holy Spirit, the majority of 
 Russians will neither kill nor eat pi>;eoMS. ^ I iiansi vT.m. 
 
 200
 
 FATHERS AXD CHILDREN 
 
 husband, wliom she had married against lier will, 
 slie had deteriorated and had forgotten her music 
 and her French. She loved and feared her son 
 unspeakably; she allowed Vasih^ Ivanitch to man- 
 age her estate, — and never required an accounting 
 for anything: she groaned, waved the subject 
 away with her handkerchief and kept raising her 
 eyebrows higher and higher, as soon as Vasily 
 Ivanitch began to exi)lain impending reforms 
 and his plans. She was given to forebodings, was 
 constantly expecting some great catastrophe, and 
 fell to Aveeping the moment she called to mind 
 anything mournful. . . Such women are now be- 
 coming extinct. God knows whether we ought 
 to rejoice at it! 
 
 210
 
 XXI 
 
 When he got out of bed Arkady opened tlie win- 
 dow,— and the first object wliicli met liis eyes was 
 Vasily Ivanitch. Clad in a dressin<r-^()wii I'loni 
 Bukliara, girt with a handkerehiel', the old man 
 was engaged in digging assiduously in his vege- 
 table garden. lie caught sight oi' his young vis- 
 itor, and leaning on his spade, he exclaimed: — " i 
 wish you Iiealth! How have vou been ])leased to 
 sleep? " 
 
 " Splendidly," answered Arkady. 
 
 " And here am I, as you see, like some sort of 
 a Cincinnatus, preparing a bed for late radislies. 
 The times are such— and glor}^ to God foi- it! — 
 that everj^ one is bound to earn his living with his 
 own hands; no hopes are to be ])laced on others: 
 one must toil for himself. And it turns out tliat 
 Jean-Jacques Kousseau was right. Half ;m hour 
 ago, my dear sir, you would have beheld me in a 
 totally different attitude. There was a peasant- 
 woman who com])lained of ^■)icth'a, — Uvd\ \ what 
 they call it, but we call it dysentery,- -and I 
 
 how shall I best express it . . I poured 
 
 opium into her; and I have ])ulle(l a tootli Cor an- 
 other woman. I proposed to the latter that sbc 
 should take ether, . . . but she would not c<insent. 
 
 211
 
 FATHERS AND C TTTT.DREN 
 
 I do all this gratis— r/z amateur, but that is no 
 marvel; for I am a plebeian, homo novus — I 'm 
 not a member of the ancient nobility, like my 
 spouse. . . . But will not you come hither into 
 the shade to get a breath of the morning fresh- 
 ness before tea? " 
 
 Arkady went out and joined him. 
 
 "Welcome, once more! "—said Vasily Iva- 
 nitch, putting his hand, in military fashion, to the 
 greasy skull-cap which covered his head. — " You 
 are accustomed to luxury, I know, to pleasures, 
 but even the great ones of this world do not dis- 
 dain to spend a short time under the roof of the 
 cottage." 
 
 " Good gracious! " — shouted Arkady, — " what 
 do you mean by calling me one of the great ones 
 of this world? And I am not accustomed to 
 luxury." 
 
 " Pardon me, pardon me,"— retorted Vasily 
 Ivanitch with a polite grin. — " Although I am 
 now relegated to the archives, I also have rubbed 
 elbows with societj^- 1 know the bird by its flight. 
 I am also a psychologist, in my own way, and a 
 physiognomist. Had I not that gift, I venture 
 to say that I would have perislied long ago ; such 
 a small man as myself would have stood no chance 
 at all. I will tell you, without compliments: the 
 friendshi]) which I observe between you and my 
 son affords me great joy. I have already seen 
 him : lie, according to his habit, of which you are 
 
 212
 
 FATIIEKS AM) CIIILDKI'A 
 
 probably aware, got up very early, and scoured 
 the neighbourhood. Permit me to iiKiuire. 1 1 a\ < 
 vou known my Evgeny long? " 
 
 '' Since this last winter/' 
 
 "Exactly so, sir. iVnd i)ermit nic to ask yon 
 another question, — but will not you sit down' 
 Permit me to ask you, as a father, in all I'lauk- 
 ness: What opinion do you hold of ni\ l^vgeiiy ( " 
 
 " Your son is one of tlie most remarkable men 
 whom 1 have ever met," — remarked iVrkadv with 
 animation. 
 
 Yasily Ivanitch's ej^es suddenly dilated, and a 
 faint flush overspread his cheeks. The spade fell 
 from his hands. 
 
 " So you assume . ." he began 
 
 "I am convinced," — interposed Arkady, - 
 " that a great future awaits your son, that he ^^ ill 
 o-lorify your name. I have been convinced of that 
 since the very first time I met him." 
 
 "How . . . how was that?" — Vasily Iviinitch 
 barely articulated. A rapturous smile i)arted his 
 broad lips and (hd not again (lei)art from them. 
 
 " You want to know how we met? " 
 
 " Yes . . and in general . . • ." 
 
 Arkady began to narrate and talk about Ha/ii- 
 rofF with even more fervour, uith e\cn more en- 
 thusiasm, than on the evening when he had danced 
 the mazurka with ^Madame Odint/ofl". 
 
 Yasily Ivanitch listened to him -listened, blew 
 his nose, dandled his handkerchief in l><>th hands. 
 
 213
 
 FATHERS AND CIIILUKEX 
 
 coughed, ruffled up his Iiair— and, at last, could 
 contain himself no longer: he bent toward Ar- 
 kady and kissed him on the shoulder.'— " You 
 have made me perfectly happy,"— he said, with- 
 out ceasing to smile. — " I am bound to tell j^ou 
 that I . . . adore my son ; I need say nothing as 
 to my old woman: she 's his mother— everybody 
 knows what that means!— but I dare not express 
 my feelings in his ])resence, because he does not 
 like that. He is averse to all effusions ; many per- 
 sons even condemn him for that firmness of char- 
 acter, and discern in it a sign of pride, or absence 
 of feeling: but people like him must not be mea- 
 sured with the ordinary yard-stick, is n't that so? 
 Take this, for example: any other man in his 
 place would have dra^vn and drawn on his par- 
 ents; but he, will you believe it? has never taken 
 an extra kopek from us in his life, as God is my 
 witness! " 
 
 " He is an unselfish, honourable man," — re- 
 marked Arkad^^ 
 
 " Precisely so, unselfish. And I not only adore 
 him, Arkc4dy Xikolaitch, I am proud of him, 
 and my whole pride consists in this, that in course 
 of time these words will stand in his biography: 
 ' he was the son of a simjile staff -doctor, who, 
 nevertheless, understood how to divine him early 
 in life, and spared no expense on his educa- 
 tion. . .' " The old man's voice broke. 
 
 * As serfs were wont to do to their masters. — Tuansi.atoh. 
 
 2U
 
 FATIIKKS AM) CIIILDKKN 
 
 Arkady scjuee/ecl his luiiid. 
 
 "What tliiiik you," — asked N'asily hatiiU'li. 
 after a brief silence, — " assuredly he- will iiol 
 attain in the medical career that fame wliidi yon 
 prophesy for him if " 
 
 " Of course not in llie medical career, mUIiou^^Ii 
 in that respect also he will he one of tiie leading 
 lights." 
 
 " In what career then, Arkjidy Xikolaitehi' " 
 
 " That is difficult to say at present, hut lie will 
 become famous." 
 
 " He will become famous! "—repeated the old 
 man, and became immersed in meditation. 
 
 " Arina Vlasievna has ordered me to ask you 
 to drink tea," — said Anfisusiika as she |)assed 
 them with a huge dish of ripe rasi)berries. 
 
 Vasily Ivanitcli started — " And will there be 
 chilled cream for the raspberries^ " 
 
 " There will, sir." 
 
 " See to it that it is cold ! Do not stand on cere- 
 mony, Arkady Nikolaitch, — take a lot. 1 won- 
 der why Evgeny does not come." 
 
 " Here I am,"— rang out Baziiroff's voice from 
 Arkady's room. 
 
 Vasily Ivanitch wheeled hastily round. " Aha ! 
 thou hast wished to visit tliy friend, hut thou weit 
 belated, amice, and he and 1 have already had a 
 Ion"- conversation. Now we must go and drink 
 tea: thy mother sunmions us. Hy the way. I must 
 have a talk with thee." 
 
 215
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 " What about ? " 
 
 " There is a wretched peasant here; he is suf- 
 fering from icterus. ..." 
 
 " In other words, from jaundice? " 
 
 " Yes, from clironic and very obstinate icterus. 
 I have prescribed for him centaury, and Saint 
 John's wort, I have made him eat carrots, I have 
 administered soda; but all these are palliatives; 
 something more decisive is necessary. Although 
 thou jeerest at medicine, yet I am persuaded that 
 thou canst give me practical advice. But we will 
 talk of that later. And now let us go and drink 
 tea." 
 
 Vasily Ivanitch sprang up briskly from the 
 bench and began to sing from Robert le Diahlc : 
 
 " We Ml make a law, a law, a law unto ourselves 
 In jov . . . in joy . . . in jovfulness to dwell ! *" 
 
 "What remarkable vitality!" — said BazarofF 
 and he withdrew from the window. 
 
 Midday arrived. The sun blazed from behind 
 a thin veil of continuous, whitish clouds. Silence 
 reigned: only the cocks crowed provokingly at 
 each other in the village, arousing in every one 
 who heard them a strange sensation of drowsiness 
 and weariness; and somewhere aloft in the crests 
 of the trees resounded like a wailing call the un- 
 intermitting squeak of a young hawk. Arkady 
 :in(l Bazjiroff were lying in the shade of a small 
 hay-stack, having placed beneath themselves a 
 
 216
 
 PWTIIKliS AM) C'lIILDUKX 
 
 couple of armfiils of the nistlinf»ly-(lrv, hut still 
 green and fragrant grass. 
 
 " Yonder aspen-tree," — hcgan BazarofT, " re- 
 minds me of my childhood; it grows on tlu- hriiik 
 of a pit, the rehc of a hrick-slied, and ;il that time 
 I was convinced tliat that |)it and the aspen ])()s- 
 sessed a pecuhar talisman: I iiimm- \'v\\ I)()i<(1 
 wlien I was hy tlieir side. I did not understand 
 then that I was not hored, ])eeause I was a child. 
 Well, now I am growii uj), and the talisman does 
 not work." 
 
 " How much time hast thou spent liere alto- 
 gether? " — asked Arkady. 
 
 " Tw^o years in succession ; then we used to come 
 here occasionally. We led a wandering life: we 
 used to haunt the towns chiefly." 
 
 " And has this house been standing long? " 
 
 " Yes. My grandfatlier built it, my mother's 
 father." 
 
 " Who was he— thy grandfather? " 
 
 "The deuce know^s. Some Second-Majoi- or 
 other. He served under Suvoroff, and was for- 
 ever telhng about crossing tlie Al])s. Tie lied, T 
 
 suppose." 
 
 " That 's why there is a portrait of Suvoroff 
 hanging in your drawing-room. 1 like such little 
 houses as yours, old and warm: and there is a ecr- 
 tain peculiar odour in them." 
 
 " It smacks of olive oil from the shrine-lamp, 
 and sweet clover,"— articulated Bazaroft' with m 
 
 217
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 vauii. — " But what a lot of flies there are in these 
 
 ft 
 
 charming little houses phew!" 
 
 " Tell me," — began Arkady, after a brief 
 silence, — " wert thou oppressed in thy child- 
 hood^ " 
 
 " Thou seest what my parents are like.— 
 They "re not strict folks." 
 
 " Dost thou love them, Evgeny? " * 
 
 "Yes, Arkady!" 
 
 "They love thee so!" 
 
 BazarofF said nothing for a while.— " Dost 
 thou know what I am thinking about? " — he said 
 at last, throwing his hands behind his head. 
 
 "No. What is it?" 
 
 " I am thinking: my parents have a jolly good 
 time in the world ! ^ly father, at the age of sixty, 
 fusses about, talks about ' palliative ' remedies, 
 doctors people, is generous to his peasants, — in a 
 word, he leads a life of dissipation; and my 
 mother finds life pleasant also: her day is so 
 crammed with all sorts of occupations, with akhs ! 
 and okhs! that she has no time to bethink herself; 
 while I " 
 
 "While thou?" 
 
 " While I think: here I lie now under a hay- 
 stack .... the space I occupy is small, so tiny 
 in com])arison with the surrounding expanse, 
 where I am not, and where no one cares about me; 
 and the ]wrtion of time which I shall manage to 
 live through is so insignificant, in comparison with 
 
 218
 
 FATHERS AND ClllLDKEN 
 
 eternity, where 1 have not been and shall not l)e. 
 . . . But in this atom, this mathematical |K)iMt, 
 the blood is circulating, the brain is woiking, it 
 wants something also. . . . \Vhat a monstrosity! 
 What nonsense! " 
 
 " Permit me to remark that what thou art say- 
 ing is applicable to all men in general. . . ." 
 
 " Thou art right," — chimed in Jia/arofi'.— 
 " AVhat I wanted to say is that thev, that is, ni\' 
 parents, are occupied, and do not bother about 
 their own insignificance; it does not stink in tluir 
 nostrils . . . while I . . . feel simply bored and 
 wrathful." 
 
 " Wrathful? Why wrathful? " 
 
 "Why? What dost thou mean l)y 'why'? 
 Can it be that thou hast forgotten?" 
 
 " I remember everything, but nevertheless I do 
 not acknowledge that thou hast a right to be 
 angiy. Thou art unhap]jy, I admit, but . . . ." 
 
 " Eh! I perceive that thou, Arkady Xikolae- 
 vitch, understandest love like all the most modern 
 young men: cheep, cheep, cheep, eliickeiu l)ut ,just 
 as soon as the chicken begins to approach, make 
 oiF as fast as you can!— 1 am not like that. But 
 enough on that score. It is shameful to talk about 
 what cannot be hel])ed." lie turned over on his 
 side.— "Aha! yonder is a bold ant dragging a 
 half-dead fly. Drag it along, brothei-, drag it 
 along! Don't mind its resistance, take ad\ aiitagc 
 of the fact that thou, in thy (juality of an aniiiia!. 
 
 219
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREX 
 
 Imst a right not to recognise the feehng of suffer- 
 ing, which is quite the reverse of the case with one 
 of us, who is ' self-hroken ' ! " 
 
 " That is not the thing for thee to say, Evgeny ! 
 — When hast thou broken thyself? " 
 
 Bazaroff raised his head. — " That 's the only 
 thing I am proud of. I have not broken myself, 
 and a woman shall not break me. Amen ! Done 
 with! Thou wilt never hear another word about 
 it from me." 
 
 The two friends lay for some time in silence. 
 
 " Yes,"— began Bazaroff, — " man is a strange 
 being. When one gazes thus from one side, and 
 from a distance, at life in the wilds, such as our 
 ' fathers ' lead, it seems to him : What could be 
 better? Eat, drink, and know that thou art act- 
 ing in the most regular, most sensible manner. 
 But no; melancholy seizes hold upon one. One 
 wants to consort with people, even if it be to re- 
 vile them, but to consort with them." 
 
 " One must arrange life in such a way that 
 everA'^ moment in it will be significant," — said Ar- 
 kady thoughtfully. 
 
 " Who says so! The significant, although it is 
 sometimes false, is sweet, but it is also possible to 
 reconcile one's self to the insignificant .... but 
 there 's the empty tittle-tattle, the empty tittle- 
 tattle — that 's the trouble." 
 
 " Tittle-tattle does not exist for a man, if only 
 he refuse to recognise it." 
 
 220
 
 
 lA'lITKKS AM) C'TTILDI^KX 
 
 " H'm . . . tlioii liasi iitt(|-c(l \]\v opposite cdiii' 
 monplacc." 
 
 "What?— AVhat (lost thou call l.y lli.il nam,'"' 
 
 " Why, this: to say, for example-, that civilisa- 
 tion is useful, — that is a C()iinii()iij)lacT-. hut to sa\- 
 that civilisation is harnil'iil is tlic ojjjxjsitc com- 
 monplace. It appeal's to l)c more elegant, hut. in 
 reality, it is identical." 
 
 " But where is the truth, on wliich side? " 
 Where? I will answer tliec like Kcho: 
 Where?'" 
 
 Thou art in a melancholy mood to-day, 
 Evgeny." 
 
 " Really? The sun must have stewed me, and 
 one should not eat so many raspherries." 
 
 " In that case, it would not he a had idea to ha\ c 
 a nap," — remarked Arkady. 
 
 " All right; only don't look at me: every mail 
 has a stupid face when he is asleep." 
 
 " But is n't it a matter of indifference to thee 
 what people think of thee? " 
 
 " T don't know what to say to thee. /\ genuine 
 man ought not to worry ahout that: a gen- 
 uine man is the one for whom it is not worth 
 while to think, hut whom one mu.st ohey or 
 hate." 
 
 " It is strange! I do ?iot hate any one," — said 
 Arkady, after reflection. 
 
 " And I hate so many. Tliou art a tender soul, 
 a sluffsfish man, whv shouldst thou hate!- Thon 
 
 221
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREX 
 
 art timid, thou hast little confidence in thv^ 
 self. . . ." 
 
 "And thou,"— interrupted Arkady, — " hast 
 thou confidence in thyself? Hast thou a lofty 
 opinion of thyself? " 
 
 BazarofF remained silent for a while. — " When 
 i meet a man ^^ ho will not sing small before me," 
 — he said witli breaks and pauses, — " then I will 
 alter my opinion of myself. — Hate! Why, here, 
 for example, thou didst say to-day, as we passed 
 the cottage of our overseer, Philip, — it is so fine 
 and white, — here thou didst say, — that Russia 
 would attain to perfection when the last peasant 
 should have such a dwelling, and every one of us 
 ought to promote it. . . . But I hated that last 
 peasant, Philip or Sidor, for whom I am to toil 
 and moil, and who will not even say ' thanks ' to 
 me .... and what do I want with his thanks, 
 anyway? Well, he will \i\e in a white cottage, 
 but burdocks will be growing out of me. — Well, 
 and what comes next? " 
 
 " Enough, Evgeny . . . when one listens to 
 thee to-day, one involuntarily agrees with those 
 who accuse us of a lack of principles." 
 
 " Thou art talking like thy uncle. In general, 
 there are no principles— hast thou not discovered 
 that yet! but there are sensations. Everything 
 depends on them." 
 
 " How so? " 
 
 " ^\Tiy, because. —Take me; for example: I 
 
 222
 
 FATIIKKS AM) CIIILDKKX 
 
 liold to the negative teiulency, — by virtue of sen- 
 sation. It is agTeeable to me to deny my l)iain is 
 construeted in that way — and tliat "s cnouglil 
 Why do I hke eheniistry !" W'liy dosl thou Hkr 
 apples? — also by virtue of tlie sensation. iVll that 
 is identieal. Deeper than that, uww will nexci- 
 penetrate. Not every one will tell thee that, and 1 
 shall not tell thee tliat again." 
 
 "What? and is honour also a sensation^" 
 " I should say so! " 
 
 " Evgeny! "—began Arkady in a sad voiee. 
 "Ah? What? Is n't it to thy taste? "-inter- 
 rupted BazarofF. — " No, brother! 11' thou hast 
 made up thy mind to mow down everything la\- 
 thyself by the heels also! .... But we have i)lii- 
 losophised enough. ' Nature ineites to the silenee 
 of slumber,' says Pushkin." 
 
 " He never said anything of the soit," — said 
 Arkady. 
 
 " Well, if he did n't say it, he might and should 
 have said it in his quality of a poet. By thr \\ a\ . 
 he must have been in the military serviee." 
 " Pushkin never was a military man. ' 
 " Upon my word, he shows it on every pagf : 
 'To battle, to battle! For the lionour of 
 Russia! 
 
 " What fables tlit)u dost invent ! Why, that is 
 
 downriglit ealumny." 
 
 " Calumny? Mueh 1 eare about that 1 1 Ir 1ms 
 undertaken to scare me with a word! W liatevrr 
 
 223
 
 FATHERS AXD CIIILDREX 
 
 calumny you impute to a man he really deserves 
 something twenty times worse." 
 
 " We 'd better go to sleep," — said Arkady 
 with vexation. 
 
 " With the greatest ])leasure," — replied Baza- 
 rofF. But neither of them got to sleep. A cer- 
 tain almost hostile feeling had seized possession of 
 the hearts of both yoimg men. Five minutes later 
 they opened their e3^es and exchanged a glance 
 in silence. 
 
 " Look," — said Arkady at last, — " a drv 
 maple-leaf has broken loose and falls to the 
 ground; its movement is exactly like that of a 
 butterfly. Isn't it strange? The most melan- 
 choly and dead resembles the most merry and 
 lively." 
 
 "Oh, mv friend, Arkady Xikolaitch!" — 
 cried Bazaroff, — " I make one request of thee: 
 don't use fine language." 
 
 " I talk as I can. . . ^Vnd this is despotism, in 
 short. An idea has come into my head: why not 
 utter it?" 
 
 " Precisely ; but \\\\\ should not I utter my 
 thought also? I think that to use fine language 
 is improper." 
 
 " What is proper then? To swear? " 
 
 " Eh, eh ! But I perceive that thou really art 
 bent u])on following in the footste])s of thy uncle. 
 How that idiot would rejoice if he could hear 
 thee!" 
 
 224
 
 FATIIKKS AM) C'lIlLDUKX 
 
 "What was tliat tliou didst call Pavel IVtn')- 
 vitch? " 
 
 " I called him wliat lie deserves — an idiot." 
 
 "But this is unbearahle!" exclaimed Arkjidy. 
 
 " Aha! the sentiment of consannuinuity has 
 spoken," — remarked Hazarof!" traiKjuilly. '1 
 have noticed that it stands its around \cry j)ei- 
 sistently in people. A man is ready to i-eject 
 everything, he will part with every jirejudice; but 
 to admit that his brother, who steals other people's 
 handkerchiefs is a thief— is beyond his strenijfth. 
 Yes, and in fact: m// brother, inine is not a genius 
 . . . is that possible?" 
 
 " What spoke in me was the sim[)le sentiment 
 of justice, and not that of consanguinuity at all," 
 — retorted Arkady vehemently. — " lint since 
 thou hast not that sensation, thou canst not .judge 
 of it." 
 
 " In other words, Arkady Kirsanoflf is too 
 lofty for my comprehension; I bow my head and 
 hold my tongue." 
 
 "Please stop, Evgeny; we shall end by (luai- 
 relling." 
 
 " Akh, Arkady! do me that favour: kt us liavr 
 a good quarrel for once— to the point of peeling 
 off our coats to extermination." 
 
 " Well, if w^e go on like this, probably we .shall 
 
 wind up by . . . ." 
 
 By fighting? " — interpolated Ha/a roll'.- 
 What of that? Here on the hav. in such idyllic 
 
 225 

 
 fathp:us and children 
 
 .suiToundings, far from the world and the gaze of 
 men — it does n't matter. But thou wilt not get 
 the better of me. I shall instantly elutch thee by 
 the throat " 
 
 Baziiroff spread wide his long, tough fin- 
 gers. . . Arkady turned over and made ready, as 
 though in jest, to offer resistance. . . . But his 
 friend's face struck liim as so malevolent, there 
 seemed to him to be something so far from a jest 
 in the wry smile on his lips, in his blazing eyes, — 
 that he felt an involuntary timidity. . . . 
 
 " Ah! so this is where you 've got to! " — rang 
 out Vasily Ivanitch's voice at that moment, and 
 the old regimental staff -surgeon stood before the 
 young men, clad in a home-made linen pea-jacket 
 and with a straw hat, also of domestic manufac- 
 ture, on his head. — " I have been hiuiting and 
 hunting for you. . . But you have chosen a cap- 
 ital place and are devoting yoiu'selves to a very 
 fine occupation. Lying on the ' earth ' to gaze 
 at ' heaven.' . . Do you know, there is a certain 
 special significance in that! " 
 
 " I gaze at heaven only when I want to sneeze," 
 — growled BazarofF, and, turning to Arkady, he 
 added, in an undertone: " It 's a pit}- he has dis- 
 turbed us." 
 
 " Come, enough of that," — whispered iVrkady, 
 and stealthily ])ressed his friend's hand. But no 
 friendshi]) can long withstand such clashes. 
 
 " I look at you, my young companions," — 
 
 226
 
 FATllEKS AND CII11J)UK\ 
 
 Vasily Ivanitc'h was saying- in tlic iiR'aiitiiiu-, as 
 he shook his head and rested his ehispi-d hands on 
 an artfully twisted cane of liis own inannlac-luic, 
 with the figure of a Turk in place of a knoh. 
 " 1 look and cannot suthciently achnire you. I low 
 much strength and the most vigorous youth, ca- 
 pacities, talents, you have! 'T is simply . . 
 Castor and Pollux! " 
 
 " See now — he makes j)retensions to knowing 
 mythology! " — remarked Eazaroff. " 'V is im- 
 mediately evident that he was strong on Latin in 
 his day! I think I rememher that thou wert given 
 the silver medal for com])ositi()n — hey ? " 
 
 "The Dioscuri, the Dioscuri! " — repeateil 
 Vasily Ivanitch. 
 
 " Come, father, have done with that, — don t get 
 sentimental." 
 
 " It is permissible once in a way," — slanmR rt d 
 the old man. — " But I have not hunted yon uj). 
 gentlemen, for the purpose of ])ayiiig yon com- 
 pliments, but with the object, in tlic first })lacc. 
 of informing you that we are to (hue soon: and, 
 in the second place, — 1 wanted to warn tlicc, 
 Evffenv. . . . Thou art a sensible man. thon 
 knowest men and thou knowest women, and. con- 
 sequently, thou wilt pardon me. . . . 'IMiy mother 
 wished to have a prayer-service celebrated in hon- 
 our of thy arrival. Don't imagine that I am sum- 
 moning thee to be present at that |)i-ayer-ser\ ice: 
 it is already finished : but Father Alexyei . . . .' 
 
 227
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 " The pope? " 
 
 " Well, yes, the priest ; he is going to dine 
 with us. ... I had not expected it, and even 
 advised against it . . . but somehow it turned out 
 
 that way .... he did not understand nie 
 
 Moreover, he is a very good and sagacious 
 man." 
 
 " He won't eat my portion at dinner, will he? " 
 — asked BazarofF. 
 
 Vasily Ivanitch laughed—" Good gracious, 
 what dost thou mean? " 
 
 " I demand nothing more. I am ready to sit 
 down at table with an}^ sort of man." 
 
 Vasily Ivanitch adjusted his hat. — " I was 
 convinced in advance," — he said, — " that thou art 
 above all prejudices. As for that, I am an old 
 man: I have lived for sixtv vears, and I have 
 none." (Vasily Ivanitch did not dare to con- 
 fess that he himself had desired to have the 
 prayer-service. . . . He was no less devout than 
 his wife.) "And Father Alexvei was verv 
 anxious to make thy acquaintance. Thou wilt 
 like him, as thou wilt see. He is not averse to a 
 game of cards either, and even .... but that is 
 Ix^tween ourselves ... he smokes a pipe." 
 
 " You don't say so? After dinner we '11 sit 
 down to wliist and I '11 beat liim." 
 
 " Ha — ha — ha, we shall see! That 's the ques- 
 tion." 
 
 " What 's that? Art thou going to recall the 
 
 228
 
 FxVTTTKl^S A\n CTTTl.DltKX 
 
 2)leiisiires of voiitli? " — said Ha/.-iidlV, with ixci; 
 liar emphasis. 
 
 Vasily Iviinitcirs Iji-on/cd cliccks criiiisoind 
 with confusion. 
 
 " Art not thou ashamed oi" thysell', l^v^eny? — 
 What's past is irdst. Well, and 1 am icady In 
 confess in his presence that 1 liad that j)assi()ii in 
 my youth — as a matter of fact; and I have })aid 
 well for it, too! — But how hot it is. Allow me to 
 sit down heside j'ou. I 'm not in the way. am 1 ( " 
 
 " Not in the least," — replied Arkady. 
 
 Vasily Ivanitch dropped down on the liay with 
 a grunt. — " Your present couch, gentlemen." he 
 hegan, — "reminds me of my military. hi\ouac 
 life, field hospitals, also somewheiv close to a hay- 
 stack, thank God for that." — lie sighed. — " 1 
 have gone through a great deal — a great deal. In 
 my time. Now, for instance, if you will permit 
 me, I wall tell you a curious episode of the plague 
 in Bessarahia." 
 
 " For which you received the Order of St. 
 Vladimir? "— interi)olated 15a'/{ii()f!'. " We know 
 about it— we know about it. . . . Hy the way. 
 why dost not thou wear it? " 
 
 " Why, I have told thee that I havi- no pic.jii- 
 dices," — stammered Vasily Ivjiniteh (ordy tin 
 day before he had commanded that the red rih- 
 bon should be ripped off his coat), and li< be- 
 gan to narrate the episode of the ])lagnc. 
 "Why. he has fallen asleep/'- he suddeidy 
 
 22!)
 
 FATHEKS AND C HILDHFA 
 
 A\hispered to Arkady, pointing at Bazaroft', and 
 he winked good-huniouredly. — " Evgeny! get 
 up!" — headdedaloud. — " Come to dinner. . . ." 
 Father xVlexyei, a stout and stately man, with 
 thick, carefully brushed hair, and an embroid- 
 ered belt over his lilac cassock, proved to be a very 
 adroit and ready-witted person. He hastened to 
 shake hands with .Arkady and Bazaroff, as 
 though he understood beforehand that they did 
 not need his blessing,^ and altogether he bore him- 
 self without constraint. He neither lowered his 
 own dignity, nor gave offence to others; he 
 laughed opportunely at seminary Latin and stood 
 up for his Bishop; he drank two glasses of wine, 
 but refused a third; he accepted a cigar from Ar- 
 kady, but did not smoke it, saying that he would 
 carry it home. The only thing about him that 
 was not thoroughly agreeable was that he kept 
 slowly and cautiously lifting his hand to catch flies 
 on his face, and in so doing he sometimes crushed 
 them. He seated himself at the card-table with 
 a moderate show of satisfaction, and ended by 
 winning two rubles and a half from Bazaroff in 
 bills; in Arina Vlasievna's house no one had the 
 least conception of reckoning in silver money. . ." 
 As before, she sat beside her son (she did not play 
 
 ^ It is customary for priests and the higher ecclesiastics to bestow 
 their blessinji: upon laymen, and have their hand kissed in return, 
 instead of shaking hands.— Tit ansi.ator. 
 
 ^ At the epoch referred to, silver was considerably more valuable 
 than bills. — '1'hansi.atoh 
 
 230
 
 cr 
 
 1 .\'niJ<:Ks AXij ( iiiLiJKi:\ 
 
 cards), as before she propped her clieek on her 
 fist, and only rose for the purpose of ^i\iii 
 orders to serve some fresli viand. Slu- w as alVaid 
 to caress Bazaroli', and lie did not (.'ncouia^f lur. 
 did not cliallenge lier to caresses, and, in addition. 
 X'asily Ivanitcli had advised Ik r not to '" l)()th('r 
 him too much. — " Vouug men doni like it. ' 
 he had inculcated u|)on her; (it is unnecessary to 
 sav what the dinner was hke that dav: 'rimofeitch 
 had galloped off in per.son at early dawn foi- som( 
 special Tcherkessian beef; the over.seer iiad gon< 
 in another direction foi- burbot, ])erch and ( ra\s- 
 fish; for mushrooms alone the peasant women had 
 been paid forty-two kopeks in cop|)ei- money) ; 
 but Arina Vhisicvna's eyes, inunovahly fastened 
 upon Bazaroff, expressed not alone devotion and 
 tenderness: in them there was visible also sadness 
 mingled with curiosity and terror: there was vis- 
 ible a sort of submissive re])roach. 
 
 But Baztiroff w^as in no mood to (hciplRi- i)re- 
 cisely what his mother's eyes ex])re.ssed : Ik laitly 
 addressed her, and then onl\- \\\[h a curt (|ii(stioii. 
 Once he asked her for her hand " foi" inck"; she 
 "■entlv laid her soft little hand on his hard, broad 
 l)alm. 
 
 Well," — she inquired, after waiting a wliilf. 
 didn't it help?" 
 
 " Things went still worse." he re|)lied witli a 
 :"areless smile. 
 
 " They are taking great risks," - articulated 

 
 FATTTKHS AM) ( III1J)1{KX 
 
 I'allicr ^Mcxyei, as lli()ii«j»li witli compassion, and 
 stroked liis handsome beard. 
 
 " Na})oleon's rnle, my good father, Xapoleon's 
 rule," — interpolated Vasi'ly Ivaniteli, — and led an 
 ace. 
 
 " And it led him to tlic ishnid of St. Helena," 
 — remarked Fatlier Alexyei, and trumped witli 
 tlie ace. 
 
 " Wouldst not thou like some raspberry water, 
 Fniuslienka? " — asked Arina Vlasievna. 
 
 l^azaroff merely shrugged his slioulders. 
 
 "Xo!" — he said to Arkady on the following 
 day, — " I 'm going away to-morrow. It 's tire- 
 some; I want to work and it 's impossible here. 
 I '11 ffo back to the counti'v with thee ; 1 have left 
 all my preparations there. In thy house at least 
 one can lock himself up. But here my father 
 keeps repeating to me: ' my study is at tlw ser- 
 vice — no one will disturb thee,' — and he himself 
 never goes a step from me. And somehow, too, 
 I 'm ashamed to lock him out. And it 's the same 
 with my mother. I hear her sighing on the otlier 
 side of the wall, but if I go to her I have noth- 
 ing to say." 
 
 " She is greatly afflicted,"— said Arkady,— 
 '' and so is he." 
 
 " I '11 retin-n to them." 
 
 "When?" 
 
 " Why, on my way to Petersburg." 
 
 " I am particularly sorry for thy mother." 
 
 232
 
 FATIIKKS AND C HILDHKX 
 
 " W^liy so^ Has she 1h-cii titatiii^ tlm l-i 
 berries? " 
 
 Arkady dropped liis eyes. " 'I'lioii diisl not 
 know tliy mother, Kv^-eny. She is not onlx an 
 excellent woman, slie is \ ery elevei', r( all\ . 'I'liis 
 morning she talked to me I'oi- lialf an lionr so 
 ])raetiea]ly, so interestin<>/' 
 
 " She ])roba])ly dilated u[)on me the whole 
 time? " 
 
 " The conversation was not about thee alone." 
 
 " Possibly; things are more visibk- to thee as an 
 outsider. If a woman can maintain a hali'-hour's 
 conversation, that is a good sign. Hut 1 'm going 
 away, nevertheless." 
 
 " Thou wilt not find it easy to imparl that in- 
 formation to them. 'IMiev are both (hscussing 
 what we are to do a fortniglit iienee." 
 
 " It is not easy. The (le\ il |)r()mi)le(l me t<>- 
 dav to annov mv father: tlie other (hi\ hi- gave 
 orders that one of his serfs wlio ])ays iiim (juit- 
 rent should be flogged — and he did (juite right: 
 yes, yes, don't stare at me in such lioiior. he did 
 <|uite right, because the man is the most IVightrnl 
 thief and drunkai-d; onl\- my lather did iinl in llie 
 least expect that I sliouhl get wind of tlie alfau-. 
 as the expression is. He was very mucii (hseon- 
 certed, and now I must grieve him to boot. . . 
 Never mind! It won't kill him! " 
 
 BazarofF said, " Never mind! " but a whole day 
 elapsed before he could bring himself lo inform 
 
 283
 
 FATHEKS xVAD ClilLDREX 
 
 Vasily Ivjinitcli of Iiis intention. At last, as he 
 was bidding him good-night in the study, he said, 
 with a forced ya^vn : 
 
 " Yes. . . 1 came near forgetting to tell thee. 
 . . Please order our horses to be sent on to Feodot 
 to-morrow for the relay." 
 
 Vasily Ivanitch was astounded. — " Is ^Ir. Kir- 
 sanoff going away from us? " 
 
 " Yes; and I am going with him." 
 
 Yasily Ivanitch whirled roiuid where he stood. 
 — "Thou art going away? " 
 
 " Yes ... I must. Please make arrangements 
 about the horses." 
 
 " Yerj^ well ..." stammered the old man: — 
 " for the rela^' . . \'erv good .... onh^ .... onlv 
 .... AVhat does it mean? " 
 
 " I must go to liis house for a short time. Then 
 I will come back here." 
 
 " Yes! For a short time. . . Ycry good." — 
 Vasily Ivanitch pulled out his handkerchief, and 
 as he blew his nose he bent over ahiiost to the 
 floor. . "Very well . . . all shall be done. I was 
 thinking that thou wouldst stay witli us ... . 
 longer. Tliree days. . . . That . . that . . is 
 very little, after three years: it is ver\- little, 
 Kvgeny! " 
 
 " But I tell tiiee I am coining back soon. 
 It is indis})ensabk' tluit 1 sliould go." 
 
 " In(lis])cnsablc. . . . What then ^ One must 
 do one's duty first of all. . . . 8(j 1 am to des- 
 
 234.
 
 FATIIKIJS AND CHILDUKX 
 
 paU'h the liorses? Very good. Of eourse An'iia 
 and I did not expect tliis. She has heg-^^i-d some 
 flowers from a neiohbonr; she meant to cinhilhsh 
 tliy room/' (A'asily Iviiniteli made no mention 
 of tlie fact that \-ery morninii. as soon ;is it 
 was liglit, slandini^' h;ii'( roolcd in liis sli])|)crs. 
 he had taken eonnsel with 'rimolVitcli. .-ind 
 drawing forth, with ti'emhhng fingers, one l)ank- 
 note after anotlier, had eommissioned him to 
 make (hvers purchases, liaving special relVivnce 
 to victuals and to chu'et, which, so fai" as he had 
 been able to observe, the young men greatly 
 liked.) "The maifi thing is freedom;- that is 
 my rule . . . one must not imjK'de . . . 
 not . . . 
 
 lie suddenly relapsed into silence and went to- 
 ward the door. 
 
 " We shall see each other again .soon, father, 
 really." 
 
 But Vasily Ivanitch, without turning i-ound. 
 merely waved his hand and left the i-oom. ( )n 
 reachinii" his bedroom he found his wife in bed. 
 and began to pray in a \vhisj)ei-, in oi'der not to 
 waken her. But she awoke, nevertheless. — " Is it 
 thou, Vasily Ivanitch? " — she asked. 
 
 " Yes, dear little motlier." 
 
 " Comest thou from Eniusha^ Dost thou know 
 I am afraid: he does not sleep comfortably on the 
 couch. I ordered Anfisushka to give him th\- 
 camp mattress and Jiew ])illows: 1 wouhl h;i\c
 
 1 A'PTTKUS AM) C IIILDHKX 
 
 given him <Kir fcatlicr-lK'd, l)iil 1 itnu'iiilxM- that 
 lie does not hke a soft hcd/' 
 
 " XeA'er miiul. dear little mother, don't woi'i'v. 
 He's all ri^j^'ht. () Loi-d. have nierey upon us 
 sinners," — lie eontinued his ])rayer in a low voiee. 
 A'asily Ivaniteh was soitv 1'or his old ^^•oMlan; he 
 did not like to tell her overnioht what a sorrow 
 was in store for her. 
 
 Bazaroff and Arkady went away on the fol- 
 lowing dav. From earlv moriiin"' evervthino' in 
 the house ffrew melaneholv; the dishes tumhled 
 out of Anfisnshka's hands: even Fedka was sur- 
 prised, and ended hy pullino- off his hoots. Vasily 
 Ivaniteh hustled ahout more than ever: he was 
 evidently keeping up his courage: he talked in a 
 loud voice and clum])ed with his feet, hut his face 
 w^as haggard and his glances constantly slipped 
 past his son. Arina Mjisievna wept quietly: she 
 was thoroughly distraught, and would not have 
 been able to control herself if her husband had not 
 argued with her for two whole hours earlv in the 
 morning. But when Bazaroff, after repeated 
 promises to return not later than a month hence, 
 tore himself at last from the restraining embraces, 
 and took his seat in the tarantas; when the horses 
 started and the bell began to jingle and the wheels 
 began to revolve, — and there was no longer any 
 use in staring after liim, and the dust had sub- 
 sided, and Timofeiteh, all bowed and reeling as 
 he walked, dragged himself back to his kennel" 
 
 236
 
 FATHERS AM) CIIIM)1{|:\ 
 
 when the old J'olks were Id'l alone in tlicir house, 
 wliieh also seemed suddenly to lia\c sliimik to- 
 gether and gi'own deerepit : N'asily l\;initcji. wlm 
 only a few nionients hei'ore had heen l»ia\ cK \\a\ - 
 int»- his handkerehief from the porcli. (Ii-()j>ped into 
 a ehair and droo])ed his head upon liis hicast. 
 " He has ahandoned, al)andone(l us, ' he stam- 
 mered, — "ahandoned us; he I'onnd it tiresome 
 with us. Alone, solitary as a fin«>er now . alone! " 
 he repeated several times, and every time he thrust 
 out his hand in front of him witli the t'orefinner 
 standing apart. Then xVrina Vlasievna went \i\) 
 to him, and leaning her grey head against his grey 
 head, she said: " What is to he done. \''asya^ A 
 son is a slice cut off. He is like the falcon : w hen 
 he Avould he flew hither, when he would he lieu 
 away; thou and 1 ai-e like mushrooms on a iiol- 
 low tree: we sit in a row and never stir IVoni our 
 ])laces. Only I shall remain forever inalterahle 
 to thee, as thou wilt to me." 
 
 Vasily Ivaniteh removed his hands iVoin liis 
 face and emhraced his wife, his fViend. as closely 
 as he had emhraced her in their youth: she had 
 comforted him in his griei". 
 
 237
 
 XXII 
 
 In silence, only now and then exchanging insig- 
 nificant words, our friends arrived at Feodot's. 
 Eaziiroff was not wholly satisfied with liimself. 
 Arkady was displeased with him. ^loreover, lie 
 felt in his heart that causeless melancholy which is 
 known to very young people alone. The coach- 
 man transferred the harness to the fresh horses, 
 and clamhering to the hox, in(iuired: " To the 
 right, or to the left? " 
 
 Arkady shivered. The road to the right led to 
 the town and thence home; the road to the left led 
 to jMadame Odintzoff's. 
 
 He glanced at Bazaroff. 
 
 " Evgeny,"— he asked, — " to the left? " 
 
 BaztirofF turned away. — " What folly is this? " 
 — he muttered. 
 
 " I know that it is folly,"— replied Arkady. . . . 
 " But where 's the harm in that? Would it he the 
 first time we have perpetrated it?" 
 
 Bazjii-off' ])ulled his ca]) down on his hrow.— 
 " As thou \s ill," — he said at last. 
 
 " Turn lo the IcH;' — shouted Arkady. 
 
 'i'he tarantas lollcd on in the directio?t of 
 Xikolskoe. Bui once li:i\ing decided on the 
 
 2;38
 
 FA'IIIKHS AM) C INLDHKN 
 
 folly, the friends maintained a more obsti- 
 nate silence than ever, and even appeared to ht- 
 angry. 
 
 From the very way in wliieh tlie butler received 
 them on the porch of Madame ()dint/ofl"'.s lioiise 
 the friends were enabled to divine thai lluy bad 
 not acted wisely in yielding to the whim w bicb bad 
 suddenly seized them. Kvideiitly they were not 
 expected. Thej' sat waiting for a fairly long time, 
 and with decidedly foolish faces, in the drawing- 
 room. ]Madame Odint/ofl' came at last. She 
 greeted them with the graciousness wbicb was pe- 
 culiar to her, but was surprised at their speedy re- 
 turn, and, so far as could be judged from the de- 
 liberation of her movements and her speech, she 
 w^as not over delighted bv it. Thev hastened to ex- 
 plain that they had only dropped in on tlieir way, 
 and four hours later they went on to the town. Siie 
 confined herself to a slight exclamation, reciuested 
 Arkady to present her com])liments to his father, 
 and sent for her aunt. The Princess made ber 
 appearance in a very sleepy state, which imparted 
 still greater malice to the expression ol' bei- wrin- 
 kled old face. Katya was indisi)osed; she did not 
 leave her room. Arkady suddenly became con- 
 scious of the fact that he vvas, at least, as desirous 
 of seeing Katya as Anna Sergyeevna herself. 
 The four hours passed in insignificant chat about 
 this and that; i\nna Sergyeevna both listened and 
 talked without a smile. C)?dy .just as they were
 
 FATTTKTJS AM) ( ITILDUEX 
 
 takinu" leave did her loi'iiier friendliness seem to 
 stir in her soul. 
 
 " I have a fit oi' spleen just at present," — 
 she said, — " but you must pay no heed to that, 
 and come again — I am sayino- this to both of you, 
 — after a while." 
 
 Both RaziirofF and ^Vrkady answered her by a 
 silent bow, seated themselves in their carriage, and 
 without halting again anywhere, drove off home 
 to Miirino. where they arrived in safety on the 
 following day at evening. During the whole 
 course of the iournev neither of them so much as 
 mentioned ^Madame Odintzoff's name; Baziiroff, 
 in i:)articular, hardly opened his mouth, and kept 
 staring to one side away from the road with a cer- 
 tain obdurate intensity. 
 
 Every one at ^Marino was extremely glad to see 
 them. The prolonged absence of his son had be- 
 gun to trouble Nikolai Petrovitch. He cried out, 
 flung his legs about and bounced about on the 
 divan when Fenitchka ran into his room with 
 beaming eyes and announced the arrival of " the 
 young gentlemen"; even Pavel Petrovitch felt a 
 certain agreeable agitation, and smiled conde- 
 scendingly as he shook hands with the returned 
 wanderers. They began to talk and ask ques- 
 tions; Arkady did most of the talking, especially 
 at supper, which lasted until long after midnight. 
 Nikolai Petrovitch ordered several bottles of ])or- 
 ter to ])(• served, which had just been brought fi'om 
 
 240
 
 FATIIKliS AM) ( IIII.I)1{K.\ 
 
 Mosc'uw, and lie liimsclf iiiduloid in dissipalion 
 to such an extent that his chirks hecanic (kcj) 
 crimson, and lie hiuglied incessantly in a wax 
 whicli was not precisely childish nor \v[ piecisely 
 nervous. The genei'al exhilaration extended to 
 the servants also. Dnnyasha ran hack and i'oitli 
 like one possessed, and kept slaniniin;^- tlic doors, 
 and Piotr, even at two o'clock in the- nl()^nin^^ 
 was still tryijig to play a kazak waltz on the 
 guitar. The strings resounded wailingly and 
 pleasingly in the motionless air; hut, w ith the ex- 
 ception of a little ])reliminary fioritui'a, the edu- 
 cated valet could i>et nothini>' out of liis instru- 
 ment: nature had denied him musical talent, as 
 well as all other faculties. 
 
 ]Meanwhile, life did not arrange itself very coni- 
 fortahly at Marino, and j)0()i- Nikolai IV-trovitch 
 fared l)a(lly. His anxieties ahoul the I'aiin aug- 
 mented with every passing day —cheerless, inex- 
 orable anxieties. His difficulties with his hired 
 labourers became unendurable. Some demandt-d 
 their pay or an increase, others went away after 
 they had received theii- earnest-money: the horses 
 fell ill; the harness wore out as though hursicd 
 with fire; the work was heedlessly done; tlie 
 threshing machine whicli h.ad been ordered from 
 ^Moscow turned out to he unsuitable, owing to its 
 weight; another was ruined the first time it was 
 used; half of the cattle-sheds hnrnrd down he- 
 cause a blind old woman, one ol' the house-serfs. 
 
 211
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 went ill windy weather to fumigate her cow witii 
 a firebrand. . . . The catastrophe occurred, it is 
 true, according to the assertion of that same old 
 woman, because the master had taken it into his 
 head to set up some unheard-of cheeses and dairy- 
 products. The overseer suddenly grew laz}^ and 
 even began to grow fat, as every Russian man 
 does grow fat when " free bread " falls to his lot. 
 On catching sight from afar of Nikolai Petro- 
 vitch, in order to display his zeal, he would fling 
 a chip at a sucking-pig which was running by, or 
 menace a half -nude little bov; but the rest of the 
 time he spent chiefly in sleeping. The j^easants 
 who had been placed on the (juit-rent basis did 
 not bring their money at the appointed time and 
 stole wood in the forest; almost every night the 
 watchmen found, and sometimes captured after 
 a scrimmage, the peasants' horses in the meadows 
 of the " farm." Nikolai Petrovitch tried tlie plan 
 of inflicting a fine in money for the damage done 
 b}^ this grazing, but the affair usually ended by 
 the horses being restored to tlieir ownei's after 
 they had been fed at liis expense for a day oi- 
 two. To crown all, the peasants began to 
 quarrel among themselves; brotliers demanded a 
 division, their wives could not get along togetlier 
 in one house; all at once a brawl began to rage, 
 and suddenly everything was in an uproar, as 
 though at the word of command every one was 
 nishing past the porcli of tlie estate-office besieg- 
 
 242
 
 FATIIKKS AM) C Hli.DKKN 
 
 ing the master, often with hriiiscd faces, in an iti 
 toxicated condition, and dcnum<hn«4' jiisiitv and 
 chastisement: chimour arose, and roars, and the 
 whimpering shrieks oi' women mingled witli curses 
 from tlic men. It hecame necessary In exaniine 
 into the confhcting claims, to slioni one's sell' 
 hoarse, knowing in advance that it w as im|)ossil)le. 
 nevertheless, to arrive at any correct decision. 
 There were not liands enongli i'oi* the rea|)ing: a 
 neighhonring peasant-pro])riet()r. with the most 
 ingratiating conntenance, had contracted to lui- 
 nish reapers at two rnhles a dcsyatina, and had 
 cheated in the most imconscionahle mannci-; his 
 peasant women demanded nnheard-of prices, and. 
 in the meantime, the grain was falling from the 
 ear upon the ground, and while on the one hand 
 the reaping could not he managed, on the other 
 hand, the Council of Guardians was menacing 
 and demanding immediate and full i)ayment of 
 
 interest on its loan 
 
 " It is heyond my strength! " — Xikohii IV tro- 
 vitch more than once exclaimed with despair. 
 " It is out of the question for me to tight mysilf. 
 and my principles do not ])ermit me to send for 
 the chief of the rural police, and yet, withont the 
 fear of punishment, noiiiing can he aei-oni- 
 
 ])lished! " 
 
 ' Du calmcdii cWwr/'— Pavel Fetrovitch re- 
 plied to thi.s, hut he himself purred and frowried 
 and tugged at his moustache. 
 
 248
 
 FAITTKHS AND CITTT.DREN 
 
 BazarofF held himself aloof from all these 
 " squabbles," and, moreover, as a guest it was not 
 his place to meddle witli other people's affairs. 
 On the (hiy after iiis arrival at Marino, he be- 
 took himself to liis frogs, liis infusorije, liis chem- 
 ical com])ounds, and busied himself exclusively 
 with tliem. Arkady, on the contrary, regarded it 
 as his duty, if not to aid his father, at least to 
 display a mien of being ready to aid him. He 
 listened patiently to him, and one day he offered 
 some piece of advice, not with the object of hav- 
 ing it followed, but for the sake of showing his 
 sympathy. Farming matters did not arouse re- 
 pugnance in him: he had even meditated with 
 ])leasure on agricultural activity; but at that 
 period other thoughts were swarming in his brain. 
 Arkady, to his own amazement, thought inces- 
 santly of Xikolskoe; formei'ly he would only have 
 shrugged his shoulders if, any one had told him 
 that he could feel bored mider the same roof with 
 Bazaroff, and under what roof to boot! — 
 that of his father; but he really was bored and 
 longed to get away. He took it into his head to 
 walk until he was tired out, Init this was of no 
 avail. A\'hile chatting one day with his father he 
 learned that Xikolai Petrovitcli had several de- 
 cidedly interesting letters written in former days 
 Ity INIadame Odintzoff 's motlier to his dead wife, 
 and he did not leave him in ])eace until he had got 
 possession of these letters, in search of which 
 
 244
 
 FATIIKHS AND CIIJLDKKX 
 
 Nikolai Petrovitch was obliged to nminiagt in a 
 score of different drawers and chests. On (.nter- 
 iiig into possession of these half-decayed pai)ers. 
 Arkady seemed to calm down, just as though Ik- 
 perceived ahead of him the goal toMai-d wliicli it 
 behooved him to advance. " I will tell you both 
 about it/' lie kept constantly whispering, — add- 
 ing to himself: " I will go, I will go. devil 
 take it! " But he recalled his last visit, the cool 
 reception and the former awkwardness, and was 
 overcome with timidity. The *' Perchance " ol* 
 youth, a secret desire to taste his happiness, to test 
 his powers all by himself, without the protection 
 of any one whomsoever — finallv won the victorv. 
 Ten days had not elapsed after his retin-n to 
 ]Marino before he again galloped off to the t()\vn, 
 under the pretext of studying the mechanism oi' 
 the Sunday-schools,' and thence to Xikolskoe. 
 Incessantly urging the postilion to greater speed, 
 he dashed thither like a young officer to a battle: 
 he felt afraid and gay and suffocating with im- 
 patience. " The chief thing is not to think." he 
 kept rei)eating to himsell*. lie had chanced upon 
 a wild postilion; the nuui di-ew uj) in I roni <>[' 
 every dram-shop, saying: " Have a di-inl<r oi- 
 " Don't we want a drink? " but, on the other hand. 
 Mlien once he had got his drink he did not spare 
 
 1 For the instruction in readinff, writinj?, and the <-onimon hr.in.hrs. 
 of llinsf> <Mii!:,)^-rfl in Inhor during-- tin- week: not scliools for tc;i<lni.;r 
 rcli^non rxciiisivrly. .is lli.it siih.irct oc-cu|.i<-s ;i proniinrnt pl.irc in nil 
 schools in Russia. -Tn a n'S'.^tok. 
 
 '21.)
 
 FATHERS AXU CHILUREX 
 
 the horses. ..." Wliat am I doing? " — sud- 
 denly flashed through Arkadj^'s head. " ^^''ell, I 
 can't turn hack, anyway! " The troika rolled 
 hriskly on; the postilion shouted and whistled. 
 And now the little hridge nunhled under the hoofs 
 and wheels— now the ayenue of clip})ed firs made 
 its appearance. ... A woman's j)ink gown flashed 
 amid the dark yerdure, a young face peeped out 
 
 from heneath the light fringe of a parasol 
 
 He recognised Katya and she recognised him. 
 Arkadj' ordered the postilion to stop the gallop- 
 ing horses, sprang out of the equipage, and went 
 up to her. " So it is you! " — she said, and a rosy 
 flush gradually oyerspread all her face: — " Let us 
 go to my sister; she is yonder in the garden; she 
 will he glad to see 3^ou." 
 
 Katya led Arkady to the garden. His meet- 
 ing with her seemed to him a peculiarly liappy 
 omen; she had been as delighted to see him as 
 though he were a member of the family. Eyery- 
 thing had turned out so capitally: neither butler 
 nor announcement. At the turn of the path he 
 caught sight of Anna Sergyeeyna. She was 
 standing M'ith her back to him. On hearing foot- 
 steps she gently turned round. 
 
 Arkady ^\as on the point of feeling discon- 
 certed, ])ut the flrst words she uttered immedi- 
 ately restored his com])osure. " Good-morning, 
 fugitiyc!" she said in her eyen, gracious yoice, 
 and adyanced to meet liim, smihng and l)linking 
 
 24G
 
 1 ATllKUS AXD CIULDKKN 
 
 with tlic sun and the vvhul: " Where (Hdsl thou 
 find liini, Kat\ a :" " 
 
 " 1 have hrouglit you sonietliin^/' he he<;aii, 
 — " Anna Seryveevna, whieli vou weix- not in tlie 
 least expeeting 
 
 " You have hrou(>lit vourself ; tliat is the hrsi 
 of all." 
 
 247
 
 XXIII 
 
 After seeing Arkady (^ff with mocking sym- 
 pathy, and giving him to understand tliat he was 
 not in the shghtest degree deceived as to the real 
 object of his journey, Bazaroff definitively iso- 
 lated himself: the fe^'er of work had descended 
 upon him. He no longer argued with Pavel Pet- 
 rovitch, the more so, as the latter in liis presence 
 assumed an extremely aristocratic mien and ex- 
 pressed his opinions more by sounds than by 
 words. Only once did Pavel Petrovitch enter into 
 a controversy with the uiJiilist on the question 
 ^^■hich was then in fashion as to the rights of the 
 nobility of the Baltic Provinces, but he suddenly 
 checked himself, saying with cold courtesy: 
 " However, we cannot understand each other; I, 
 at least, have not the honour to understand you." 
 
 "I should tliink not!" — exchiimed BazarofF. 
 — " A man is ca})able of understanding every- 
 thing—the j)ulsation of tlie etlier and ^\•hat is 
 going on in the sun; but liow anotlier man can 
 blow his nose in any other way than lie blows liis 
 own,— that lie is not capable of understanding." 
 
 "Is that witty?" — said Pavel Peti'ovitcli in- 
 quiringly, and withdrew to one side. However, 
 
 248
 
 IWrilKKS AM) ( IIILDKKX 
 
 lie sometimes asked permission to Ik- present .-it 
 Bazaroff's experiments, and onee even he put liis 
 faee, pei-i'inned and washed with an cxccllfnt 
 preparation, down to tlie mieroseope. in order to 
 watcli a trans])arenl infusoria swallow a <»reen 
 pai-tiele and ehew it u[) earei'ully with eertain \ ( ry 
 agile little fists wliieh it had in its thi-oat. Nikolai 
 Petrovitch visited Bazaroff mueh more frecjuently 
 than did his brother; he would gladly tunc eonir 
 eveiy day " to study," as he expressed it, had not 
 the cares of his estate called him elsewhere. lie 
 did not disturb the young naturalist; he seated 
 himself somewhere in a corner and watched at- 
 tentively, rarely permitting himself a cautious 
 question. During dinner and supper he endcax - 
 oured to turn the conversation on physics, geol- 
 ogy or chemistry, as all other subjects, even those 
 connected with farming, not to mention those con- 
 nected with politics, might lead if not to collisions, 
 at least to mutual dissatisfaction. Nikolai Petro- 
 vitch divined that his brother's hatred foi- Hazii- 
 rofF was not in the least diminished. One insig- 
 nificant incident, among many others, confirmed 
 him in his surmise. The cholera had In'gun to 
 make its appearance here and there in the neigh- 
 bourhood, and had even " culled " a coupK' of per- 
 sons from ^NTjirino itself. One night IMvel Petn'i- 
 vitch had a rather severe attack. Tie sufVcicd 
 agonies until morning, but did not have i-eeours( 
 to Bazaroff's art — and when he saw liini on t1i<- 
 
 240
 
 FA'IHKHS AM) (HITT)KKX 
 
 following day, to his query: " Why had not he 
 sent for him?"— he replied, still ghasth^ pale, 
 but with his hair already well brushed and face 
 carefully shaved:—" Why, I believe you said 
 yourself that you did not believe in medicine." 
 Thus the days passed on ; Bazaroff toiled stul)- 
 boridy and gloomily . . . and meanwhile there was 
 in Nikolai Petrovitch's house a being with whom 
 he not only relieved his heart, but oladly con- 
 versed. . . That being was Fenitchka. 
 
 His interviews with her generally took place 
 early in the morning in the garden or in the yard ; 
 he did not go to her room, and she never went but 
 once to his door to ask him whether or not she 
 ought to bathe ^Nlitya? She not only trusted him, 
 she not only did not fear him, but she bore herself 
 in his j^resence with more freedom and ease than 
 even with Nikolai Petrovitch himself. It is diffi- 
 cult to say whence this arose; perhaps from the 
 fact that she unconscioush' felt in Bazaroff tlie 
 absence of everything savouring of the gentry 
 class, of all that loftiness which ])oth attracts and 
 intimidates. In her eyes he was a capital doctor 
 and a simple man. AVithout feeling embarrassed 
 by his presence, she busied herself with her baby; 
 and one day, when her head suddenh^ began to 
 reel and ache, she accepted a spoonful of medicine 
 from his hand. Before Nikolai Petrovitch she 
 seemed to shun Bazaroff: she did this not out of 
 craft, but fi'om a certain sentiment of decorum. 
 
 250
 
 FATHERS AND ClllLDUKN 
 
 Pavel Petrovitcli she feared more tliaii c\er; lor 
 some time past he had taken to watching her, and 
 was wont suddenly to make his appearanee, as 
 though he had sprung out of tlie earth heliind lier 
 back in his English suit, with keen, immoval)le 
 face, and hands in his pockets. — " He fairly sends 
 a chill down your back," Fenitchka com])hnn('(] to 
 Dunyasha, and the latter in reply sighed and 
 thought of another " unfeeling " man. Ha/aroflf*. 
 without himself suspecting the fact, liad l)ecome 
 the cruel tyrant of her soul. 
 
 Fenitchka liked Bazaroff and he also liked her. 
 Even his face underwent a change wlien lie talked 
 with her: it assumed a clear, almost kindly ex- 
 jjression, and a certain playful attentiveness be- 
 came mingled with its wonted carelessness. 
 Fenitchka grew handsomer with every i)assing 
 day. There is a period in the life of young women 
 when thev suddenlv bei»'in to l)l()ssom out and uii- 
 fold like summer roses; this period had arrived lor 
 Fenitchka. Everything contributed thereto, even 
 the sultry Julv heat which then ])revaile(l. C lad 
 in a thin white gown, she jierself seemed \\liit( i- 
 and lighter: sunburn did not afi'eei her. and the 
 heat, from which she could not guard heiself, coiii- 
 municated a faint rose tint to her cheeks and rais. 
 and infusing a gentle lassitude into all Ik r iiody, 
 was reflected with dreamy languor in lu r Inau- 
 tiful eyes. She could hardly work at all: licr 
 hands simply fell into her lap. She liartlly \s alkcd 
 
 251
 
 1 ATIIEKS AM3 ClllLDUEN 
 
 at all and kept groaning and complaining with 
 anmsing weakness. 
 
 " Thou shouldst hathe more frequently," — 
 Nikolai Petrovitch said to her. He had huilt a 
 large hath-house, covered with canvas, in that one 
 of his ])onds which had not already (|uite dried up. 
 
 '' Okh, Nikolai Petrovitch! l^ut one would 
 die before getting to the pond, and to walk back 
 would kill one. There 's no shade in the garden, 
 you see." 
 
 " There is no shade, it is true," — replied Nikolai 
 Petrovitch, and mopped his brows. 
 
 One day, about seven o'clock in the morning, 
 Ba/aroft\ as he was returning from a stroll, found 
 Fenitchka in the hlac arbour, long since out of 
 bloom, but still green and thick. She was sitting 
 on the bench with a white kerchief thrown o\'er 
 her head, according to her custom ; beside her lay 
 a whole sheaf of red and white roses, still wet with 
 dew. He bade her good morning. 
 
 " Ah! Evgeny Yasilitch! " she said, and raised 
 the edge of her kerchief a little to look at him, in 
 which operation her arm was baird to the elbow. 
 
 " What are you doing herei' " — said Ba/aroff, 
 seating himself by her side. — " Are you binding 
 up a bouquet? " 
 
 " Yes; for the breakfast table. Nikolai Petro- 
 vitch likes it." 
 
 " But it is still a long time to breakfast. AMiat 
 a mass of flowers! " 
 
 252
 
 FATIIKKS AM) ( IIII.DUI-A' 
 
 I picked llicni now iK'causc il w ill '^v{ liol. 
 and it will he iiii])().ssil)k' to ^o out. It is oiiK at 
 this hour that one can brcal lie. 1 lla\(•l()^t all iii\ 
 strength with this heat. 1 'mi hc-i^innin;^- t<» lif 
 afraid that 1 am f'allino- ill." 
 
 " A\'hat a whimsical ideal Jleic. lit wn- led 
 your pulse." — Bazaroff" took her hand, soni^lit the 
 evenlv-beatiim" artei'v. and did not e\(n eoinit its 
 pulsations. — " You will li\e a hnndicd \ cais." 
 he said as he I'eleased her arm. 
 
 " Akh, (xod foi'hid! " she exclaimed. 
 
 " Wliv ^ Don't vou want to live a Ion"!' time' "" 
 
 " Yes, hut a hundred years! Our <'randmotlier 
 was eighty-five years old — and what a maityi- she 
 was! Black, deaf, bent, she couched incessantly; 
 she was only a biu'den to herself. \\'liat a lilel "' 
 
 " So it is better to be young:' " 
 
 " Of course; \vhy not? " 
 
 " But how is it better? Tell me." 
 
 "What do you mean bv ' how " ' Here I am 
 young now, I can do everything,— I go and come, 
 and fetch and carry, and I am not obliged to ask 
 any one. . . AVhat can be better:'" 
 
 "Why, it's all the same to me whethei- I am 
 young or old." 
 
 "What is it you say— that it is all the same? 
 What you say is impossible." 
 
 "Come, judge for yourself. Fed(').sya \iko- 
 Meyna; of what use to me is m> xoidh' 1 live 
 alone, a poor, wretched fellow " 
 
 2.53
 
 FATHKHS AM) CHILDHFA 
 
 " That always depends on you." 
 
 " That 's precisely the point, that it does not 
 depend on me ! I wish somebody woidd take pity 
 on me." 
 
 Fenitchka <>aze(l askance at Bazaroff, but said 
 nothing. — " Wliat book have you tliere? " — she 
 asked after a pause. 
 
 " This? It is a learned, wise book." 
 
 "And you are always studying? Doesn't it 
 bore you? 1 think you must know everything by 
 this time." 
 
 " Evidently, I don't know everything. Try to 
 read a little of this." 
 
 " But I shall not understand anytliing. Is it in 
 Russian? " — asked Fenitchka, grasping tlie heav- 
 ily bound book with both hands. — " How thick 
 it is!" 
 
 " Yes, it is in Russian." 
 
 " That makes no difference; I shall not under- 
 stand anything." 
 
 " But I am not giving it to you with the object 
 of having you understand it. I want to watch 
 you while you read. AVhen you read, tlie tip of 
 your little nose moves very ])rettily." 
 
 Fenitchka, who was beginning to decipher in 
 an undertone the first article whicli came to hand 
 " about creosote," broke out laugliing, and threw 
 aside the book ... it slid from the bench to tlie 
 ground. 
 
 254
 
 FATIIKKS AND CIIll.DHKN 
 
 " 1 am also ibiicl ol' seeing yoii laii^^li, said 
 Bazaroff. 
 
 "Do stop!" 
 
 " 1 love to hear voii talk. It is like [he lialtMiiii' 
 of a brook." 
 
 Fenitchka turned away her head.— " What a 
 queer man you are! "—she said, her fingers stiay- 
 ing among the flowers. — "And \\]\y should you 
 care to listen to me? Vou lune had c'<)n\(iMiti(»ii 
 with such clever folks." 
 
 " Kkh, Fedosya Xikolaevna! believe me: all 
 the clever ladies in the world air not worth your 
 elbow." 
 
 " Come, now, you have invented something 
 else! " — whispered Fenitchka, and folded her 
 arms. 
 
 Bazaroff ])icked the book up I'roni the ground. 
 — "This is a medical book: why do you liiug it 
 away? " 
 
 " A medical book? " — repeated Feuitehka. and 
 turned toward him. — " But do you know whatf 
 Ever since you gave me those drops — you retueiu- 
 ber?— Mitya has slept so well! I can't think how 
 to thank you; you are so kind, really." 
 
 " Well, as a matter of fact, one should i)ay llu 
 doctor," — remarked Ha/aroff with a grin. - 
 "Doctors are greedy felloNvs. ><'n know." 
 
 Fenitchka raised her cms to !?a/arofV. and thev 
 seemed still darker than nsnak o\n ing to the whil- 
 
 •i.5.5
 
 FATHERS AM) CHILDREN 
 
 ish rt'fit'C'tioji wliicli fell upon the uj)per part of 
 her face. She did not knoNN' A\hcther he was jest- 
 ing or not. 
 
 " If you like, we will j)ay you, with pleasure. . . . 
 I must ask Nikolai Petrovitch. . ." 
 
 " But do vou think I want nionevif " — Bazaroff 
 rnterrupted her. — " No, 1 want no money from 
 you." 
 
 " ^^'hat thenJ" " — said Fenitehka. 
 
 " What? " — repeated Bazaroff. — " Guess." 
 
 " I never can guess anything! " 
 
 " Then 1 will tell you ; I want .... one of 
 these roses." 
 
 Again Fenitehka burst out laughing and even 
 clasped her hands, so amusing did Bazaroff's de- 
 sire seem to her. She laughed, and at the same 
 time she felt flattered. Bazaroff gazed intently 
 at her. 
 
 " Very well, very well," — she said at last, and 
 bending toward the bench she began to sort o\er 
 the roses. — " Which would you like — a red or a 
 white one?" 
 
 " A red one, but not too large." 
 
 She straightened herself up. — " Here, lake it," 
 — she said, Init immediately drew back her oul- 
 stretched hand, and biting her hj). east a glance 
 at the entrance to the arbour — then be<>an to 
 listen. 
 
 " What s the mattei-:' " — inquired Bazaroff. — 
 " Nikolai Petrovitch?" 
 
 256
 
 FATIIKKS AM) ( 1 1 I 1 ,1 )K i:\ 
 
 '' \(). . . . lie lias n-diic It) tlu Tk Ids . . . a?nl 
 I 'ni not al'rnid of liiin .... hiil as loi- l*;i\(l 
 J^ctmvilcli II sc'iiiu'd to me "" 
 
 " Whatr' 
 
 It seemed to me iliat lie was walkiiij' llicrc 
 Xo . . . there is no one. Take il." I'cnitdika 
 <>"uve Ha/iirofi' a ro.se. 
 
 *' Wliat makes yon afraid of P;i\(l Ptlro- 
 vitehT' 
 
 " He always f'ri<>litens me. Wliether lie sav.s 
 anything or not, he looks qneer. And eeilainly 
 vou don't like him either. Voii rememher voii 
 used to be forever disputing with him. I don't 
 know what you were dis])uting ahonl, hut 1 eonld 
 see that you twisted him ahout .so and so. . . ." 
 
 Fenitchka demonstrated with her hands how, 
 in her opinion, Bazaroff had twi.sted Pavel I'etro- 
 vitch ahout. 
 
 Bazaroff smiled. — " And if there had ])een any 
 danger of his vantjuishing me yon wonid have 
 stood up for me? " — he incjuired. 
 
 " How should I have stood up foi- xoii:' W'liv, 
 
 , I. ■ • 
 
 no one can overcome you." 
 
 " Do you think so? Bnt 1 know a hand which, 
 if it wished, eonld knock me on cr with om- finger." 
 
 •'What hand is that?" 
 
 " Is it i)ossihle that you do no! know?— Sm< II 
 and see how s))lendid is the- |)crrimie of the rose 
 you liave given me." 
 
 Fenitchka stretclH^d onl her neck and \n\\ Ik r 
 
 257
 
 FATITEKS AM) CIIII.DHKX 
 
 face close to the flower. . . The kercliiel' slipped 
 from her head to her shoulders; a soft mass of 
 shining hlack hair, slightly dishevelled, was re- 
 vealed to view. 
 
 ""Wait: I want to smell it with you/' —said 
 l^azaroff*, and he hent o\er and kissed lier firndy 
 on lici' |)artc(l lips. 
 
 She shuddered, and rei)elled him with hotli 
 hands against his hreast, hut her resistance was 
 weak, and he was ahle to repeat and prolong his 
 kisses. 
 
 A dry cough resounded hehind the lilacs. 
 Fenitclika instantly moved to the other end of the 
 bench. ]^avel Petrovitch made his appearance, 
 made a slight bow, and saying, with a sort of 
 malicious dejection — " Are you here? " — with- 
 drew. 
 
 Fenitchka immediately gathered up all her 
 roses and went out of the arbour. " Shame on 
 you, Evgeny Vasnievitch," — she whispered as she 
 went. Unfeigned re])roach was audible in lier 
 whisper. 
 
 Ba/iirofF suddenly recalled another scene of re- 
 cent occurrence, and felt conscience-stricken and 
 scornfully vexed with himself. Hut he immedi- 
 ately shook his liead, ironically congratulated him- 
 self on his " formal entrance on the career of a 
 Lovelace," and went off to liis chamber. 
 
 But Pavel Petrovitch (piitted the garden, and 
 strolling slowh', reached the forest. lie remained 
 
 258
 
 FATllKKS AM) ( 1 1 I 1 .1 )|{ lA 
 
 there lor ti rallicr l<)ii<>' tiiiR', and w luii lie rctiiiiu d 
 to breakfast Nikolai Pelr('»\ ilcli nskcd liim with 
 anxiety whether he was w ell so dark had liis lace 
 grown. 
 
 " As tiiou knowest, 1 soiiietiiiies siilVer iVnin an 
 overflow of bile," Pavel I'etroviteh answered him 
 Avith composure. 
 
 *251>
 
 XXIV 
 
 Two hours later lie knocked at Bazaroff' s door. 
 
 " 1 must make my excuses for disturbing yor 
 in your learned occupations, ' he began, as he 
 seated himself on a chair near the window and 
 rested both hands on a handsome cane with an 
 ivory handle — (he generally walked without a 
 cane) , — " but I am compelled to request that you 
 will bestow upon me five minutes of your time — 
 !io more." 
 
 " All my time is at your (Usposal," — replied 
 ]ia'/aroft*, over whose face sometliing had flitted 
 as soon as Pavel Petrovitcli ci'ossed tlie threshold 
 of the door. 
 
 " Five minutes will suffice for me. I liave cc'mie 
 to ])ro])oun(l one (juestion to you." 
 
 " A (juestion ^ What is it al)out ( " 
 
 " Be so good as to lieai' me out. iVt tlie ])egin- 
 ning of voui" sojourn in my l)r()tlu'i''s liouse, wlien 
 as yet 1 had not denied myself the [)leasure of 
 conversing with you, 1 chanced to hear you ex- 
 press your views on many subjects; but so far as 
 my memory serves me, neither between us nor in 
 my ])resence did ihc (•()n\ ei'sation turn uj)on the 
 subject of duels oi" of diK lling in general. Pei'- 
 
 2G0
 
 FATIIKKS AM) ( IIILDIM-.X 
 
 mil me (o iii(|(iiir, ulial is your «>[>iiii<>ii nn lliat 
 ])oint? " 
 
 l^a/{iroff', wlio liad risen al l\i\(l Petic'tviteirs 
 entrance, seated liinisell' on llie ednc of a cliair 
 and folded his arms. 
 
 " lliis is m\' ()i)inion/'^sai(l lie;-" I^'rom tin 
 theoretical point of view a duel is a piece ol" folly: 
 but from the practical point of \ iew, it is (|uiti- 
 another matter." 
 
 " That is, vou mean to sav. if I lia\ c inidcrslood 
 you aright, that whatever may he yoin- tlicorelical 
 views as to duelling i?i |)i-aetiee. yon would not 
 allow yourself to he insulted w illioiit di niMMdiiig 
 satisfaction." 
 
 " You have ])erfectly di\incd my thought." 
 
 "Very good, sii". I am wvy much pleased to 
 hear this from you. Voui- woi-ds free me I'lom 
 uncertainty. . . ." 
 
 " From indecision, you mean to say." 
 
 " That is the same thing, sir: I am expressing 
 myself in this manner so that I may he utider- 
 stood; I 'm no seminary rat. Voni- woids release 
 me from a certain sad necessity. 1 lia\< made up 
 my mind to tiglit with you." 
 
 Bazaroff opened his eyes wide. — " AVith me' 
 
 " Yes, without fail." " 
 
 " But what for? good gracious." 
 
 "T miglit explain the cause to yon." - hegan 
 Pavel Petrovitch:-" hul I prefer to remair. 
 silent on that ])oint. To my taste >(>n are sni)ei- 
 
 2G1
 
 FATIIKUS AM) C'lIILDinsX 
 
 Hiious here; 1 cannot endure you, I despise you, 
 and if tliat is not enoutrh for you . . . ." 
 
 Pavel Petrovitcli's eyes flashed. . . 15azaroff's 
 hegan to flame also. 
 
 " Very good, sir," — said he. — " Further expla- 
 nations are unnecessary. Tlie fancy has seized 
 vou to make a trial of vour chivalrous s])irit on 
 me. I might refuse you that satisfaction ; hut let 
 that pass." 
 
 " I am intensely indehted to you," — replied 
 Pavel Petrovitch. — " and can now hope that you 
 will accept my challenge without forcing me to 
 have recourse to violent measures." 
 
 " That is, speaking a\ ithout allegories, to that 
 cane?" — remarked Bazaroff' coolly. — "That is 
 quite correct. There is no necessity whatever for 
 your insulting me. And it is not entirely devoid 
 of danger. You can remain a gentleman. ... I 
 accept yoiu* challenge, also in a gentlemanly 
 manner." 
 
 " Veiy good indeed," — said Pavel PetnSvitch, 
 and ))laced his cane in a corner. — " We will im- 
 mediately say a few words about the conditions 
 of our duel; but first I should like to understand 
 whether you consider it indispensable to resort 
 to the formality of a small ])reliminarv (|uarrel, 
 which might serve as the ])retext for my chal- 
 lenge? " 
 
 " Xo. It is better without any formalities." 
 
 " I think so myself. I also assume that it is in- 
 
 2G2
 
 FATIIKKS AM) ( 1 1 I I I )|{ I A 
 
 opportune to enter into the genuine causes of our 
 conflict. We caiuiot endure each other. What 
 more is needed? " 
 
 " What more is needed r " repeated Ha/arofV 
 ironically. 
 
 "As re<>-ards the conditions themselves of the 
 duel, as we shall have no seconds, for where arr 
 we to get them? " 
 
 " Precisely; where are we to "^ct liiem^ " 
 
 " I have the honour to |)ro[»ose to you th< I'ol- 
 lowino-: That we shall fioht to-nionow rnoiiiinu 
 early, let us say at six o'clock, hehind thi' ai(»\c. 
 with pistols; the harrier at ten paces. . . ." 
 
 " Ten paces? that 's so; we hate eaeli other at 
 that distance' 
 
 " We might make it eight," -i-emarked P.-i\ el 
 Petrovitch. 
 
 " We might; why not? " 
 
 " We will fire twice; and each of us w ill |)ut ;i 
 note in his pocket — in case of accidents in \\ hieh 
 he will cast the hlanie f'oi- liis death u|)on iiinisell"." 
 
 " On that point I am not (jultc in accoid \\ ith 
 you," — said Baziirolt'. — '" It smacks somewliat ol' 
 a French romance, — it lacks prohahility." 
 
 " Possihly. l^ut you must admit tli;it it wouhl 
 he iui})leasant to suhject one's self lo I he suspicion 
 of having committed minder." 
 
 "I do admit that. Hut theix- is a means ol 
 avoiding that sad re])roach. We shall ha\e no sec- 
 onds, hut we may have a w itness." 
 
 2(53
 
 FATTI1^1^S AM) ('TIILl)KKX 
 
 " W'lio, precisely, permit me to ask? " 
 
 " Why, Piotr."' 
 
 " WhatPiotr?" 
 Your })rother's valet. He is a man who stands 
 on the crest of contenipoi-ary civilisation and will 
 play his ]:)art with all the cowmc it faut indispen- 
 sahle in such cases." 
 
 " It strikes me that you are jesting, my dear 
 sn\ 
 
 " Not in the least. If von will consider my 
 proi)ositi()n, you will hecome convinced that it is 
 full of common sense and simplicity. You cannot 
 hide an awl in a bag, and I take it upon myself to 
 prepare Piotr in the ])roper manner, and bring 
 him to the field of battle." 
 
 " You persist in jesting," — ejaculated Pavel 
 Petrovitch, rising from his seat. — " But after the 
 amiable readiness which you have displayed I 
 have no right to be too exacting with you. . . . 
 And so everything is arranged. . . . By the way, 
 you have no pistols? " 
 
 " Where should I get any pistols, Pavel Petro- 
 vitch? I am not a warrior." 
 
 " In that case, I offer you mine. You may feel 
 assured that it is five years since I have fired 
 them." 
 
 " That is a very comforting piece of news." 
 
 Pavel Petrovitch got his cane. ..." And 
 now, my dear sir, it only remains for me to 
 thank you and surrender you to your occupa- 
 
 264
 
 FATHERS AM) ( IIILDinA 
 
 tions again. 1 have the lioiiuiir to hid yuii goml 
 morning." 
 
 " Farewell until our agreeable iiieeling, my 
 dear sir," — said Bazaroff*, as lie eseorted his guest 
 to the door. 
 
 Pavel Petroviteh departed, hut liazaioll" stood 
 still in front of the door, and suddenly exelainied : 
 " Whew! the devil! how fine and how stu|)id! A 
 pretty comedy we have undertaken to i)layl 
 That 's the way trained dogs dance on their hind 
 legs. But it was imjwssihle to refuse; for J think 
 he would have struck me, and then ..." ( Ba/aroff 
 turned pale at the mere thought; all his pride rose 
 up in arms.) " Then 1 shoidd have been obliged 
 to strangle him like a kitten." lie retuiiud 
 to his microscope, but his heart was aroused, 
 and the composure which was indisi)ensable for 
 his observations had vanished. — " He saw us to- 
 day,"— he thought, " but can it be that he is stand- 
 ing up for his brother^ But of what importance 
 is a kiss? There 's something else hei-e. Ba ! is n't 
 he in love himself^ Of course he is: that is as 
 clear as the day. AVhat a com])licated mess, \\ hen 
 you come to think of it! ... 1 1 "s a bad busi- 
 ness! " — he decided at last: — " it 's a bad iuisiness, 
 look at it from whichever side you will. In the 
 first place, I must risk my life, and, in any case, 
 go away; and there's Arkady • • .arid that 
 ladv-hug, Nikolai Petroviteh. 'T is a bad. l)ad 
 
 business." 
 
 •20.5
 
 FATHEKS xVXD ClllLDKEX 
 
 The day passed somehow m a pecidiarly quiet 
 and languid manner. It was as though Fenitchka 
 :Hd not exist in the world; she sat in her little 
 room like a mouse in its hole. Nikolai Petrovitcli 
 had a careworn aspect. He had l)een informed 
 that rust had made its a])])earance in his wheat, 
 on which lie had set special hopes. Pavel Petro- 
 \ itch crushed every one, even Prokofitch, with his 
 icy politeness. BazarofF began a letter to his 
 father, but tore it up and flung it under the table. 
 " If I die," — he thought, " they will hear of it: 
 but I shall not die. Xo, I shall live on from hand 
 to mouth in this world for a long time to come." 
 — He ordered Piotr to come to him at daybreak 
 on the following morning for an important af- 
 fair; Piotr imagined that he wished to take him 
 with him to Petersburg. Bazaroff went to bed 
 late, and incoherent dreams tormented him all 
 night long. . . . JNIadame Odfntzoff hovered be- 
 fore him, but she was his mother, and a kitten with 
 ])lack A\hiskers followed her, and that kitten was 
 Fenitchka; but Pavel PetroA'itcli ])resented him- 
 self to liim as a luige forest, with n\ liicli, neverthe- 
 less, lie was com])clle(l to tiglit. I'ioti- waked liim 
 at four o'clock; lie immediately dressed and went 
 out with him. 
 
 It was a splendid, cool morning; tiny, motley 
 cloudlets hung like snipe in the clear, pale azure; 
 a fine dew was s])rinklcd on the leaves and grass, 
 and glistened like siher on the spiders' webs; the 
 
 2GG
 
 lAIIIKKS AM) ('IIII,l)in:\ 
 
 moist dark earth st'uiii(.'d still to rilaiii liir losx 
 traces of the dawn; the son^s ol" larks sliowiidi 
 down from all ovei- the sky. H;r/,:irofV walked to 
 the »^ro\e, seated iiimseH' in the shadow at Mk vdiyr 
 of it, and only then did lie re\eal lo I'iotr wlial 
 sej-viee he e\))eeted IVom liini. Tlic cducalcd 
 laekey was friohtened lo death; hut Ha/arolV 
 soothed him with the assurance that he would have 
 nothino- to do except stand at a distance and look 
 on, and that he was assuming- no resj)onsihility 
 whatever. — " And meanwhile," — he added.— 
 " tliink what an impoi'tant part awaits thee! " — 
 Piotr Hung- his hands a])art, drop])ed his eyes, and 
 leaned hack, all green, against a hii'ch ti'ee. 
 
 The road from jNIarino wound round the gro\ e; 
 a light dust lay upon it, as yet untouched since the 
 preceding day hv either wheel or loot. Ha/aroff 
 involuntarily gazed along the road, plucked and 
 chewed a hlade of grass, and kept iej)eating ti» 
 himself: " What a piece of stupidity I "" 'I'he ma- 
 tutinal chill made him shiver once or twice. . . . 
 Piotr stared dejectedly at him. hut lia/arolf onlx 
 "Tinned: he was not afraid. 
 
 The sound of a horse's hoofs rang out on the 
 road. . . A ])easant made his appearance from 
 hehind the trees. He was dri\ing two hohhirti 
 horses in front of him, and, as he |)assed Ha/.;iiotV. 
 he looked at him rather .straTigel\ , w ithont dolling 
 his cap, which ohviously disconeeilid Piotr as an 
 evil omen. "Here's another fellow w h«> h.is
 
 FAIIIKKS AM) ( IIII.DT^F.X 
 
 risen early, "^thouglit Bazjiroff ; " l)iil for busi- 
 ness, at all events, while we " 
 
 I think lie 's eoiniii«»', sir," whispered ]*iotr 
 suddenly. 
 
 Ba/iiroff raised liis head and i)ereeived Pji\c'l 
 Petroviteh. Clad in a li^ht eheeked saek-eoat and 
 snow-\\'hite trousers, he was walking briskly down 
 the road; under his arm he carried a box wra])ped 
 up in green cloth. 
 
 " Pardon nie, 1 seem to have made you wait," 
 — he said, bowing first to Bazaroff and then to 
 Piotr, in whom he at tliat moment respected some- 
 thing in the nature of a second. — " I did not wish 
 to rouse my valet." 
 
 " It is of no consequence, sir," — replied Baza- 
 roff, — " we have only just arrived ourselves." 
 
 " Ah! so much the better! " — Pavel Petroviteh 
 cast a glance around him. — " There is no one in 
 sight, no one will interfere " 
 
 " Let us begin." 
 
 " You demand no fresh explanations, I suj)- 
 pose?" 
 
 " I do not." 
 
 "Would you like to load?" — inquired Pavel 
 Petroviteh, taking the ])istols from their case. 
 
 " No; do you load, and I will measure off the 
 paces. ]My feet are the longer," — added Bazaroff 
 with a sneer. — " One, two, three . . . ." 
 
 " Evgeny Vasilievitch," — stammered Piotr 
 with difficulty (he was shaking as tliough in a 
 
 2(;s
 
 FATIIKKS AM) C 1 1 1 1 .1 )I{K\ 
 
 fever), — " I don't care what you say. I)iil I ;uii no- 
 mg away." 
 
 "Four .... five. . . . (io, my (l<;ii- fallow. 
 go: thou luayest even stand behind a tree and stop 
 up thine ears, only don't shut thine eyes: and if 
 any one falls run and lift him up. Six . . . seven 
 
 . . . eight " l^a/aroff j)aused.-"Js this 
 
 enough? " — he said, addressing IMvel Petroviteh; 
 — " or shall I add a cou])le of paces nioreC " 
 
 " As you like," — said the latter, ramming in 
 the second bidlet. 
 
 "Well, let's add a couple of paces more.— 
 BazarofF drew a line on the ground with the toe 
 of his boot. — "Here's the barrier. Oh. by the 
 way: how many paces is each of us to go IVom the 
 barrier? That also is an important (juestion. We 
 did not discuss that yesterday. .' 
 
 " Ten, I suppose," — re])hed I'avel Petiunitch, 
 handing Bazaroff botli pistols. " Be so good as to 
 make your choice." 
 
 " I will. But you must achiiit, Pavel Petro- 
 viteh, tliat our (hiel is unusual to [\\v \n)\\\[ ol' al>- 
 surdity. .Inst look at the face of oui- second! * 
 
 "You always want to .jest." replied Pa\(I 
 Petroviteh. — "! do not deny Ibf strangtiuss of 
 our duel, but 1 considered it my duty to warn you 
 that I intend to figlit seriously. . / hoii cnlindciir. 
 salut! " 
 
 "Oh! 1 do not doultl lb:il we intcixl b' «aI<i-- 
 minate eaeli other: biil wliv not laiigb and com-
 
 FATHERS AM) ClULDREX 
 
 bine utile dulci? So l)e it: you talk to me in 
 French, and 1 '11 talk to you in Latin." 
 
 1 slv 'I ti^ht seriously, '^repeated Pavel ]*e- 
 trcn iteli, and went to his jjost. Bazarolf, on his 
 side, coiuited off ten paces from the barrier, and 
 halted. 
 
 " Are you ready? "—asked Pavel Petrovitch. 
 
 " Perfect!}'." 
 
 " We can advance." 
 
 Bazaroff moved slowly forward, and Pa\el 
 Petrovitch followed his example, thrusting his 
 left hand into his pocket, and gradually raising 
 the barrel of his pistol. ..." He is aiming- 
 straight at my nose," — thoughl: Bazaroif , " and 
 how carefully lie is narrowing his eyelids, the 
 bandit! But this is an unjjleasant sensation; I 
 will look at his watch-chain. . . ." Something 
 whizzed sharply close to Bazaroif's ear, and at 
 that moment tlie sound of a shot rang out. — " I 
 heard it, conse(]uently I 'm all right," flashed 
 through his head. He advanced another step, 
 and, without taking aim, pressed the trigger. 
 
 Pavel Peti-ovitch gave a slight stai"t and 
 clapped his hand to his hip. — A stream of bk^od 
 flowed down his white trousers. 
 
 liazarofl' Hung aside his pistol and ap- 
 proached his adversary. — " Vou are wounded?" 
 — he said. 
 
 " Vou had the j-ighl to call iiic to the bai"- 
 rier," — returned Pavel Petn'n itch: - " but that is 
 
 270
 
 IWrilKKS AM) ( IIII,1)KK.\ 
 
 a mere trilie. Accoidiii^' lo Ur- agrcciiKiit, cacli 
 of us has another shot." 
 
 " AVell, exeuse nie, that will do I'oi- ariotlici- 
 time," — re])lie(l Ha/aroff', and caught Paxil 1\- 
 troviteh, who was })eginnin^- to turn pale in his 
 arms. — " I 'ni not a duellist now. hut .1 doctoi-; 
 and, Hrst of all, I must ins])eet your wound. 
 Pioti"! eome here, Piotr! where art thou hidin;^ 
 thyself? " 
 
 " All this is nonsense. ... 1 need assist anct 
 from no one," — faltered Pavel I'etnn itch. 
 "and . . . we nuist . . . tire . . a<4aiii. . ."' 
 He tried to twirl his moustaehe. I)ut liis hand 
 weakened, his eyes rolled up, and hf lost con- 
 sciousness. 
 
 " Here 's a pretty state of thin<^s! A swoon I 
 What's the cause of this! " — involuntarily ex- 
 claimed Bazaroff, as he laid Pavel Pet r(')\ itch 
 dow^n on the grass. — " Let's see what soit of ;i 
 performance this is." — He pulled out his l)ainl- 
 kercliief, wiped away the hlood. and It ll ol' !lic 
 wound. . . . " The hone is uninjured," he mut- 
 tered hetween liis teeth, — "" the hullet passed 
 through not far helow the skin: one luuscle. the 
 vastus iwternus, is hurt. He can danct. it' Ik 
 likes, three weeks hence! . . . Hut a swoon! ( )kh. 
 these nervous people! Just see how Ihm his 
 
 skin is! " 
 
 " Is he killed? " — rustled I'iotr's (piaking voice 
 
 hehind his })aek. 
 
 271
 
 FA'^1IK1^S AM) ('TIlM)Ki:X 
 
 Bazarott' giaiiced rouiul. — " Run for water as 
 quickly as possible, my p^ood fello\\'. and lie will 
 outlive you and nie." 
 
 Hut the perfected servant appeared not to un- 
 derstand his words, and did not stir from the spot. 
 I'avel I'etrovitch slowlv oi)ene(l his eves. " He is 
 dying! " whispered Piotr, and began to cross him- 
 self. - . 
 
 " You are right. . . What a stupid ]:>hysiog- 
 nomy! " — said the wounded gentleman, with a 
 forced smile. 
 
 "Come, now, run for water, you devil!" — 
 shouted Bazaroff. 
 
 " It is not necessarv. . . It was only a momen- 
 tary vcrtigr. . . . Help me to sit up . . . there, 
 that 's it. . . . All that is needed is to bind up 
 this scratch with something, and then I will walk 
 liome, or a drozhky can be sent for me. The duel 
 need not be renewed, if that suits you. A^ou have 
 behaved noblv .... to-dav — to-day, prav ob- 
 serve." 
 
 " It is not worth while to revert to the past," — 
 returned Bazaroff, — " and as for the future, it is 
 not worth while to bother our heads about that 
 either, because I intend to decamj) without delay. 
 Xow let me bandage your leg; your wound is not 
 dangerous, but it will be better, in any case, to 
 stop the flow of lilood. But first it is indispen- 
 sable that this moi-tal should be brought to con- 
 
 sciousness." 
 
 272
 
 FATHERS AM) CIIIIJ)in<:\ 
 
 Eazarott' shook I'iotr by tlic collar and st:it liini 
 for a (Iro/hky. 
 
 " See to it that thou dost not alarm din Imo- 
 thcr,"— Pavel Petroviteli said to him. — " Doiit 
 dare to announce it to liini." 
 
 Piotr flew off at headlong sj)cc(l; and wjiik- he 
 was running for the (h'ozhky the two adversaries 
 sat on tlie ground and held their |)eaee. P;i\(l 
 Petroviteli tried not to look at Eazaroll"; nevertln - 
 less, he was not willing to be reconciled to him: 
 he was ashamed of his own arrogance, ol' his lack 
 of success: he was ashamed of this whole affair 
 whicli he had instigated, although he also felt that 
 it could not have ended in a more favourable man- 
 ner. " He will not liang on here any longer, at 
 all events," — he soothed liiinself : — " and I'oi- that. 
 thanks." The silence continued, awkward and 
 oppressive. Neither of them was comfortable'. 
 Each of them recognised the fact that the other 
 uwderstood him. This consciousness is agreeable 
 to friends and extremely (lisagreeal)le to enemi( s. 
 esj)ecially when it is impossible for them eithi i- to 
 explain themselves or to separate. 
 
 " Haven't I bandaged your leg too tightly f " 
 — asked BazarofF at last. 
 
 "No, never mind, it is \ery well done." re- 
 plied Pavel Petroviteli, and after a brief |)ausc, 
 he added: — " it will not be ])ossible to deceive my 
 brother; we shall have to tell him that we (|nar 
 relied over politics."
 
 FxVTIlKKS AND ClIILDHEX 
 
 " Very good," — said Bazaroff. — " You can say 
 tliat I abused all angloniaiiiacs." 
 
 " Capital. What do you suppose that man is 
 thinking about us now? " — went on Pavel Petro- 
 viteh, pointing at that same peasant who, a few 
 minutes previous to the duel, had driven past 15a- 
 ziiroff the hobbled horses, and on ]-eturning along 
 the road had "' turned out," and had pulled off 
 his cap at the sight of " the gentry." 
 
 " Who knows! " — replied Bazaroff : — " the 
 most likely thing of all is that he thinks nothing. 
 — The Russian peasant is that same mysterious 
 stranger of whom ]Mrs. RadclifFe used to prate 
 so much. AVho can understand him? He does 
 not understand himself." 
 
 "Ah! There you go again! " — Pavel Petry- 
 vitch was beginning, then suddenly exclaimed: — 
 " See what our fool of a Piotr has done! There s 
 my brother galloping hither! " 
 
 ]5azar()ff turned round and perceived the ])ale 
 face of Nikolai Petrovitch, who was seated in the 
 drozhky. He sprang out before it came to a halt 
 and flew to his brotlier. — " \Miat 's tlie meaning 
 of Ibis?" — he said in an agitated ^'()ice: — 
 *' Kvgenv A'asiliteh, for heaven's sake, ^^■hat is 
 this?" 
 
 " Xever mind,"— replied Pavel Petrovitch: — 
 " tliere was no necessity foi- dis([uieting yon. M r. 
 Bazjiroff and I hnw had a little quarrel, and 1 
 have paid for it a bit." 
 
 274.
 
 FATIIKKS AM) C I1II.I)|{KN 
 " Hut I'oi- Cidd's sake, wiial was the (•;iiis( (tf ;ill 
 this?" 
 
 " How can I cxjilain it to tlicrf lia/aintV ex- 
 pressed liiiiiself (lisresi)ec-truliy ahoiil Sii- Koln-rt 
 l^eel. I hasten to add that 1 alone am l(» hlanic 
 i'ov all this, and Mr. Ha/arof!' has Ix lia\cd cxccl- 
 lentlv. 1 challen<>ed hini." 
 
 " Bnt thou ai-t hieedino-, oood ui-aeious! " 
 " iVnd didst thou suj)i)ose that I had watei- in 
 my veins? ]^ut this hloodlcttin^' is i-eally ad\an- 
 +ageous for me. Is n't that so. doctor:' I Idp nic 
 to get into the drozliky, and don't yield to melan- 
 choly. To-morrow I shall he well, 'riicir, that s 
 rio'ht; very good indeed. I)i-i\e on, coachman." 
 Nikolai Petrovitch walked after the diozhky. 
 
 Bazaroff* made a motion to remain hehind 
 
 " I must request you to attend to my hi-otlur. " 
 — Xikolai Petrovitch said to him, — " until we get 
 another physician from the tow n." 
 Bazaroff ])owed in silence. 
 
 An houi- later l^avel IVtrovitch was lying in 
 hed, with his leg skilfully handaged. The whole 
 hou.se was in a commotion: Penitchka swooned. 
 Nikolai Petrovitch (piietly wi-ung his hands, hut 
 Pavel Petrovitch laughed and jested. esi)ecially 
 with Bazaroff; he had donned a fine hatiste shirt, 
 a dandified morning /jacket, and a le/ ; lu would 
 not allow them to draw down tlu sliades at the 
 windows, and lamented amusingly ahoiit the 
 necessity of ahstaining (Vom food. 
 
 •27.3
 
 FAIITKirs AM) ('TTTT.l)KKy 
 
 But toward nightfall, he became feverish; his 
 head l)egan to ache. The doctor from the town 
 made liis a])])earance. (Nikolai Petrovitcli had 
 not obeyed liis brotlier, and l^a/jiroff liimself liad 
 not wished it: he had sat in liis own room all day 
 long, all sallow and cross, and had only run in to 
 see the invalid for the very briefest space; twice 
 he had chanced to encounter Fenitchka, but she 
 had jimiped away from him in horror.) The new 
 doctor advised cooling beverages, but otherwise 
 confirmed BazarofF's assertions that no danger 
 was to be apprehended. Xikolai Petrovitcli told 
 him that his brother had wounded himself through 
 heedlessness, to which the doctor replied: "H'm!" 
 — but on receiving upon the spot twenty-five 
 rubles, silver, in hand, he said: "You don't say 
 so! that often happens, really." 
 
 No one in the house went to bed or mulressed. 
 Xikolai Petrovitcli kept stealing into his brother's 
 room on tiptoe and stealing out again on tiptoe: 
 the latter dozed, groaned softly, said to him in 
 French: ''Couchez-vous/'—and asked for a drink. 
 Once Xikolai Petrovitch made Fenitchka bring 
 him a glass of lemonade; Pavel Petrovitch re- 
 garded her intently, and drank the glass to the 
 bottom. Toward morning the fever increased 
 somewhat, a slight delirium made its appearance. 
 At first Pavel Petrovitch uttered incoherent 
 M'ords; then he suddenly o])ened his eyes, and per- 
 ceiving his b>-other at his bedside bending anx- 
 
 276
 
 FATIIKKS AM) ( IIII.DliKX 
 
 iously over liiiu, lie said: " l'\'iiilclika lia> .m)|ii. - 
 tiling' ill coninion with Xcllv . lias n't slic, 
 Nikolai r' 
 
 " Witli what Nelly, IVisha^' 
 
 " IIow^ canst thou ask :■ With Princess U. . . . 
 Especially in the upper j)art of the lace. ( "est dc 
 la meiiie fa in ill c." 
 
 Nikolai I'etroviteh made mo reply, hut mar- 
 velled within himself at the vitality <>!' old feelings 
 in a man. " It 's coming' to the surface," he 
 thought. 
 
 " Akh, how 1 love that vain creature!" — 
 moaned Pavel Petrovitch, sadly Hinging his arms 
 ahove his head. — " I cannot enduic it w luii some 
 audacious fellow dares to touch . . . ."* he stam- 
 mered a few moments later. 
 
 Nikolai Petrovitch merely sighed: he did not 
 suspect to whom those words applied. 
 
 BazaroiF presented himself to him at tight 
 o'clock on the following morning. lie had 
 already managed to ])ack, and to set at lihirly 
 all his fi'ogs, insects, and hii'ds. 
 
 "You have come to hid me faicw ill T' said 
 Nikolai Petrovitch, rising to greet him. 
 
 " Exactly .so, sir." 
 
 "I understand you. and 1 lullv approvi- of 
 your cour.se. ^ly poor hiothcr. of course, is to 
 blame: and he has heen punished. lie told uie 
 hinjself that he had placed you in such ;i position 
 that it was imi)ossil)ie ("or \ou to reCuse. 1 hehe\c 
 
 •J77
 
 1 ATHEKS AM) CHILDKEX 
 
 that vou could not have avoided this duel, which 
 . . . which, to a certain extent, is accounted for 
 nierelv hv the constant antagonism of vour 
 mutual views." (Nikolai Petrovitch had got en- 
 tangled in his words.) " ^Jy brother is a man of 
 the old stamp, irascible and morose. . . . Thank 
 God that it has ended thus. I have taken all nec- 
 essary measures to avoid publicity. ..." 
 
 " I will leave you my address, in case any un- 
 pleasantness arises,"— remarKeci Bazaroff care- 
 lessly. 
 
 " I hope that no unpleasantness will arise, 
 Evgeny Vasilitch. ... I am very sorry that 
 your sojomii in my house should have had such 
 . . . such an ending. I am the moi-e distressed 
 because Arkady " 
 
 " I shall certainly see him again," — returned 
 BazarofF, in whom every sort of " explanation " 
 and " declaration " always aroused a sentiment of 
 impatience; — " if I do not, I beg that you will 
 give him my regards and accept the expression of 
 my regret." 
 
 " And 1 beg . . . ' replied Nikolai Petrovitch, 
 with a bow. But Ba/aroff did not await the end 
 of his phrase, and left the room. 
 
 On hearing tliat Bazaroif was about to depart, 
 l*avel Petrovitcli ex])ressed a wish to see him and 
 to shake hands with him. But here also Bazaroff 
 ^•"mained as cold as ice; he comprehended that 
 Piivel Petrovitcli wished to appear magnanimous. 
 
 27Ji
 
 FATIIKKS AM) ( 1 1 1 LI )1{ KN 
 
 He did not succeed in bidding Kcnilclika --(mkI- 
 bye: he merely exehan<4e(l a wlancc with licr 
 through a window. Her face seemed sad to him. 
 " She '11 go to destruction i)robal)ly! " he said to 
 himself. . . . "Well, .she'll extrii-ali iierseif, 
 somehow or other! " 
 
 On the other hand, Tidtr was so o\c reome with 
 emotion that he we})t on his shoulder, mitil Ha/;i- 
 roff' froze him with the (juestion: "" Was nt he 
 a crv-babvf" while Dunvasha was eomixlUd 
 to flee to the i»"i"ove to conceal her agitation. 
 The cause of all this woe clamhei-ed into the 
 peasant cart, lighted a cigar, and when, at the- 
 fourth verst. at a turn oi* the road, tlie Kirsanoll" 
 farm, with its new manor-house, presented itself. 
 all spread out in a line to his eyes for the hist time. 
 he merely spat, and muttei-ing: " Ciiised stiiek-u|) 
 gentry!" wra])ped himself moic closely in his 
 cloak. 
 
 Pavel Petrovitch soon improved: but he was 
 obliged to keep his bed foi- about a wick. He 
 bore his captiriti/, as he expres.sed it. \\ itii eonsid- 
 erable patience, oidy he made a great fuss oxer his 
 toilet, and kept giving orders that they should 
 fumigate with eau de cologne. Xikohii Telio- 
 Aitch read the news])apers to him: I'enitehka 
 waited on him as of yoie. brought his bouillon, 
 lemonade, soft-boiled eggs, tea: but a seerd terror 
 took possession of her every time she entered his 
 chamber. Pavel IVtrovilcirs une\ peeled W- 
 
 •>7«i
 
 i AiIlKK> AXD CIIILDREX 
 
 haviour had frightened all the jjeople in tlie 
 house, and her most of all; Prokotitch alone re- 
 mained mipertiirlx'd, and explained that the gen- 
 try were wont, in his time, to light " only noble 
 srentlemen. amonor themselves, but loafer thev 
 would have ordered to be tlu'ashed in the stables 
 for their insolence." 
 
 Fenitclika's conscience hardly reproached her 
 at all: but the thought of the real cause of the 
 quarrel tortiu-ed her at times: and. moreover, 
 Pavel Petrovitch gazed at her m suoh a strange 
 wav .... in such a wav. that even when she had 
 her back tiu-ned toward him she felt his eyes 
 upon her. She grew thin from incessant inward 
 perturbation, ari'l. as is usual. I>ecame prettier 
 than ever. 
 
 One day — it happened in the morning. — Pavel 
 PetroWtch felt well, and had transferred himself 
 from the bed to the divan, and Xikolai Petrcnitch. 
 after inquiring alx)ut liis health, had betaken liim- 
 self to the threshing-Hoor. Fenitchka brought a 
 cup of tea, and, placing it on a small table, was 
 on the point of withdrawing. Pavel Petrovitch 
 detained her. 
 
 " Whither away in such haste. Fedosya Xiko- 
 laevna." — he began: — "have you something to 
 
 dor 
 
 " Xo. sir ... I must \khu' out the tea." 
 iJunyasha can do that without you: sit a while 
 ^vith the sick man. By tlie way, 1 must Iiave a 
 talk with you."
 
 FATIIKKS AM) ( nil.DKKX 
 
 Fenitchka silently seated herself on tlie edge 
 of an arm-chair. 
 
 " Listen." — said Pavel Petrovitch. afid tu^r^ed 
 at his moustache, — " I have long wished to ask 
 you : you seem to he afraid of me^ " 
 1. sir: . . . 
 
 " Yes, you. You ne\ e;- look at me, ju.st as 
 though your conscience were not clear." 
 
 Fenitchka hlushed, hut glanced at I'avel Petn'i- 
 vitch. He struck her as rather strange, and her 
 heart qui\'ered softly. 
 
 " Your conscience is clear, is n't it? "—he asked 
 her. 
 
 " Why .should n't it he clear? " — she whispered. 
 
 "As if tliere were not cause? — However. 
 before whom should you be guilty? Before me? 
 That is not probable. Before other persons here 
 in the house? That also is an impossibility. Be- 
 fore my brother, perchance ? But surely you lo\e 
 him- " 
 • 1 do." 
 
 " AVith all vour soul, with all vour iieart?" 
 
 " I love Xikolai Petrovitch with all my heart." 
 
 "Really: Lcx^k at me, Fenitchka" (he called 
 her this for the first time) . . . . " You know it 
 is a great sin. to lie ! "^ 
 
 " I am not lying. Pavel Petrovitch. If I <lid 
 not love Xikolai Petrovitch. I sliould iK^t want to 
 hve any longer." 
 
 ■* And you would not betray him for any one? " 
 
 ■' For whom should T betray him ? ' 
 
 •J 81
 
 FATHKKS AND CIIILDREX 
 
 "As ii* tlicrt' were no onel Why, for ex- 
 ample, for that gentleman wjio went away from 
 lere. 
 
 Fenitchka rose to her feet. — " () Lord, my 
 (i()(l, Tavel Petrovitch, whv do yon torture n\v( 
 What have I done to yon!' How is it possible to 
 talk like that^ . . . ." 
 
 " Fenitehka," — said Pavel Petrovitch in a mel- 
 aneholv voice, — " von know I saw " 
 
 " What did voii see, sir? " 
 
 " AVhv, vonder ... in the arbour." 
 
 Fenitchka turned all crimson, to her very hair 
 and hei" ears. — " And how am I to blame for 
 that? " — she articulated with difficulty. 
 
 Pavel Petrovitch half rose. — " You are not to 
 blame? Xo? Not in the least? " 
 
 " I love no one in the world but Nikolai Petro- 
 vitch, and I shall love him forever! " — said 
 Fenitchka, Avith sudden force, while sobs swelled 
 her throat. " And as for what you saw, 1 shall 
 say, at the Last Ju(l(>inent, that I am not and was 
 not to blame for that : and I would rather die at 
 once, if I am to be suspected of such a thino-, as 
 
 that toward my benefactor Nikolai 
 
 Petrovitch. ... I ... ." 
 
 But here her voice failed her, and, at the same 
 time, she felt Pavel Petrovitch grasp and squeeze 
 her hand. . . . She looked at him and was fairly 
 petrified. He had become more pallid than l)e- 
 forc; his eves were shining, and, what was most 
 
 282
 
 FATIIKKS AM) C IllLDHKN 
 
 wonderful ol' all, a hcavv, isolatcil Uar was i«»lliii<: 
 down liis check. 
 
 " Fcnitchka! " — he said, in a (|ucci- sort of wiiis- 
 I^er:— '' loxc, Ionc my Di-otlurl Ih- is sucli a UiimI. 
 tj'ood man! Do not l»rlra\- liiin lor anv one in tlic 
 world, do not listen to anybody's speeches I 'riiink. 
 what can be more dreadful tliaii to lo\ e and not be 
 beloved! Never abandon my |)oor Xikohii!" 
 
 Fenitchka's eyes grew dry, and Ikt tcn-or 
 passed off, — so great was her ama/ennnt. Hut 
 what was her state of mind avIuii IMm 1 IVtio- 
 vitch — Pavei Petrovitch himsell' — j)resscd brr 
 hand to his lips, and fairly hung ovvv it. not 
 kissing it, and onlv sighing from time to time ii. 
 a convulsive manner. . . . 
 
 " () Lord," — she thought, — " can it br Hint Im 
 has a fit? . . ." 
 
 But at that moment his whole ruined blV was 
 throbbing within him. 
 
 The staii's creaked under swift footsteps. . . . 
 lie thrust her nway j'roni him, and tbi-i\\ his brad 
 back on his |)illow. Tlic dooi- opened, .in<l 
 Nikolai I'etrovitcb made liis ;i|)pe;nanee. merry, 
 fresh, rosy-cheeked. Mitya. as fresh and rosy as 
 his father, clad onl\ in bis little shirt, was .jnnip- 
 in<>- about on bis breast. clutcliinL^- witli bis lilll<- 
 bare feet at the big buttons of his rustic coat. 
 
 Fcnitchka fairly Hew to bim. and Ibrowing her 
 arms around botb bim and ber son. (hopped ber 
 head on his shoulder. Nikolai IV tro\ itch was as-
 
 FATHERS xVXD CIIILDKEX 
 
 tonished; Fenitchka, reserved and modest, had 
 never caressed him In the presence of a tliird 
 person. 
 
 " What is the matter with thee? " — he said, and 
 glancing at his brother, he transferred ^Nlitya to 
 her. — "Thou dost not feel worse?" — he asked, 
 approaching Pavel Petrovitch. 
 
 The latter had buried his face in a batiste hand- 
 kerchief. — " Xo ... it is just never 
 
 mind On the contrary, I am much better." 
 
 " Thou wert in too much of a hurry to get to 
 the divan. Whither art thou going?" — added 
 Nikolai Petrovitch, turning to Fenitchka ; but she 
 had already banged the door behind her. — " I had 
 brought my sturdy young ^^•arrior to show tliee; 
 he was longing for his uncle. AVhy has she taken 
 him away? But what ails thee? Has anything 
 happened between you two?" 
 
 " Brother! " — said Pavel Petrovitch solemnly. 
 
 X^ikolai Petrovitch (juaked. Dread fell u])on 
 him — he himself did not know why. 
 
 " Brother," — repeated Pavel Petrovitch, — 
 " give me thy word to fulfil my request." 
 
 " What request? Speak." 
 
 " It is very important : in my opinion, the entire 
 happiness of thy life depends upon it. All this 
 time I have been meditating a great deal about 
 what I am now going to say to thee. . . . Bro- 
 ther, fulfil tliy duty, the duty of an honest and 
 noble man; put an end to the scandal and bad 
 
 284.
 
 FA'I'IIKHS AM) ( IIII.DKKX 
 
 example wliidi is caused hy Hue, tin- hcst of 
 men! 
 
 " What is it thou mcaiicsl to say, l*a\tl' " 
 
 " Marry Feuitclika. . . . She loves thee. She 
 is the mother of thy son." 
 
 Nikolai Petrovitch relreated a [)aee and (•las|>Kl 
 his hands. — "Is it thou who sayest tliis. Pavel.' 
 — thou whom 1 have always regarded as the most 
 inexorable antagonist of sueh marriages! Thou 
 saj^e.st this! But can it he that tliou dost not 
 know that it was solely out of respeet for tlue 
 that I have not fulfilled that wliieli thon li.ist 
 rightly designated as my dutyT" 
 
 " It was a mistake for thee to respect me in this 
 instance," — returned Pavel Petrovitch witli a mel- 
 ancholy smile. — " I am beginning to think that 
 Bazaroff was right when he re})roached me witii 
 being aristocratic. No, mv dear brother, it is time 
 for us to cease putting on airs, and think of the 
 world: we are already old and peaceable men; it 
 is time for us to lav aside all vanity. Wv will, as 
 thou sayest, fulfil our duty, and, lo, we shall also 
 receive happiness into the bargain." 
 
 Nikolai Petrovitch fiew to embrace his brother. 
 
 "Thou hast finally opened my eyes! "-he 
 cried. — " Not in vain have T always maintained 
 that thou art the kindest and wisest man in the 
 world; but now I see that thou art as sagacious as 
 thou art magnanimous." 
 
 "Softly, softly,"-Pave! Petrovitch inter- 
 
 •28.')
 
 FATHKHS AND CIIILUHKN 
 
 rupted him. — "Do not irritate the leg of thy 
 sagacious brother, who, at the age of fifty, has 
 fought a duel like an ensign. So that affair is 
 settled: Fenitchka is to be my .... helle-soeur." 
 
 " JNIv dear Pavel ! But what will Arkadv sav? " 
 
 " Arkady^ He will go into raptures, take my 
 word for it! Marriage is not among his prinei' 
 pies, but the sentiment of equality in him will be 
 flattered. ^Vnd, in fact, what are castes an d'hv- 
 neuviemc s-iecle? " 
 
 " Akh, Pavel, Pavel! let me kiss thee again. 
 Don't be afraid, 1 will be cautious." 
 
 The brothers embraced. 
 
 " What dost thou think, — would it not be vrell 
 for thee to announce thine intention to her at 
 once? " — asked Pavel Petrovitch. 
 
 "What need is there of haste? " — returned 
 Nikolai Petrovitch. — " Did you discuss it? " 
 
 " Did we discuss it? Quelle idee! " 
 
 " Well, very good. First of all, get well, and 
 that will not escape us; we must think it over 
 thoroughly, consider . . . ." 
 
 " But I thought thou hadst made up thy 
 mind? " 
 
 " Of course 1 have; and I thank thee from my 
 sold. Xow I \vill leave thee; thou must rest; all 
 agitation is injurious to thee. . . . l^ut we will 
 discuss it again, (io to sleep, my dear soul, and 
 (xod give thee health! " 
 
 " A^'hy does he thank me so^ " thought Pavel 
 
 286
 
 FATIIKUS AM) CIIILDKKX 
 
 Petrovitcli, when he was Icl't aloiu-. " As if it did 
 not depend on him! ^^Vnd I. as soon as li<- is iiiai- 
 ried, will go away somewhere, as lar as possihie, 
 to Dresden or Florenee, and I will li\c there until 
 I die." 
 
 Pavel Petroviteh moistened his hrow with can 
 de cologne, and closed his eyes, jlluminated h\ 
 the hrilliant daylight, his handsome, emaciated 
 head lay on the white pillow like the head of a 
 corpse. . . xVnd he was a corpse. 
 
 287
 
 XXV 
 
 At Nikolskoe, in the garden, under the shadow of 
 a lofty ash-tree, Katya and Arkady were sitting 
 on a turf bench; on the ground beside them Fifi 
 had estabhshed himself, imparting to his long- 
 body that elegant curve which is known to sports- 
 men as " the grey-hare pose." Both Arkady and 
 Katya were silent; he held in his hands a half- 
 opened })ook, while she was collecting from a 
 basket the crumbs of white bread A\liich still re- 
 mained in it, and tossing them to a small family 
 of sparrows, which, with the pusillanimous au- 
 dacity peculiar to their kind, were hopping and 
 chir})ing around her very feet. A faint breeze, 
 rustling the leaves of the ash, shifted softly to and 
 fro along the dark path and Fifi's yellow back, 
 pale-golden ])atches of light; a level shade encom- 
 passed Arkady and Katya; only from time to 
 time did a brilhant streak kindle in lier hair. 
 Both maintained silence; but precisely tlie manner 
 in wliich tlicy were silent, in wliich they sat side 
 by side. cxj)resscd trusting intimacy: neither of 
 them seemed to hv tliinking of liis neighbour, yet 
 each was secretly glad of the other's |)roximity. 
 Their faces also Jiave undergone a change since 
 
 288
 
 FA rill^HS AM) ( Illl.DHKN 
 
 we last l)t'hL'l(l IIriii: iVrkady seems more eom- 
 jKised, K.'itvM more Miiimated, more self-jxis- 
 sessed. 
 
 "Don"! you lliiuk." beoan Ai"k;i(ly. ' tli.-il 
 llic asli-ti'ee l)eai's a \ci"y a|)j)i"o|)riat<' name in 
 liussiau: ' Jio otliei' tree |)ii'rc(s llic ali' so li^lilK 
 and clearly as it does." 
 
 Katya raised her eyes aloi't, and said, " Ves," 
 and Arktidy tliouolit: " 'IMiis one does not it- 
 ])r()aeli me for expressing' myself in jinc hiii- 
 
 ^uage." 
 
 " T don't like Heine," — he^an Katya, indieat- 
 inii' witli her eves tlie book wliieli Ark;i(i\' iield in 
 liis liands: — " eitlier wlien he laughs or when he 
 weeps; I love him when lie is tlion^iitrnl and 
 sad." 
 
 "But he pleases nie when he lannhs," re- 
 marked Arkady. 
 
 " Those are the old traees in you of xour satiri- 
 eal tendency. . ."("Old traces!"- tlioui^ht Ar- 
 |^/iay;_'if IJa/aroff were to hear that!") 
 " AVait, we will makt' yon o\ er." 
 
 " Who will inake me over^ Wm'. " 
 
 " Who?— my sister: Torfiry Platono\ itch, 
 with whom you no lon«ier (luarrei": aunty, wiiom 
 you escorted to church the day het'ore yestei-day. 
 
 " I could n't refuse! And as foi- Ann;. .Ser^ryr- 
 evna, she herself, you rememh.r. allied with 
 Evffcnv on manv ])oints." 
 
 1 -ir it 1 1-. „ ' ,/».c.i,. "rlrar'v ' 'I'n \ "di *TnR. 
 
 ' Yasei), asli r~r"; jn-ii"', i icnr ..
 
 FATTTKKS AM) C TTIl.DREX 
 
 
 JNly sister was under his influence then, just 
 as you were." 
 
 " Just as I was? Do you mean to sav that you 
 iiotice that I liave ah'eady freed myself from his 
 influence? " 
 
 Kiitya made no reply. 
 
 " I know," — pursued Arkady,—" that you 
 never did like him." 
 
 " I cannot judge of him." 
 
 " Do you know wliat, Katerina Sergyeevna? 
 Every time I hear that answer I do not helieve 
 in it. . . . There is no man as to whom any one 
 of us cannot pronounce judgment! That is sim- 
 ply an evasion." 
 
 " Well, then I will tell you that I .... do not 
 exactly dislike him, but I feel tliat lie is a stranger 
 to me, and I have nothing in common with him 
 and neither have you." - 
 
 "Why so?" 
 
 " How can I tell you? . . . He is a bird of 
 prey, while you and I are tame." 
 
 " And am I tame also? " 
 
 Katya nodded. 
 
 Arkady scratclied behind his ear. — " See here, 
 Katerina Sergyeevna, you know that is really in- 
 suiting." 
 
 " Would you really like to be a bird of prey? " 
 
 " A bird of prey— no, but strong, energetic." 
 
 " That cannot be had by wisliing. . . Tliere 's 
 your friend — he does not wisli it, but it is in him." 
 
 290
 
 FATHERS AM) CIIILDKKN 
 
 " H'lii! So you tliink he luul ^rcal iiilluciicc on 
 Anna Sergyeevna ? " 
 
 " Yes. But no one can kec]) Hr- uppc t hand of 
 her for long," — added Katya, in an undtitotie. 
 
 " Why do vou think tliat ^ ' 
 
 " She is very proud. . . . 1 did not mean to say 
 that .... she sets a higli vahie on her indepen- 
 dence." 
 
 "And who (k)es not:^" — asked Arkady, and 
 througli his mind tliere Hashed: " W'liat good 
 does it do her^ "_'- W'hat good does it do hei'^ "' 
 also flashed through Katya's mind. AVhen young 
 people meet often on friendly terms, the same 
 thouii'hts are constantly oeeurrino- to them. 
 
 Arkady smiled, and moyin<>- a little closer to 
 Katya, said in a whisper: — " Confess that yon are 
 a little afraid of her." 
 
 "Of whom?" 
 
 " Of /zfr/'— repeated Arkady signilieantly. 
 
 "And you? "^ — questioned Katya, in her tnin. 
 
 " And I also; ohserye, 1 say: (uul I dlso." 
 
 Katya shook her tinger at him. - " I am sur- 
 prised,"— she hegan: — " my sister has ne\(i- !>(( n 
 so favourahly disj)Osed toward >t)ii as at j)rrcis( ly 
 the present moment; much more so Uian (hiring: 
 your first yisit." 
 
 " Here 's news! " 
 
 "But haven't you noticed jt^ Are nl \ on 
 
 ])leased? " 
 
 Arkady niedilaled 
 
 ^291
 
 FATHERS AND CIIILDHEN 
 
 " How have 1 won Anna Sergveevna's good 
 will? ]Miist it not have been because 1 brought 
 her your mother's letter? " 
 
 " For that reason, and there are other causes> 
 which I will not mention." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " 1 won't tell." 
 
 " Oh! I know: vou are verv stubborn." 
 1 am. 
 
 " And observing." 
 
 Katya shot a sidelong glance at Arkady.— 
 " Perhaps that enrages you ? ^Vhat are you 
 thinking about? " 
 
 " I am thinking where you could have got that 
 obser\ation which you really do possess. You are 
 so timorous, distrustful; vou are afraid of everv- 
 body. . . ." 
 
 " I have lived much alone; one begins, invol- 
 untarily, to think a great deal under such cir- 
 cumstances. But am I really afraid of everv- 
 body? " 
 
 Arkady threw a penetrating glance at Katya. 
 
 " All this is very fine," — lie went on, — " but 
 people in your p(isition — I mean to say, with 
 your means — rarely possess that gilt: it is diffi- 
 cult for tJie truth to make its way to them, as it is 
 to kings." 
 
 " But I 'm not rich, you know." 
 
 Arkady w^as surprised, and did not al once un- 
 derstand Kjitya. " xVnd, in fact, all the property 
 
 292
 
 FATni^HS AM) ( llll.DHIA 
 
 does belong- to her sister! " oeenntd lo liis iiiiii(i: 
 this thouo-ht was not iin|)k'asant to him. — " How 
 well you said that! " he said. 
 
 "What?" 
 You spoke well; siin])ly willioiil coiiliisioM or 
 affeetatioii. 15v the \\a\-: 1 iiiumiiK that llicrc 
 must be something peculiar — a soil of oslcnfa- 
 tion — in the feeling of a person who knows and 
 says that he is poor." 
 
 " I have experienced nothing ol' the- sort, tlianks 
 to my sister; T mentioned my ])osilioii sinij)ly Im- 
 cause the words slipped of!' my iongn( ."" 
 
 " Exactly. 15ut confess that there is in you a 
 little bit of that ostentation of which I just 
 spoke." 
 
 " For example? " 
 
 " For example, of course, — pardon my (jues- 
 tion, — you would not marry a wealthy man. " 
 
 " If I loved him very much. . . No, I tliink I 
 would not marry him even then." 
 
 "Ah! there, you see! " — exclaimed Aik.idv. 
 and, after a brief ])ause, he added:-" Hut why 
 wouldn't you marry him?" 
 
 " Because they sing in the ballad about in- 
 equality." 
 
 " Perhaps you want to lule. or . . . ." 
 
 "Oh, no! Why should \^ On the contrary. I 
 am ready to sulunit: only ine(]uality is oj)|)ressive. 
 "Rut T do understand res])ecting oik's self and 
 submitting; that is happiness: but not an e\- 
 
 203
 
 FATIIKKS AM) ClllLDHKX 
 
 istence of subjugation. . . No, I am satisfied as 
 
 I?) 
 am. 
 
 " Satisfied as you are," — repeated Arkady 
 after Katva. — " Yes, ves," — he went on; — " it is 
 not for nothin"' that vou are of one })lood witli 
 Anna Sergyeevna: you are as independent as 
 slie is; hut vou are more seeretive. I am eon- 
 vinced that on no aeeoimt woidd you be the first 
 to express your feehngs, no matter how ])owerful 
 and sacred they might be. . . ." 
 
 " But liow eon hi it be otherwise? " — inquired 
 Ivatya. 
 
 " You are equally clever; you have as much 
 character as she has, if not more. . . ." 
 
 " Do not compare me with my sister, please," 
 
 — interposed Katya hurriedly, — " it is too dis- 
 advantageous to me. You appear to have for- 
 gotten that my sister is a beauty and a wit, and 
 . . . you, in j)articular, xVrkjidy Xikolaiteh, 
 ought not to utter such words, and with such a 
 serious countenance into the bargain." 
 
 " What does this mean, ' You in ])ai-ticular? ' 
 
 — and from what do vou conclude that I am 
 jesting?" 
 
 " Of course you are jesting." 
 
 "Do vou think sof Hut what if I am con- 
 vinced of what I am saying? W'iiat if 1 am of 
 the oj)inion that I have not even yet expressed 
 myself witli sufficient force? " 
 
 " I don't understand you." 
 
 294
 
 FATITKHS AM) ClIII.DinA 
 
 "Keally^ Well, now 1 sec: I irally liavrcx 
 aggerated your power of oliscrx ation." 
 
 "Whatr' 
 
 Arkady made no reply and turned away, wliiK- 
 Katya rummaged out a few more eruinhs in her 
 basket, and began to toss tliem to the sparrows: 
 but tbe sweep ol lier luuid was too vigorous, antl 
 the birds flew away without managing to |Hck. 
 
 " Katerina Sergyeevna!" began Aik;id\ 
 suddenly: — " it makes no (hfferenee to \ on. jimli- 
 ably; but you must know that I woiiM not ex- 
 change you not only for your sister, but lor any 
 one in the world." 
 
 He rose and -walked swii'tiv awav, as though 
 frightened at the words whieli liad dropped fioin 
 his tongue. 
 
 And Katya dropped l)()th hei- hands, togethn- 
 with the basket, on her lap, and bowing her head. 
 gazed after Arkady. Little by httle, a searKt 
 flush faintly tinged her cheeks; l)iit her lips (hd 
 not smile, and her dark eyes expressed snrj)iise, 
 and some other, as yet nameless, feeling. 
 
 "Art thou alone?" — Anna Sergyeevna's 
 voice resounded near her. — " I thonght thou 
 hadst gone into the garden with ^Arkady." 
 
 Katya, without haste, turned her eyes on her 
 sister (elegantly, even excjuisitely attired, she was 
 standing on the path, and tickling V'\iVs ears with 
 the tip of her open parasol), and said, also with- 
 out haste:—" 1 am alone." 
 
 21)3
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 " I perceive that," — replied the other, with a 
 laugh: — "lie must have gone off to his own 
 room." 
 Yes. 
 
 " Have you been reading together? " 
 
 " Yes." ^ 
 
 Anna Sergveevna took Katva l)v the cfiin and 
 raised her face. 
 
 " You have not quarrelled, I hope? " 
 
 " No," — said Katya, and gently put aside her 
 sister's hand. 
 
 " How solemnly thou answerest ! I thought I 
 should find him here, and would suggest to him 
 that he take a stroll with me. He is always beg- 
 ging me to do that. Thy shoes have been brought 
 from town; go and tr}^ them on: I noticed 
 yesterday that those thou art now wearing- 
 are quite worn out. In general, thou dost not 
 pay sufficient attention to that point, yet 
 thou hast such charming little feet! And thy 
 hands are good . . . only large; so thou must 
 captivate with the tiny feet. But thou art not a 
 coquette." 
 
 Anna Sergyeevna went her way along the 
 path, her handsome gown rustling faintly; 
 Katya rose from the bench, and taking with her 
 Heine, went away also — only not to try on her 
 shoes. 
 
 " Charming little feet," — she thought, as she 
 walked slowly and lightly up the stone steps of 
 
 296
 
 FATHERS AM) ( IIIIJ)KK\ 
 
 the terrace, wliieh were red-hot witli the sim; — 
 " charming little feet, you say. . . . Well, Mndlu- 
 shall be at them." 
 
 But she immediately i'clt ashaiiu'd. .-md ran 
 nimbly up-stairs. 
 
 Arkady walked along the eorrid(.r to iiis room: 
 the butler overtook him, and annonnccd that Mr. 
 BazaroiF ^vas sitting in his chamber. 
 
 "Evgeny! "—muttered Arkady, almost in 
 terror. 
 
 " He has just this moment come, and gave or- 
 ders that his arrival should not be announced to 
 Anna Sergyeevna, and bade me conduct him 
 straight to you." 
 
 " Can a catastrophe have liappencd at our 
 house? " — thought Arkady, and running hastily 
 up-stairs to his room, he flung oj)en the door. 
 BazarofF's aspect instantaneously calmed him. al- 
 though a more experienced eye probably would 
 have detected in the figure of the unex})ected \ is- 
 itor, energetic as of yore but haggard, the tokens 
 of inward agitation. \Vith his dustv cloak on Iiis 
 shoulders, and his cap on his head, he was sitting 
 on the window-sill; he did not rise, even when Ai- 
 kady flung himself upon his neck, with noisy e.\- 
 chimations. 
 
 " What a surprise! How does it hajjpen! "— 
 he kept re])eating, as he bustled about the room 
 like a man who imagines, and is trying to demon- 
 .strate, that he is delighted. — " Everything is all 
 
 297
 
 FATHERS AND CIIILDHEIN 
 
 right at our house, of course; they are all well, 
 are n't thev? " 
 
 " Everything at thy home is all right, but all 
 are not well," — said Eazaroff. — " But don't jab- 
 ber; order them to bring me some kvas; sit down 
 and listen to what I will impart to thee in a few, 
 but, 1 hope, fairly forcible phrases." 
 
 Arkady grew mute, and BazarofF narrated to 
 him the story of his duel with Pavel Petrovitch. 
 Ai'kady was greatly amazed, and even grieved; 
 but he did not consider it necessary to say so; he 
 merely asked whether his uncle's wound were 
 really not dangerous, and, on receiving the reply, 
 — that it was extremely interesting, only not in a 
 medical sense, — he smiled in a constrained way, 
 and dread fell upon his heart, and he felt some- 
 what ashamed. BazarofF seemed to understand 
 him. 
 
 " Yes, brother," — he said, — " that 's what it 
 means to live with feudal lords. Thou wilt fall 
 into feudal ways, and take part in knightly tour- 
 neys. Well, sir, so I took myself off to ' the 
 fathers,' " — Bazaroff wound up, — " and on the 
 
 way I dropped in here in order to inform 
 
 thee of all this, I would have said, if 1 did not 
 regard a useless lie as a piece of stupidity. No, I 
 dropped in here — the devil knows why. You see, 
 it is useful for a man, once in a ^^'hile, to grab 
 himself by the topknot and ])luck himself out, like 
 a radish from a garden-bed ; I performed that feat 
 
 298
 
 FATIIKUS AND CIIILDKKX 
 
 recently. . . But 1 wuiited to take iiist one more 
 look at that from wliieli I had parted at that 
 bed where I was planted." 
 
 " I hope that these words do not wWv to me."" 
 — returned Arkady, w itii ])erturl)atioii. " I hope 
 that thou art not tliinking of j)artiii;4 lioni ///<." 
 
 Bazaroff cast an intent, ahnost pierein/^ ^lanee 
 at him. 
 
 " Does that really pain thee so? It strikes me 
 that thou hast already parted from me. Thou art 
 
 so fresh and pure thy affairs with Anna 
 
 Sergyeevna must he pro^ressinf** well." 
 
 " What affairs of mine with Anna Scr^yr- 
 evna f 
 
 "Why, didst not thou eome hither from tiu- 
 town, my chikH By the way, how arc the Sun- 
 day-schools getting on there? i\rt not thou i-nam- 
 oured of her? Or has the time arrived for tluc to 
 be discreet? " 
 
 " Evgeny, thou knowest I have always )>een 
 frank with thee; I can assure thee, 1 swear lo tint-. 
 that thou art in error. "- 
 
 "H'm! a new word," — commented Ha/.iiroff. 
 — "But there's no need for thee to wax warm 
 over it, for as thou seest, it is a matter of i)erfeet 
 indifference to me. A romanticist would Ii;ive 
 said: 'I feel that our ))atlis are heginning to 
 diverge,' hut I simply say that we have got dis- 
 gusted with each other." 
 
 " Evgeny! . . ." 
 
 29&
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREX 
 
 « 
 
 My dear soul, that 's no calamity ; one gets 
 disgusted with plent}' of things in this world! 
 But now I am thinking whether it is n't time for 
 us to say farewell? Ever since I came hither I 
 have felt most ahominably, as tliougli I had been 
 reading too much of Gogol's letters to the wife of 
 the Governor of Kaluga. By tlie way, I did not 
 order the horses unharnessed." 
 
 " Upon my word, this is impossible! " 
 
 " But why ? " 
 
 " I am not speaking of myself ; but this will be 
 in the highest degree discourteous to Anna Ser- 
 gyeevna, who is extremely anxious to see thee." 
 
 " Well, as to that, thou art mistaken." 
 
 " On tlie contrary, I am convinced that I am 
 right," — retorted Arkady. — " And why dost thou 
 dissimulate? When it comes to that, dost thou 
 mean to say that thou didst not come hither on her 
 account thyself ? " 
 
 " Perhaps that is correct, but thou art mistaken, 
 nevertheless." 
 
 But Arkady was right. Anna Sergyeevna did 
 ^vish to see Bazaroff, and sent him an invitation, 
 through the butler, to come to her. Bazaroff 
 changed his clothes before he went to her: it 
 turned out that he had packed his new suit in such 
 a way that it was at hand. 
 
 INIadame Odintzoff did not receive him in the 
 room where he had so imexpectedly made his dec- 
 laration of love, but ill the drawing-room. She 
 
 300
 
 FATIIKHS AM) CIIII.DKKX 
 
 graciously offered him the tij).s of lier fiiintis. ImiI 
 her face expressed invohiiitary conslraiiit. 
 
 " Anna Sergyeevna," — Bazarotf made haste to 
 say,—" first of ;dl, 1 must reassure you. ^'ou src 
 before you a mortal \\ ho lias long since recovered 
 his senses, and wlio hopes tliat others also have 
 forgotten liis folly. I am going away i'or a long 
 time, and you must admit that, although I am iiol 
 a soft person, j-et it would he far from a cheei I'lil 
 thing for me to carry away the thought that you 
 remember me with loathing." 
 
 Anna Sergyeevna heaved a deej) sigh, liki- a 
 person who has just climbed to the toj) of a lol'ty 
 mountain, and her face became enlivened with a 
 smile. She offered her hand to Bazaroff for the 
 second time, and reciprocated his })ressure. 
 
 " Let sleeping dogs lie. "^she said,— ■ the more 
 so as, to speak candidly, I also sinned at that time 
 — if not through coquetry, by something else. 
 In a word, let us be friends as before. It was 
 a dream, was it not? xVnd who remembers 
 dreams? " 
 
 " Who remembers them? And, moreoNer. love 
 . . . is an imaginary feeling, you k?iow." 
 
 " Really? I am very glad to heai- it.'' 
 
 Thus did Anna Sergyeevna express herself, 
 and thus did Bazaroff ex])ress himself: they both 
 thought that they were s])eaking the truth. Did 
 their words contain tlu- tj-utli. the wlioK- truth' 
 Thev themselves did m"I know . nnieli I( ss does the
 
 FATHERS AND CHILUREX 
 
 author. But they entered upon the sort of con- 
 versation which seemed to indicate that they thor- 
 oughly beUeved each other. 
 
 Anna Sergyeevna asked BazarofF, among other 
 things, what lie had been doing at tlie Kirsa- 
 noffs'. He came near teUing her about his duel 
 with Pavel Petrovitch, but restrained himself at 
 the reflection that she might imagine that he was 
 trying to make himself interesting, and answered 
 her that he had been working all that time. 
 
 " And I,"— said Anna Sergyeevna,—" first 
 moped— God knows why; I even prepared to 
 go abroad; just fancy! .... Then it passed off, 
 your friend Arkady Xikolaitch arrived, and 1 
 fell back into my rut, into my genuine role." 
 
 " Into what role, permit me to inquire? " 
 
 " The role of aunt, preceptress, mother, what- 
 ever 3^ou please to call it. By the way, do you 
 know, that formerly I did not quite understand 
 your intimate friendship with Arkady Nikola- 
 itch! I considered him decidedly insignificant. 
 But now I have come to know him better, and 
 have convinced myself that he is clever. . . And 
 the chief point, he is young, young .... not 
 like you and me, Evgeny Vasilitch." 
 
 " Is he still as timid as ever in your presence? " 
 inquired Bazaroff. 
 
 " But is it possible " began Anna Ser- 
 gyeevna, and, after reflecting a little, she added : 
 — " Now he has become more confiding, he talks 
 
 302
 
 FATIIKHS AM) C III LDHF.X 
 
 with me. FornK'rly Ir- avoided dk. II()\v(\(r. [ 
 did not seek his society. II( .md Katya aic 
 great friends." 
 
 BazarofF felt vexed. — " Il is iinpossihlc for a 
 woman not to l)e crafty!" — lie llioiiolit. \iH\ 
 say that lie avoided yon," lie articulated, with a 
 cold sneer, — " hut, ])rol)ahly, it was no secret to 
 you that he was in love with you :' " 
 
 "AVhat^ lie too?"— hroke from Anna Ser- 
 gyeevna. 
 
 " He too," — repeated lia/jiroll'. with a siihniis- 
 sive how. — " Is it possihle that you did not know 
 it, and that 1 have been tellin<»- vou news? " 
 
 Anna Sergyeevna dropped her eyes. — " Wm 
 are in error, Evgeny Vasiliteh."' 
 
 "I think not. But perha])s I ought not to 
 allude to that. — And don't you he sly lii-ne<- 
 forth," he added to himself. 
 
 "Why should not you alhide to itC Jiul I 
 think that you are ascrihing too much im])ortance 
 to a momentary impression. 1 hegin to sus|)e('t 
 that you are inclined to exaggeration." 
 
 " It is hetter for us not to talk ahout that, Anna 
 Sergyeevna." 
 
 " Why? " — she retorted, hut she herself turned 
 the conversation on another sul)ject. Xe\ert he- 
 less, she felt awkward with Haziiioif. although 
 she had told him, and had assured herself, that 
 everything was forgotten. As she <\elianged 
 simple phra.scs witii him, she fVlt the slight (t)n- 
 
 303
 
 FATHERS AND CIIILDREX 
 
 straint of terror. Thus do people on a steamer, 
 at sea, chat and laugh, care-free, exactly as 
 though they were on solid land: but let the slight- 
 est halt take place, let the smallest sign of any- 
 thing unusual present itscli', and instantly there 
 starts forth upon all countenances an expression 
 of peculiar alarm, which })ears witness to the 
 constant consciousness of danger. 
 
 Anna Sergyeevna's conversation with BazarofF 
 .did not last long. She began to grow thought- 
 ful, to return abstracted replies, and, at last, pro- 
 posed to him that they should go into the hall, 
 where tlie}^ found the Princess and Katya. " But 
 where is Arkady Nikolaevitch? " — inquired the 
 hostess; and on learning that he Jiad not shown 
 himself for more than an hour past, she sent for 
 him. He was not soon found: he had ensconced 
 himself in the verj^ depths of the garden, and with 
 his chin propped upon his clasped hands, he was 
 sitting absorbed in thought. His thoughts were 
 profound and important, but not sad. He knew 
 that Anna Sergyeevna was sitting alone with Ba- 
 zaroff, and he felt no jealousy, as formerly; on 
 the contrary, his face beamed gently; he seemed 
 to be surprised at something, and to be rejoicing, 
 and making up his mind to something. 
 
 804
 
 XXVI 
 
 The deceased Mv. Odiiitzoil" liad not liUid momI- 
 ties, but he had permitted " a eerlaiti play of en- 
 nobled taste," and, in eonsequenee tlRrcol'. he liad 
 erected in his garden, between the hot -house and 
 the pond, a buikhng in tlic nature ol" a (ireek 
 portico of Russian brick. In the rear, blind wall 
 of this portico, or gallery, six niches had been lei 
 in for statues, which OdintzofF liad intended to 
 import from Italy. These statues were intended 
 to represent Solitude, Silence, Meditation, Mel- 
 ancholy, jNIodesty, and Sentiment. One of theni. 
 the Goddess of Silence, with her finger on her 
 lips, had been brought and set in place: Iml that 
 veiy same day the naughty little boys ol" the 
 house-serfs had broken off her nose, and although 
 a neighbouring plasterer had undertaken to at- 
 tach a nose to her " twice as good as the former," 
 Odintzoff had ordered her to be taken away, and 
 she was placed in a corner of the threshing-slied, 
 where she stood for long years, arousing the su- 
 perstitious fears of the ])easant women. The 
 front side of the ])ortieo had long since become 
 overgrown with thick brushwood: onl> tlic caj)- 
 itals of the columns were visible above tlie dense 
 verdure. In the jjortieo itself, even at noonday, 
 
 305
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 it was cool. Aiina Sergyeevna had not been fond 
 of visiting this spot since she had seen an adder 
 there, but Katya often came to sit on a big stone 
 bencli which had been constructed beneath one 
 of the niches. Surrounded by coohiess and shade, 
 she read, worked, or surrendered herself to that 
 sensation of complete tranquillitj" which is prob- 
 ably known to everj'- one, and whose charm con- 
 sists in a barely -conscious, mute contemplation of 
 the broad stream of life, which incessantly rolls 
 both around us and in us. 
 
 On the day following BazarofF's arrival, Katya 
 was sitting on her favourite bench, and beside her 
 again sat Arkady. He had begged her to come 
 with him to the " portico." 
 
 About an hour remained before breakfast-time ; 
 the dewy morning had already changed into a 
 hot dav. Arkady's countenance preserved its ex- 
 pression of the day before ; Katya wore a troubled 
 aspect. Her sister, immediately after tea, had 
 called her to her in her boudoir, and having first 
 caressed her, which always rather terrified Katya, 
 she had advised her to be cautious in her behaviour 
 toward Arkady, and, in particular, to shun soli- 
 tary conversations with him, which, it seemed, had 
 been commented upon by her aunt, and by all the 
 household. In addition to this, on the previous 
 evening, Anna Sergyeevna had been out of sorts ; 
 and Katya herself had felt agitated, as though 
 she recognised that she had done wrong. In yield- 
 
 306
 
 FATIIKKS AM) Cllll,l)in:\ 
 
 ing to Arkady's pk-a, slic had lold li(rs<ll' that il 
 was for the last time. 
 
 " Katerina Sergyeevna,"- he hc^ao. with a 
 certain bashful ease, — " siiicf I lia\r liad tht hap- 
 piness of living in your house, 1 have talked on « i- 
 
 nianv things with vou, and vet there is one 
 
 question .... which is veiy iiii|)oitaiit for me 
 that I have not yet touched uj)on. \'ou icmarked 
 yesterday that 1 have been made over here,' -lie 
 added, both seeking and avoiding Kiitya's gaze, 
 fixed questioningly u])on him. — " ^\s ;i mattei- of 
 fact, I have undergone a change in many resjjeets. 
 and you know that better than any one else, — 
 you, to whom, in reality, I am indebted for this 
 change." 
 
 "I? . . . Tome? . . . ."said Katya. 
 
 " Now I am no longer that arrogant boy tliat 
 I was when T came hither," — pursued Arkady: 
 — "not in vain have I passed my twenty-third 
 year; as before, I desire to be of use, I desire 
 to consecrate all my powers to the ti-uth: l)ut 1 
 no longei- seek my ideals where I formerly 
 sought them; they present themselves to ]]\c 
 . . . much closei- at hand. Ilitlieito. I have 
 not understood myself: 1 have set myself 
 
 tasks that were beyond mv strength M\ 
 
 eyes have recently been opined, thanks to a 
 certain feeling. ... I (\o not ex])ress my- 
 self quite clearly, but 1 hope yoii understand 
 
 me 
 
 307
 
 FATHERS AXD CHII.DREX 
 
 Kiitya made no reply, but ceased to look at 
 Arkady. 
 
 " I assume," — he went on again, in a more agi- 
 tated voice, and a chaffinch above his head, in the 
 foliage of a birch-tree, unconcernedly carolled his 
 song, — " I assume that it is the dut\ of every 
 honest man to be perfectly frank witli those .... 
 those persons who .... in a word, with the per- 
 sons who are near to his heart, and, therefore, I 
 .... I intend . . . ." 
 
 But here Arkady's eloquence failed him; he 
 became confused, stammered, and was forced to 
 pause for a while; still Katya did not raise her 
 eyes. Apparently, she did not understand what 
 all this was leading up to, and was waiting for 
 something. 
 
 " I foresee that I shall surprise you," — began 
 Arkady, collecting his forces afresh,—" the more 
 so as this feeling relates, in a certain way . . . 
 in a certain way, observe. — to you. I remember 
 that vou re])roached me yesterda?' with a lack of 
 seriousness," — went on Arkady, with the aspect 
 of a man who has walked into a morass, feels that 
 with every step he is sinking deeper and deeper, 
 and, nevertheless, strides onward, in the hope of 
 traversing it as speedily as possible: — " that re- 
 proach is often directed .... falls ... on 
 young people, even wlien they have ceased to 
 
 merit it; and if I had more self-confidence " 
 
 (" Come, help me, help me! " thought Arkady, in 
 
 308
 
 FATllKliS AM) CIIILDKKN 
 
 despair, but Katya, as l)elort.\ did imt turn lu r 
 head.) — " If 1 could liopr . . . ." 
 
 " If 1 could feel convinced of w luit you say," 
 rang out Anna Scrgyeevna's clear \oice at that 
 moment. 
 
 Arkiidv instantlx ))ecanic (lunil>. and Kat\a 
 turned ])ale. A patli ran |)ast the ImisIks uliicli 
 screened the ))ortico. iVnna Sergyecvna was 
 walking along it, in (•()nij)any uitli Ha/amn'. 
 Kiitva and Arkadv could not srr tluni. Imt llu-\- 
 heard every word, the rustling of lici- gown. li<i- 
 very breath. Thcx- advanced a few paces and 
 halted, as though \\ ith dclil)erate intent, directly 
 in front of the portico. 
 
 "You see," — pursued Anna .Scrgyec\ na. 
 " you and I have made a nnstakc; ncitlur of us is 
 in his first youth, especiafly I : wr liavc lixcd, we 
 are weary; why should we ?)otl) stand <>n cere- 
 mony?— we are clever: at first, wi- interested each 
 other, our curiosity was aroused anil 
 
 then " 
 
 " And then I grew insipid,'— put in liazarotf. 
 
 " You know that that was not tiic cause of our 
 falling out. But, at any rate, we did not need 
 each other; that is the principal point: there was 
 too much in us that was .... hnw snail 1 ex- 
 press it? . . . identical. \Vc did not cnnij'nhcnd 
 that at first. On the contrary, .\rkady • •• • 
 
 "Do you need hiniT' in<iuircd Ha/,arofl. 
 
 " That will do, KvgcJiv Vasi'licvitdi. V..n say 
 
 809
 
 FATHEKS AND CHILDREN 
 
 that he is not indifferent to me, and it always has 
 seemed to me that he Hked me. I know that I am 
 fit to be his aunt, but 1 will not conceal from you 
 that I have begun to think more frequently of 
 him. There is a certain charm in that young, 
 fresh feeling " 
 
 " The word fasciimtion is more used in such 
 cases," — interposed Bazaroff ; seething bitterness 
 was audible in his calm, but dull voice. — " Arkady 
 seemed to be mysterious with me yesterday ; he did 
 not mention either you or your sister. . . That 
 is an important symptom." 
 
 " He is exactly like a brother with Katya," — 
 said Anna Sergyeevna, — " and I like that in him, 
 although possibly I ought not to allow^ such in- 
 timacy between them." 
 
 " Is that the .... sister . . . speaking in 
 you?" — articulated Bazaroff slowly. 
 
 " Of course ; . . . . but why are we standing 
 here? Let us go on. What a strange conversa- 
 tion between us, is it not? And could I have an- 
 ticipated that I should talk thus with you ? You 
 know that I am afraid of you, .... and, at the 
 same time, I trust you because, in reality, you are 
 very kind." 
 
 " In the first place, I am not kind in the least; 
 and, in the second place, I have lost all signifi- 
 cance foryou, and you tell me that I am kind. 
 
 That is exactly the same as placing a 
 
 wreath of flowers on the head of a corpse." 
 
 aio
 
 FATIIKirs AM) CIIILDKKN 
 
 " Evgcny Vasilitcli, \\c caiiiiol contiol . . . .' 
 began Anna Sergveeviia; hut ;i hrcc/x' swept li\ . 
 rustled the leaves, and eariied away her words. 
 
 " Assuredly, you art- free," — enuneiated Haza- 
 roff, after a brief pause. It was inipossihli- to 
 make out any more; the footsteps died awa\ . . . 
 all beeame silent. 
 
 Arkady turned to Katya. Shr was sitting in 
 the same attitude, oidy she had l)ow<.'d lier liead 
 still lower tliaii before. 
 
 " Katerina Sergveevna," — he said, with a trem- 
 bling voice, and witli tiglitly ehisped hands: I 
 love you forever and irre\()eal)ly, and 1 l(i\c no 
 one but you. 1 wanted to say tliis, to liarn your 
 opinion and to ask your liand, because I aui not 
 rich, and 1 feel that 1 am |)repaic(l I'oi- all sacri- 
 fices. . . You do not answer' ^'oii do not helie\ c 
 me? You think that I am s|)eaking idly' Hut 
 remember these last few days! Is it possible llial 
 you have not long ago eon\ ineed yourself, every- 
 thing else — understand me — ever\ thing. cMiy- 
 thing else long ago vanished without a traee.' 
 Look at me, say one woi-d to me. . 1 lose .... 
 I love you . . . belie\e mi' I 
 
 Katya looked at .Arkady with a solemn, beam- 
 ing gaze, and ai'tei- long meditation, hardly smil- 
 ing, she said:—'' Yes." 
 
 Arkady sprang from tlu Ik neh. ' ^ « si ^ on 
 said ' yes,' Kateri'na Sei-gyee\ iia I What does that 
 word mean f Does it mean " 1 lo\ e you, or that 
 
 ;iii
 
 FATHERS A^D CHILDREN 
 
 you believe me? . . . Or .... or .... 1 dare 
 not finish . . . ," 
 
 " Yes," — repeated Katj-a, and this time he un- 
 derstood her. He seized her large, beautiful 
 hands, and panting with rapture, j^ressed them to 
 his heart. He could hardly stand on his feet, and 
 merely kept repeating: " Katya, Katya . . . ." 
 and she fell to wee})ing, in an innocent sort of 
 way, laughing gently at her own tears. He who 
 has not beheld such tears in the eyes of the beloved 
 being has not yet experienced to what a degree, 
 all swooning with gratitude and with shame, a 
 man can be happy on this earth. 
 
 On the following day, early in the morning, 
 Anna Sergyeevna ordered BazarofF to be sum- 
 moned to her boudoir, and, with a forced laugh, 
 she handed him a folded sheet of note-paper. It 
 w^as a letter from Arkady : in it he asked the hand 
 of her sister. 
 
 BazarofF swiftly glanced over the letter, and 
 exerted an eifort over himself not to display the 
 impetuous feeling which instantly flamed up in 
 his soul. 
 
 " So that 's how it is," — he said; — " and you, I 
 believe, no longer ago than yesterday, supposed 
 that he loved Katerina Sergyeevna with the love 
 of a brother. What do you mean to do now? " 
 
 " What do you advise me to do? "—asked Anna 
 Sergyeevna, continuing to laugh. 
 
 " Why, I think," — re])lied Bazaroff, also with 
 
 312
 
 FATTIKKS A\T) CTTTl.DTn.X 
 
 a laugh, although lir did iiol IVcI at all mciiy, and 
 did not, in the least, wish to laugh, any more than 
 she did: — " I think you will liave to give the 
 young people your hlessing. 1 1 is a fine rnaleli. in 
 every respect; Kirsanoff lias a respect a hie |iroj>- 
 ertv, he is his father's onl\- son, and the latin >• is 
 a fine fellow also, I will not deny it." 
 
 Madame Odintzoif |)ac((l the room. II«i- face 
 flushed and ])aled hv turns. 
 
 "You think soi*" — sjie said. " \\'hy not' i 
 see no obstacle. ... I am ("lad I'oi- Katva . . . 
 and for Arkady Xikohieviteli. ()!' course 1 siiall 
 await his father's re])ly. I will send him himself 
 to him. TJut, you see, it turns out that 1 \\ as right 
 yesterday wlien I told vou that we were hotli old 
 folks. . . . ITow is it that I did not see this^ It 
 amazes me! " 
 
 Again Anna Sergyeevna l)egan to laugh, and 
 immediately turned away. 
 
 " The young ])eoplc of the present day ha\ i- Ik.'- 
 come yery sly," — remarked Hazaroff, and hegan 
 to laugh also. — " (iood-hye," — he said again, 
 after a brief pause. — " I ho])v you will finish this 
 affair in the most agreeable manner: and 1 shall 
 rejoice from afar." 
 
 Madame Odintzoff tnrnc.l swiftly toward him. 
 
 " You are not going away r Why should you 
 not remain twrc? Remain .... it is jolly to 
 talk with you .... just like walking on the 
 brink of a preci])ice: at first one IVrls timid, hut
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 afterward one gets courage from somewliere or 
 other. Remain." 
 
 " Thanks for your suggestion, Anna Sergye- 
 evna, and for your flattei'ing opinion of my con- 
 versational talents. But I think that I have been 
 already revolving too long as it is, in a sphere 
 which is foreign to me. Flying fish are able to 
 maintain themselves for (juite a while in the air, 
 but they are bound soon to splash back into the 
 water; permit me also to paddle in my own ele- 
 ment." 
 
 ^Madame Odintzoff looked at BazarofF. A bit- 
 ter sneer contorted his pale face. " That man 
 loved me!" she thought — and she felt sorry for 
 him, and offered him her hand with sympathy. 
 
 But he understood her. — " No! " — he said, and 
 retreated a pace. — " I am a poor man, but up to 
 this time I have not accej^ted alms. Farewell, 
 madame, and may good health be yours." 
 
 " I am convinced that this is not our last meet- 
 ing,"— articulated Anna Sergyeevna, wdth an in- 
 voluntary movement. 
 
 " All sorts of things happen in this world! " — 
 replied Bazaroff, bowed, aiid left the room. 
 
 " So thou hast taken it into thy head to build a 
 nest?" — he said that same day to Arkady, as, 
 squatting on his heels, he packed his trunk. — 
 " Why not? It is a good move. I expected a 
 wholly different direction from thee. Or, per- 
 chance, this has stiuined thee thyself? " 
 
 314
 
 FATIIP:US AM) C IIILDin-A' 
 
 " 1 really did iiol txpcrt it when j jiartrd Jn.iu 
 thee,"— replied Arkddy. " Hut why dost tliou 
 thyself quibble and say: ' it is a ^r,„„| „„,vi.; as 
 though 1 were not auair of thine opinion as to 
 matrimony? " 
 
 " Ekh, my dear friend, "-said lia/aiotl': 
 "what a way thou hast of e\j)ressing thysiU'I 
 Thou seest what I am doing: there turns out to 
 be an empty space in my trunk, and I stuff in li.i\ ; 
 so it is with our trunk of life; it must be filled u ilh 
 anj^thing that comes to hand, so that there may be 
 no empty space. Please do not take offence: thou 
 probably recallest what opinion I have always 
 held of Katerina Sergyeevna. Some young ladies 
 bear the reputation of being clever because they 
 sigh cleverly; but thy young lady can stand up for 
 herself, and stand up in such wise, to l)oot. tliat 
 she will manage thee, — well, and that is as it 
 should be." 
 
 He banged down the lid and rose from the floor. 
 — " And now I repeat to thee in farewell because 
 there is no use in deceiving ourselves: wr are j)art- 
 ing forever, and thou feelest that tiiysiH" . . . 
 thou hast acted wisely; thou wert not created for 
 our bitter, harsh, wretched life. There is in tliee 
 neither insolence nor nialiic but tluic is youtii- 
 ful audacity and vouthrul aiioyaner ; that is not 
 suited to our cause. A man of your soit, a nobk- 
 man, cannot go any rnitlur than noble sul>mission 
 or noble efi'crvcsccnce, and that is stuff and non- 
 
 yi.3
 
 FATHERS AM) CHILDREN 
 
 sense. You, for example, do not fight, — and yet 
 you imagine that you are a dashing fellow, — while 
 we want to fight. >Vnd what is the state of the 
 case? Our dust eats thine eves out, our mud be- 
 spatters thee, but thou hast not grown up to our 
 stature; thou involuntarily admirest thvself : it is 
 pleasant for thee to scold thyself ; but we find that 
 tiresome — serve us up others! we must break 
 others! Thou art a splendid young fellow; but, 
 nevertheless, thou art a soft, liberal young gentle- 
 man, — et voldtoid, as mv parent expresses him- 
 self." 
 
 " Thou art bidding me an eternal farewell, 
 Evgeny? "— said Arkady sadly. "And hast 
 thou no other words for me? " 
 
 BazarofF scratched the nape of his neck. — " I 
 have, Arkady, I have other words, only I shall not 
 utter them, because that is romanticism, — that 
 means: making one's self too — sypuppy. But do 
 thou marry as promptly as possible, and estab- 
 lish thy nest, and beget as many children as thou 
 canst. They will be clever creatures, simply be- 
 cause thev will be born in a different ag-e from 
 what thou and I were. Ehe! I see that the horses 
 are ready. It is time to go! I have said good- 
 bye to everybody Well, how now? shall 
 
 we embrace? " 
 
 Arkady flung himself on the neck of his former 
 preceptor and friend, and the tears fairl;^ 
 streamed fi'om his eves. 
 
 316
 
 FATIIKKS AM) ( II 1 1 J )in:\ 
 
 " That 's what it is to be young! " — cjacnlaled 
 BazarofF cahiily. "lint I place- my Ii()|hs on 
 Katerina Sergyeeviia. Just sn how .inickly slic 
 will conif oi't thee ! " 
 
 "Farewell, hrotlier! " — he said to Arkadw 
 when he had eland)ered into tlic |)ea.sanl cart ; and 
 pointing to a pair of jackdaws, w liicli were sitting 
 on the roof of the stable, he added : • I .ook yon- 
 der!— study them! " 
 
 " What does that mean? " — asked Arkady. 
 
 " What? Art thou so weak in natural histoiy, 
 or hast thou forgotten, that the daw is the most 
 res2:)eetable, domestic of birds? An examj)le Tor 
 thee!— Good-bye, senor! " 
 
 The cart rattled and rolled aw a\'. 
 
 Bazaroff had spoken the truth. ^\s he chatted 
 with Katya that evening he had totally forgotten 
 his tutor. He liad already begun to come under 
 her sway, and Katya was conscious of it, and was 
 not surprised. He was obliged to go to Marino. 
 to Nikolai Petrovitch, on the following day. 
 Anna Sergyeevna did not wish to cnibaiiass the 
 young people, and only out of decorum did not 
 leave them too long alone together. SJic mag- 
 nanimously banished from them the I'rince.ss, who 
 had been reduced to a state of tearful wrath by 
 the news of the impending marriage. At first 
 Anna Sergyeevna feared lest the spectacle of 
 their happiness should seem somewhat o|)|)ressive 
 to her; but it turned out to be exactly the reverse: 
 
 317
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 that spectacle not only did not oppress her, it in- 
 terested her, it touched her at last. Anna 
 Sergyeevna was delighted yet saddened by this. 
 "Evidently, BazarofF is right," — she thought: 
 " curiosity, mere curiosity, and love of a quiet 
 life, and egotism " 
 
 " Children," — she said aloud, — " is love an im- 
 aginary feeling? " 
 
 But neither Katva nor Arkady even understood 
 her. They shunned her; they could not get the 
 conversation which they had involuntarily over- 
 lieard out of their minds. However, Anna 
 Sergyeevna speedily reassured them; and that 
 was not difficult : she had reassured herself. 
 
 318
 
 XXVII 
 
 The old BazarofFs were all the more deliglitcd 
 at their son's unexpected return, in proj)()rtion as 
 they had the least expected it. Arina Vlasievna 
 was perturbed to such a degree, and so exhausted 
 herself by running all over the house, that Vasily 
 Ivanitch compared her to a " mother partridge " : 
 the bobtail of her short, loose, morning gown 
 really did give her a somewhat bird-like air. And 
 he himself merely bellowed and bit the amber 
 mouthpiece of his tchubiik sideways, and grasp- 
 ing his neck with his hands, twisted his head, as 
 though he were trying to find out whether it were 
 well screwed on, then suddenly opened his wide 
 mouth to its fidl extent, and laughed heartily 
 but absolutely without sound. 
 
 " I have come to you for six whole weeks, old 
 man,"— BazarofF said to him:—" I want to work, 
 so please don't bother me." 
 
 " Thou wilt forget my physiognomy, that \s the 
 way I shall bother thee! "—replied Vasily Iva- 
 novitch." 
 
 He kept his promise. Having installed liis son, 
 as before, in his study, he devoted himself to liid- 
 ing from him, and restrained his wife from ;ill 
 
 319
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREX 
 
 superfluous manifestations of tenderness. " ]Mv 
 dear woman," — he said to her, " during Eni- 
 ushka"s first visit we bored him a bit ; now we must 
 be more sensible." Arina Vlasievna agreed with 
 her husband, but gained little by so doing, because 
 she saw her son only at meals, and became defini- 
 tively afraid to speak to him. " Eniiishenka! " — 
 she would say to him, — and before he could glance 
 round she would be tugging at the cords of her 
 reticule, and stammering: " Xever mind, never 
 mind, I did n't mean anything," and tlien she 
 would betake herself to Vasily Ivanovitch and say 
 to him, propping her cheek on her hand: " I 
 should like to find out, my darling, what Eniiisha 
 wants to-day for dinner, cabbage-soup or beet- 
 soupf 
 
 " But why dost not thou ask him thyself? " — 
 "But I shall bore him!" However, BazarofF 
 soon ceased to lock himself up : the fever of w^ork 
 leaped aijcay from him, and was replaced by de- 
 jected boredom and dull disquiet. A strange lan- 
 guor was perceptible in all his movements; even 
 his walk, firm and impetuously bold, underw^ent 
 a change. He ceased to take solitary strolls and 
 began to seek society; he drank tea in the draw- 
 ing-room, prowled about the vegetable-garden 
 with Vasily Ivanovitch, and smoked with him 
 " dumb as a fish." One day he inquired of his 
 father concerning Father Alexyei. At first. 
 Vasily Ivanovitch rejoiced at this change, but liis 
 
 320
 
 FATHERS AND CHTT.DREX 
 
 joy w as not of long duration. '* Enii'isha dis- 
 tresses me," he complained quietly to his wife; 
 " he is not exactly dissatisfied or anirrv, that 
 would not matter; he is embittered, he is melan- 
 choly, — that is the terrible thing. He persist- 
 ently maintains silence, as though he were re- 
 proaching thee and me; he is getting thin, his 
 complexion has a bad colour." — " O Lord. () 
 Lord! "' whispered the old woman; " I would like 
 to put an amulet on his neck, but of course 
 he would not let me." Vasfly Ivanovitch 
 himself made several attempts to question Baza- 
 rofF about his work, about his health, about Ar- 
 kady But Bazaroff answered him unwill- 
 ingly and carelessly, and one day. noticing that 
 his father, in conversation, was making stealthy 
 approaches toward something, he said to him 
 with vexation: " Why art thou constantly, as it 
 were, walking round me on tiptoe '. That manner 
 is worse than thy former one! " 
 
 " Well, well, well, I did n't mean anything! " 
 hastily replied poor Vasily Ivanovitch. His polit- 
 ical hints remained equally fruitless. In begin- 
 ning, one day, a conversation in connection witli 
 the impending emancipation of the serfs, about 
 progress, he hoped to arouse the sympathy of his 
 son; but the latter said indifferently: " Yester- 
 day, as I was walking past a hedge, I heard the 
 little peasant boys of this locality shouting, in 
 place o^ some ancient ballad: 'The loyal time 
 
 321
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 is corning-, the heart feeleth Jove '—there 's prog- 
 ress for thee." 
 
 Sometimes BazarofF betook himself to the vil- 
 lage, and, banteringly, as was his wont, entered 
 into conversation with some peasant man or other. 
 " Comej" he said to him, " expound tw me your 
 views of life, brother ; for in you, they say, lies the 
 whole force and f utiu'e of Russia, with you a new 
 epoch in history will begin, — you will give us both 
 a genuine language and laws." The peasant 
 either made no reply or uttered some words to the 
 following effect :" And we can . . . too, because, 
 you know .... what limits are appointed to 
 us, for example." 
 
 " Do thou just explain to me what thy world 
 is," — BazarofF interrupted him. " And is it that 
 same world which stands on three fishes? " 
 
 " The earth does stand on three fishes," — 
 explained the serf soothingly, in a patriarch- 
 ally-good-humoured singsong, — " but against our 
 commune ^ there is, as every one knows, the will 
 of the master ; because you are our fathers. And 
 the more strict is the lord of the manor in his 
 demands, the pleasanter it is for the peasant." 
 
 One day, after listening to a speech of this sort, 
 BazarofF shruo^ed his shoulders scornfully and 
 turned aside, and the peasant went his way. 
 
 "What wert thou talking about? " — another 
 peasant asked him — a middle-aged man, with a 
 
 1 Mir, world; Jlir, commune. —Traxsl^vtok, 
 
 322
 
 FATIIKUS AND C'IIIM)1{KN 
 
 surly countenance, from the thiesliold of his cot- 
 tage, who had witnessed from afar this conver- 
 sation with Bazaroff. — " Ahout tlie arrears of 
 taxes? " 
 
 " About the arrears of taxes, forsooth, my /^ood 
 fellow! "—replied the first peasant, and in liis 
 voice there was no longer a trace of the patriarclial 
 singsong, but, on the contrary, a cei-tain careless 
 moroseness was audible. — " We just cliattered a 
 bit; his tongue was itching to talk. Every Ixxly 
 knows how it is— he 's a gentleman ; can lie under- 
 stand anything? " 
 
 "How should he understand! " — replied the 
 other peasant, and shaking their caps and tucking 
 in their belts, the two set to discussing their own 
 affairs and needs. Alas! Bazaroff, wlio had 
 shrugged his shoulders, and knew liow to talk to 
 the peasants (as he had boasted, in the course of 
 his quarrel witli Pavel Petrovitcli), that self-con- 
 fident Bazaroff did not even suspect that lie was. 
 in tlieir eyes, something in the nature of a horn 
 fool. . . . 
 
 However, at last he found an occupation lor 
 himself. One day, in his presence, ^^lsl'ly Iva- 
 nitch was binding up a peasant's in jurcd leg. hut 
 the old man's hands treml)lcd and he could not 
 manage the bandages; his son helped, and from 
 that time forth he began to take ])art in his jjiac- 
 tice, without ceasing, at the same time, to jeer, 
 both at tlie remedies which he liimsclf had recorn-
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 mended, and at his father, who immediately made 
 use of them. But Bazaroff's sneers did not in 
 the least discomfit A^asilv Ivanovitch; rather did 
 tliey comfort liim. Clasping his soiled dressing- 
 govvn to his belly with two fingers, and smoking 
 liis pipe, he listened with delight to BazarofF, and 
 the more ill-temper there was in his sallies, the 
 more good-naturedly did his enraptured father 
 laugh, displaying all his black teeth, to the very 
 last one. He even frequently repeated these stu- 
 pid or senseless sallies, and, for example, for a 
 space of several days he would keep repeating, 
 without rhjmie or reason: "Well, that's of no 
 consequence! " ^ simply because his son, on learn- 
 ing that he was accustomed to go to JNIatins, had 
 emploj^ed that expression. — " Thank God! he has 
 ceased to have the blue devils! " he whispered to 
 his wife; " the way he snubbed me to-day, — it was 
 wonderful! " On the other hand, the thought that 
 he possessed such an assistant inspired him with 
 enthusiasm, filled him with pride. " Yes, yes," he 
 said to a peasant woman, in a man's coat, and a 
 head-dress like a pointed coronet, with horns, as 
 he handed her a phial of Gulyard water, or a pot 
 of white ointment, " my good soul, thou shouldst 
 thank God every minute that my son is visiting 
 me: thou art being doctored now after the most 
 scientific and the newest method, dost thou under- 
 
 ' In Russian rather slanfjily expressed: "That 's the ninth 
 affair! " — Translator. 
 
 324»
 
 FATHERS AXl) CIIILDHKX 
 
 stand that? Even tlie Eni])cr()r of tlif Frtncli, 
 Napoleon, has no better doctor." i\nd the woman 
 who had come to comphiiii that slie " had ^ot the 
 gripes " (bnt she was not herself able to exi)lalii 
 what she meant by tliese words) merely made a 
 reverence, and thrust her hand into liei- bosom, 
 where hw four eggs wrapped uj) in the end oi' a 
 towel. 
 
 BazarofF once even extracted a tooth for a ])ass- 
 ing pedlar of dress goods, and although that 
 tooth was of the most ordinary sort, nevertheless 
 Vasily Ivanovitch preserved it as a rarity, and ex- 
 hibited it to Father Alexyei, repeating inces- 
 santly : 
 
 "Just look, what roots! Such strength as 
 Evgeny has! He fairly lifted that dry-goods 
 pedlar into the air. . . It seems to me that even 
 an oak-tree would have flown out! . . . ." 
 
 " It is laudable! " — said Father Alexyei at last, 
 not knowing what reply to make, and how to rid 
 himself of the old man, wdio had gone into ec- 
 stasies. 
 
 One day a wretched peasant from a neighbour- 
 ing village brought to Vasily Ivanovitch his bro- 
 ther, who w^as ill with typhus fever. Eying i)rone 
 upon a truss of straw, the unfortunate man was 
 dying; dark spots covered his body; he had even 
 lost consciousness. Vasily Ivanovitch exi)ressed 
 his regret that it liad not occurred to some one ear- 
 lier to have recourse to the aid of medicine, and 
 
 325
 
 FATHERS AND CIIILDREX 
 
 announced that tlierc was no liope. xVs a matter 
 of fact, the peasant did not get his brother home 
 ahve; the man died in the cart. 
 
 Three days later Bazaroff entered his father's 
 room, and inquired wlietlier lie had not lunar 
 caustic? 
 
 " I have; what dost thou need it for? " 
 
 " I need it . . . to cauterise a wound." 
 
 "Whose?" 
 
 " ]\Iy own." 
 
 " What, thine own ! Why ? What wound is it ? 
 Where is it? " 
 
 " Here on mv finder. To-dav I went to the vil- 
 lage, thou knowest, the one whence they brought 
 that peasant with the typhus. For some reason, 
 they were jireparing to open him, and I had had 
 no practice in that for a long time." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " Well, and so I asked leave of the district 
 physician, and cut myself." 
 
 Vasily Ivanovitch turned pale all over, and 
 without uttering a word, he flew to his cupboard, 
 whence he immediately returned with a piece of 
 lunar caustic in his hand. Bazaroff was about to 
 take it and depart. 
 
 " For God's sake," — said Vasily Ivanovitch: — 
 " let me do it myself." 
 
 Bazaroff grinned. — " How anxious thou art 
 for practice! " 
 
 " Don't jest, ])lease. Show me thy finger. The 
 wound is not large. Does n't it hurt? " 
 
 826
 
 FATHERS AND CIIILDUKX 
 
 " Press on lianlt-r, lioiTt l>r al'ni'ul.'" 
 Vasily Ivanovitch paused. " W'luit dost thou 
 think, Evgeny, would n't it \)v lutter for us to cau- 
 terise it with a liot iron ( " 
 
 " That ought to liave been done sooner, l»ut 
 now, in reahty, even the huiar caustic is of no use. 
 If I have been infected, it is too hite anyway. " 
 
 "How too hite? " Vasily 
 
 Iviinovitch could hardly articulate. 
 
 "I should think so! More than four hours 
 have elapsed since then." 
 
 Vasily Ivanovitch cauterised the wound a little 
 longer.—" And had not the district doctor any 
 lunar caustic? " 
 " No." 
 
 •• How came that, my God! A physician-and 
 he has not such an indispensable thing! " 
 
 " Thou shouldsi see his lancets,"— said Baza- 
 
 roft\ and left the room. 
 
 Until evening, and during the whole course of 
 the following day. Vasily Ivanovitch caught at 
 ever>- possible pretext to enter his son's room, and. 
 although he not only did not mention his woun.l, 
 hut even endeavoured to talk alx)ut the most irrel- 
 evant subjects, still he peered so persistently into 
 his eves and watched him in so perturbed a man- 
 ner that Bazaroff lost patience, and threatened 
 to leave the house. Vasdy Ivanovitch gave h.m his 
 word not to worry, the more so, as Anna \ lasi- 
 evna. from whom, of cnirse. he had concealed 
 everx-thing, was beginning to besiege lum with 
 
 327
 
 FATHERS xVXD CHILDREN 
 
 questions as to why he did not sleep, and what had 
 lia])pened to him? For two \\hole days he perse- 
 vered, altliough he did not greatly like the looks 
 of his son, whom he still watehed hy stealth, .... 
 hut on the third day at dinner he could endure it 
 no longer. Ra/aroff sat with howed head, and did 
 not touch a single viand. 
 
 "Why dost thou not eat, Evgenv?"— he 
 asked, imparting to his face the most care-free of 
 expressions. — " The food is well cooked, I think." 
 
 " I don't feel like it, so I don't eat." 
 
 "Hast thou no appetite? And how is thy 
 head?" — he added, in a timid voice: — "does it 
 ache? " 
 
 " Yes. Why should n't it ache? " 
 
 Arina Vlasievna straightened up, and pricked 
 up her ears. 
 
 " Don't he Rngry, please, Evgeny," — went on 
 Vasily Ivanovitch, — " hut wilt not thou allow me 
 to feel thy pulse? " 
 
 Razaroff rose to his feet. — " I can tell thee, 
 without feeling my pidse, that I have fever." 
 
 "And hast thou had a chill?" 
 
 " I have. I will go and lie down ; and do you 
 send me some linden tea. I must have caught 
 cold." 
 
 " That explains why I heard thee coughing last 
 night," — said Arina Vlasievna. 
 
 " I have taken cold,"- re2)eated Razaroff, and 
 left the room. 
 
 328
 
 FATIIKHS AM) ( IIII.DHKX 
 
 Arina Masic\iia husiid iKiscir with pnpariri;; 
 the tea from liridtri flowers, l)iit \'asily Ivj'mox itch 
 went into the adjoining- mom and silcntlv t(.i-.- hit 
 liair. 
 
 Bazarott' did not ^vt up a-^aiii liial day, and 
 spent the wliole night in a heavy, half'-eoiiscioiis 
 doze. About one o'elock in tlic morning, opening 
 his eyes with an effort, he- l)ehehi aho\«- liim, hv 
 the dim hght of the shrinedamp, tlic pale fare of 
 his father, and ordered liim to go away: the latter 
 obeyed, but immechately returned on tij)t()e, and 
 half screening himself with the cu])l)oard door. h< 
 gazed at his son, never onee removing his eyes. 
 Arina Vlasievna also had not gone to ln-d, a?id 
 opening the door of the study a mere eraek, slit- 
 kept approaehing to listen " how Kniiisha was 
 breathing," and to look at \'asily Ivjinoviteh. She 
 could see nothing but his motionless, bowed back. 
 but even that afforded her some solace. In the 
 morning, Bazaroff tried to rise; he went to Ixd 
 again. Vasily Ivanovitch waited upon him in 
 silence; Arina Vlasievna came to hini. and asked 
 him how he felt. lie replied; ' Metter," and 
 turned his face to the wall, ^'asily Ivjinovitch 
 waved his wife off with both hands; she bit li< i- 
 lip, in order to keep from crying, and It ft tlu 
 room. Everything about the hou.se seemed sud- 
 denly to have grown dark; all faces lengthened, 
 a strange stillness reigned; a loud-xoiccd cock w.is 
 carried off from the court-yard to the village, and
 
 FATHERS AM) ClliLDKEN 
 
 for a long time could not understand A\'liy he was 
 treated in that way. Bazaroff continued to lie, 
 nestled up to the wall. Vasily Ivanovitch tried to 
 i)ut various questions to him, but they wearied Ba- 
 zaroff, and the old man subsided into silence in his 
 arm-chair, only now and then cracking his fin- 
 gers. He went out into the garden for a few 
 moments, stood there like a statue, as though over- 
 whelmed with inexpressible amazement (in gen- 
 eral the expression of amazement never left his 
 face), and returned again to his son, striving to 
 avoid interrogations from liis wife. At last, sht 
 seized him bj^ the arm, and convulsively, almost 
 menacingly, she said: "But what ails him?" Then 
 he regained his composure, and forced himself to 
 smile at her in reply; but, to his own horror, in- 
 stead of a smile, he evoked a laugh from some- 
 where within him. He had sent for the doctor at 
 daybreak. He considered it necessary to inform 
 his son of this, so that the latter might not wax 
 angry. 
 
 Bazaroff suddenly tin-ned over on the couch, 
 stared dully and intently at his father, and asked 
 for a drink. 
 
 Vasily Ivanovitch gave him water, and seized 
 the opportunity to feel his forehead. 
 
 " Old man," — began Bazaroff in a hoarse, slow 
 voice, — " this is a bad business of mine. I am 
 poisoned, and thou wilt bury me a few days 
 hence." 
 
 330
 
 FATIIKKS AM) CIIILDKKN 
 
 Vasily Ivaiiovitc'l) n-clcd, as tlioii^^li soiiic oiw 
 had struck him a hlow on I lie legs. 
 
 " Evgcuy! " — lie staiiiiiKR'd, " what is it tlioii 
 art saying-! (iod lHM\itIi tlicd 'I'Ikhi Imst caught 
 cold. ..." 
 
 " Stop," — Bazaroff' iiit<.'rni])t('d him \\ ithoiit 
 haste. — " It is not i)c'rniissil)k' for a j)hysiciaii to 
 talk like that. .AH the signs oC inlVction exist, 
 thou knowest it thyseli'." 
 
 " Wliere are the signs .... of infection, 
 Evgeny? . . . Gracious heavens!" 
 
 "And how ahout thisi*" — said Ba/aroff, and 
 stripping up the sleeve of his shirt, he showed his 
 father the ill-omened red spots !)reaking out. 
 
 Vasily Ivanovitch shuddered, and turned cold 
 with terror. — " Let us assume," — lie said at last. 
 — "let us assume . . . if . . . even if tlun- is 
 something in the nature of infec- 
 tion . . . ." 
 
 " Of pyemia," — prompted his son. 
 
 " Well, ves . . . in the nature of an 
 
 epidemic . . . ." 
 
 " Of 7;/y<??wfa/'— repeated Ha/aro<i' gniflly and 
 distinctly: — " can it he that thou hast alnady for- 
 gotten thy text-hooks?" 
 
 " Well, yes, ves, as tliou wilt. . . . Xeverthe- 
 less, we will cure thee. . ." 
 
 "Come, that's liumhug. ihit tiial is not the 
 point. I did not exi)eet that 1 should die so simhi; 
 that is a very disagreeahlc- aeeidi rit, to si)eak the 
 
 331
 
 FATHEKS AXD CITTLDREX 
 
 truth. Both thou and mother must now profit by 
 the fact that rehgion is strong in you ; here 's your 
 chance to put it to the proof." — He took another 
 sip of water. — " But I slioukl hke to make one re- 
 quest of thee . . . while my head is still under 
 mv command. To-morrow, or the day after to- ' 
 morrow, as thou art aware, my brain will resign 
 from duty. Even now I am not quite certain 
 whether I am expressing myself clearly. ^Vhile 
 I have been lying here it has seemed to me all the 
 while as though red dogs were running around 
 me, and that thou wert making a point over me, 
 as over a woodcock. It is exactly as thougli I 
 were drunk. Dost thou understand me well? " 
 
 " Goodness, Evgeny, thou art talking in pre- 
 cisely the proper way." 
 
 " So much the better; thou hast told me that 
 thou hast sent for the doctor. . . Thou hast com- 
 forted thyself thereby; .... comfort me also: 
 send a special messenger " 
 
 "To Arkady Xikolaitch? "—interpolated the 
 old man. 
 
 "Who is Arkady Xikolaitch? "-said Baza- 
 roff, as though in doubt. ..." xVkh, yes! that 
 fledgling! X"o, don't touch liim; he has become 
 a full-grown bird now. Do not be sur])rised; this 
 is not delirium. But do tliou send a messenger to 
 Anna Sergyeevna Odfnt/off; there is a landed 
 ])roprietress of that name yonder. . . Knowest 
 thou? " (Vasily Ivanovitcli nodded.) " Say that 
 
 332
 
 FATllKHS AXl) ( IIILDHKX 
 
 Evgcny Ba/iiroif gavr onh is Id piisrnt liis cnin- 
 pliments, and order Ww niari to say lli.-il In- is 
 dying. Wilt tlion Cultil tliis^ "" 
 
 "I ^^■ilI. Only, can it lie jidssiMc that tlxiii 
 shonldst (lie, Kvgrny!' . . . .Indgc for tlivsclfl 
 AVIktc wonid he tlic jnstii'c after tliat '. " 
 
 I don't know : only setid tiie messenger. " 
 I will send liini this \vv\ minute, and \\ill 
 write a letter niysell'." 
 
 "No, why shonldst tlion' Sa\ that I ii:i\t- 
 orders that my e()m|)liments ^^t•re to he |)resented : 
 nothing more is necessary. And now I will go 
 back to my dogs. It is strange! I try to fix my 
 thouglits on death, and it eomes to nothing. I see 
 some sort of a spot .... and that is all." 
 
 Once more he tnrned paint'nily toward tlu- 
 wall; but Vasily Ivanoxitch left the stndy. and 
 when be reached bis wife's bed-chamber, he fairly 
 tumbled down on his knees before the- holy j)ii- 
 tures. 
 
 "Pray, Arina, pray^"- he moaned: '"our 
 son is dying." 
 
 The doctor — that same district doctor who had 
 no lunar caustic — arrived, and. after examining 
 the patient, advi.sed them to adoj)t a waiting 
 policy, and added a few words as to th( j)ossi- 
 bilitv of recovery. 
 
 " "Rut did you ever hapj)en to see ]H'o|)le in m\ 
 situation ffiil to betake themsehcs to the l\l\siaii 
 Fields^' — in<]uircd Ha/..-ii(dr. and. sud(letd\-
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 grasping tlie leg of a heavy table, which stood 
 near the divan, he shook the table and moved it 
 from its place. 
 
 " The strength, tlie strength is all there still," 
 — he said, — " but I must die! .... An old man 
 has, at least, succeeded in weaning himself from 
 life, while I . . . . But come, just try to contra- 
 dict death. It contradicts thee, and that ends the 
 matter! Who is weeping there?" — he added, 
 after a brief pause. — " ^Mother? Poor thing! 
 AVhom will she feed now with her wonderful beet- 
 soup? And thou also, Vasily Ivanitch, I believe 
 thou art whimpering too? Well, if Christianity 
 does not help, be a philosopher, a stoic! I be- 
 lieve thou wert boasting of being a philosopher? " 
 
 " JNIuch of a philosopher I am! " roared Vasily 
 Ivanovitch, and the tears fairty dripped down his 
 cheeks. 
 
 Bazaroff grew worse with every passing hour; 
 the malady took a swift course, \A'hich usually hap- 
 pens in cases of surgical poisoning. He had not, 
 as yet, lost consciousness, and understood what 
 Avas said to him; he still struggled. " I will not 
 be delirious," — he whispered, clenching his fists; 
 — " what nonsense! " And immediately he said: 
 " Well, and if from eight you subtract ten, how 
 many will remain?" — Vasilv Ivanovitch walked 
 about like a crazy person, suggested now one rem- 
 edy, now another, and did nothing but keep cov- 
 ei'ing liis son's feet. " He must be wrapped up 
 
 334
 
 FATIIKKS A\l) ( niLDUFA' 
 
 in cold slieets . . . ruiuseu .... iimstard pla.s- 
 ters on his stonmcli .... Ijlood-littiij^,"- lie 
 .said, with an eff'oi-t. 'I'hc doctoi-, whom lie had 
 implored to remain, humoured him, ^ave the j)a- 
 tient lemonade, and i'oi- himself asked now a j)i|)e. 
 now " somethiM<4' stren<»lh(iiiii^ and warming," 
 that is to say, vodka. Ai'ina \'k-isi(\ na sat on a 
 low heneh near the door, and only now and tlu n 
 went away to ])i-ay; a i'ew days previously her 
 toilet mirror had sli])])ed out of liei- hands and 
 been broken, and she had always icf^arded tiiis as 
 a bad sign; even Anfisuslika was not able to say 
 anything comforting to her. Timofeiteli had 
 gone to ^Madame Odintzoff. 
 
 The night was bad for Bazaroff. . . . lie was 
 tortured by a violent fever. Toward morning he 
 was resting more easily. lie asked tliat An'na 
 Vlasievna might brusli his luiir, kissed lier hand, 
 and drank a coui)le of mouthfnls of tea. \'asily 
 Ivanovitch revived somewhat. 
 
 "Thank God! "-lie kept repeating:-" the 
 crisis has come .... the crisis has come! " 
 
 " Eka, what art tiiou thiid<ing of ^ " — .said Ba- 
 zaroff : — " what does that word signify ^ lie has 
 hit upon it; he has .said, ' the erisis," and is com- 
 forted. It is astounding liow a man still has faith 
 in words. If people call him a I'ool, for example, 
 and yet do not beat him, he grows melaneholy ; if 
 they call him a clever fellow, and yet give him no 
 money, — he feels .satisfaetion." 
 
 33.5
 
 FATHERS AND CTITT.DKKX 
 
 This little speech of BazarofF's, which recalled 
 his former " sallies," touched Vasily Ivanovitch. 
 
 "Bravo! Splendidly said, splendidly! " — he 
 exclaimed, pretending to clap liis hands. 
 
 Bazaroff laughed sadly. 
 
 " Well then, according to thy o])inion," — he 
 said, — " is the crisis ])ast, or is it heginning? " 
 
 " Thou art hettei-. that is what I see, that is 
 what delights me," — rei:)lie(l Vasily Ivanovitch. 
 
 " Well, very good; it is never a bad thing to re- 
 joice. And hast thou sent to her? thou remem- 
 berest?" 
 
 " Yes, of course." 
 
 The change for the better did not last long. 
 The assaults of the malady \vere renewed. Vasilv 
 Ivanovitch sat by BazarofF's side. It seemed as 
 though some special anguish were torturing the' 
 old man. Several times he was on the point of 
 speaking— and could not. 
 
 "Evgeny!"— he blurted out at last: — "my 
 son, my dear, precious son." 
 
 This unusual appeal took effect upon Bazaroff. 
 .... He turned his head a little, and, evidently 
 striving to escape from beneath the burden of 
 oblivion which was weighing him down, he articu- 
 lated:-" What, my father? " 
 
 " Evgeny,"— went on A^asily Ivanovitch, and 
 sank down on his knees beside Bazaroff, although 
 the latter did not o])en his eyes, and did not see 
 him. — " Evgeny, thou art l)etter now: God grant 
 
 336
 
 FATIIKKS AM) C IIILDinA 
 
 tliat tliou inayest ircovir: hut take- a<lvaiita^f of 
 this time, comfort tliy motiui- and riic fulfil th\ 
 C'liristian duty! It is ttrrihli- for me lo sa\ this 
 to thee; hut it is still more terril)le . . . ff)nver, 
 thou knowest, Kvgeny . . . rtficct, wiiat " 
 
 Tlie old man's Noiee hroke. and a stran^rr r\- 
 pressiou ere])t across tlie face of his son, .iltliou^di 
 he continued to lie with closed eyes. ■ I do not 
 refuse, if it can give you comfort," - he said at 
 hist; " hut it seems to me tliat there is no need of 
 haste as yet. Thou thyself sayest that I am 
 better." 
 
 " Thou art better, Kvgeny, thou art h(.tt<.i-; hut 
 who knows, for all that depends ujxni the will of 
 God, and when thou hast fulfilled thy duty "" 
 
 "No, 1 will wait," — interrupted Hazarof!'. " I 
 agree with thee that the crisis has arrivtd. Hut if 
 we are both mistaken, what then:' They givt- tlie 
 communion to the unconscious also." 
 
 " For mercy's sake, Evgeny. . . ." 
 
 " I will wait. And now I want to sleep. Don't 
 disturb me." 
 
 And he laid his head in its former position. 
 
 The old man rose, seated himself in the arm- 
 chair, and gripi)ing his chin, l)egan to hitc his 
 
 fingers. . . 
 
 The rumble of a carriage with springs." that 
 sound whicli is peculiarly !ioticeal)l(' in th( de|)ths 
 
 1 On account of tin- Kid roads, most larriajfrs for i-ountrv «-<■ arr 
 built without sprintrs. -THvssiATtm. 
 
 'Mi7
 
 FATHERS xVXD CHILDREN 
 
 of the country, suddenly struck his ear. Xearer, 
 nearer rolled the light wheels ; and now the snort- 
 ing of horses was audible. . . . Vasil}' Ivanovitch 
 sprang to liis feet and rushed to the window. A 
 two-seated cari'iage, drawn by four horses, was 
 driving into tlie court-vard of his tiny house. 
 \\'ithout pausing to consider what this might sig- 
 nify, he ran out on the porch, in an outburst of 
 senseless joy. ... A liveried lackey opened the 
 carriage door ; a lady with a black \'eil and a black 
 mantle alighted from it. . . . 
 
 " I am Madame Odintzoif," — she said. — " Is 
 Evgeny Vasilitch alive? You are his father? 
 I have brought a doctor with me" 
 
 " Benefactress! "—exclaimed Vasily Ivano- 
 vitch, and seizing her hand, he pressed it con- 
 vulsively to his lips, while the doctor whom Anna 
 Sergyeevna had brought, a small man in specta- 
 cles, with a German physiognomy, alighted in a 
 leisurely way from the carriage. " He is still 
 alive; my Evgeny is alive, and now he will be 
 saved ! Wife ! wife ! . . . An angel from heaven 
 has come to us. . . ." 
 
 "What is it, O Lord!" — stammered the old 
 woman, as she ran out of the drawing-room, and 
 comprehending notliing then and there in the 
 anteroom, fell at the feet of Anna Sergyeevna, 
 and began, like a mad woman, to kiss her gown. 
 
 " What are you doing? AMiat are you doing ? " 
 — Anna Sergyeevna kept reiterating; but Arina 
 
 338
 
 FATITKUS AM) CIIILl)in<:N 
 
 Vliisievnu paid no liccd to licr. luid \'asily Ivano- 
 vitch merely repeated: "An atioel! an an^r,I!" 
 
 '' Wo ist dcr Kranhcf And wIktc is lli. pa- 
 tient? " said the doctor at last, not witliont some 
 indignation. 
 
 Vasily Ivanoviteli eaine to liis senses.- " Here, 
 here, please follow ine, x^irthcstcr 11 err Knllcf^i'," 
 — he added, reviving an ancient memory. 
 
 " Eh! " — ejacnlated the (icrman, and made a 
 sour grimace. 
 
 Vasily Ivanoviteli conducted him to the study. 
 
 "The doctoi- I'rom Anna Sergyeevna Odin- 
 tzoff," — he said, hending down to iiis sons very 
 ear; — " and she is here herseli'." 
 
 Bazjiroff suddeidy opened his eyes. — " \\'hat 
 didst thou saj'? " 
 
 "1 say that Anna Sergyeevna Odi'ntzoff is 
 here, and has hrought her doctor to thee." 
 
 I^aziiroff* gazed ahout him. " She is here. . . 
 I want to see her." 
 
 " Thou shalt see her, Kvgeny ; hut first the doc- 
 tor and I must have a talk. 1 will narrate to him 
 the whole history ol' thy illness, since .Sidoi- 
 Sidoritch " (this was the name ol' tlu district 
 physician) "has gone away, and we will hold a 
 little consultation" 
 
 Baziiroft' glanced at llie dei-man. "Well, 
 have your talk as (}uickly as j)ossihle, ordy not in 
 Latin, for 1 understand the meaning of j<tiii 
 moritur."
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 " Der II err scheint des Deutschen mdchtig zu 
 sein" — began the new disciple of ^Esculapius 
 turning to Vasily Ivanovitch. 
 
 " Ich .... habe . . . you had better talk 
 Russian," said the old man. 
 
 " Ah, ah ! so dat 's de vay it ees. . . As j ou like 
 ..." And the consultation began. 
 
 Half an hour later, Anna Sergyeevna, escorted 
 by Vasily lyanovitch, entered the room. The doc- 
 tor had contrived to whisper to her that the recov- 
 ery of the sick man w^as not to be thought of. 
 
 She cast a glance at Bazaroff . . . and halted 
 at the door, so startled was she by his swollen and, 
 at the same time, corpse-like face, with its dimmed 
 eyes riveted upon her. She was simply fright- 
 ened, with a sort of cold and insufferable dread; 
 the thought that she would not have felt like 
 that if she were really in love with him, flashed 
 instantaneously through her mind. 
 
 " Thank you," — he said, with an effort; — " I 
 did not expect this. It is a good deed. So we 
 have met again, as you promised." 
 
 " Anna Sergyeevna has been so kind," — began 
 Vasily Ivanovitch. 
 
 " Father, leave us. — Anna Sergyeevna, you 
 permit me? I think that now . . ." 
 
 He indicated his feeble, outstretched body with 
 a movement of his head. 
 
 Vasily Ivanovitch withdrew. 
 
 " Thanks," — repeated BazarofF.— " This is a 
 
 340
 
 FATHERS AM) CIIILDHKN 
 
 deed in royal style. They sav Uial T/ars also 
 visit the dying." 
 
 " Evgeny Vasilitch, ] hope . . . ." 
 
 " Ekh, Anna Sergyeevna, let us speak the 
 truth. I am done for. 1 have fallen under tlie 
 wheel. And it turns out that there was no \wcd 
 to think of the future. Death is an aneient jest. 
 but new to eaeh person. So far, 1 am not afraid 
 .... and then unef)nseiousness will eome, and 
 fuit!" (He waved his hand feebly.) —" Well, 
 what 's the use of my saying to you . . . .' I Jove 
 you ' ! That had no sense before, mueh less now. 
 Love is a form, and my own form is alreadx' de- 
 composing. I had better say that — what a s})len- 
 did woman you are! And now you stand there, so 
 beautiful. ..." 
 
 Anna Sergyeevna involuntarily shuddered. 
 
 " Never mind, be not disturbed .... sit down 
 there. . . Don't come near me: for my maladx 
 is contagious." 
 
 Anna Sergyeevna swiftly crossed the room and 
 seated herself in an arm-chair l)eside the divan 
 on which Bazaroff lay. 
 
 " Magnanimous! " — he whispered. " Okh, 
 how near, and how young, and fresh, and pure 
 .... in this hateful room! .... Well, good- 
 bye! may you live long; that is the best thing of 
 all; and enioy yourself while yet there is time. 
 Behold, what a disgusting s])ectacle: the worm is 
 half crushed, yet it l)ristles up. And, \nu see. 1 
 
 3U
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 thought also: I will yet accomplish many deeds; 1 
 shall not die — not I! there's the aim, for 1 am 
 a giant! And now the giant's whole problem 
 is to die decorously, although no one cares about 
 
 that It makes no difference; 1 will not 
 
 evade the issue." 
 
 Bazaroff ceased speaking and began to feel for 
 his glass. Anna Sergyee\'na gave him a drink, 
 without removing her glove, and breathing timor- 
 ously the while. 
 
 "You will forget me," — he began again; — 
 " the dead is no fit comrade for the living. INIy 
 father will tell vou, ' Just see what a man Russia 
 is losing.' . . . That is nonsense, but do not un- 
 deceive the old man. Anything for the sake of 
 soothing the child .... you know. And treat 
 my mother kindly. For such people as they are 
 not to be found in vour grand society, even in the 
 
 day-time with a light I am necessary to 
 
 Russia. . . . No, evidently, I am not necessary. 
 And who is? A shoemaker is necessary, a tailor 
 is necessary, so is a butcher ; .... he sells meat, 
 .... a butcher; .... stay, 1 am getting 
 mixed up Yonder is a forest . . ." 
 
 Bazaroff laid his hand on his brow. 
 
 Anna Sergyeevna bent toward him. — " Ev- 
 geny Vasilitch, I am here . . . ." 
 
 He instantly clasped her hand and half sat up. 
 — " Farewell," — he said, with sudden force, and 
 his eyes flashed with their last gleam. — " Fare- 
 
 342
 
 FATHERS AM) ClllLDKKN 
 
 well. . . Listen .... you know. 1 did not kis.s 
 you then. . . . Breatlie upon the expiring hinip, 
 and let it he extinguished 
 
 Anna Sergyeevna touelied lier Hps to his hrow. 
 
 " Knough! " — he said, and (h-op|)e(l hack mi liis 
 pillow. — " Now .... darkness ..." 
 
 Anna Sergveevna sol'tlv kit the r<M)iii. — 
 "AVell?" — Vasily Ivanoviteli asked Ikt in a 
 whisper. 
 
 " He has fallen asleep," — she replietk in a 
 harely audihle tone. 
 
 Baziirotf' was not i'ated to wake again. To- 
 ward evening he I'ell into complete uneonseious- 
 ness, and on the following day lie (hcii. I'athcr 
 Alexyei performed over him the rites ol' rchgion. 
 When he was anointed,' when tlic holy chrism 
 touched his hrea.st, one of his cyi-s ojx-ncd. and 
 it seemed as though, at the sight of the \)V\vs[ in 
 his vestments, of the smoking eenser, the light in 
 front of the holy picture, something resemhling 
 a shudder of fear was reflected on the dying faci-. 
 When at last he hreathed his last sigh, and uni- 
 versal groaning arose in the house, \'asily l\a- 
 novitch was .seized with a sudtlen transpoit of \ i*)- 
 lence. " I said that 1 would re|)inc," he shouted 
 hoarsely, with a flaming, distorted i-onntcnance. 
 shaking his flst in the air. as tliongli lu- were mcn- 
 
 ' The Hitf of Holy Unction in Hn- CatliDlic C'luirchof th«- I-jiM <liff«-r» 
 from Isxtrfnie rnttion in tln> Komin Clmnli. in tliat Miiioiijr ..thrr 
 points) it may be administered wlun the MitTtrei is not ex|>€>ftctl to 
 di«: for healing only, in the Ajxistolic sense.— Tiianslat»)H. 
 
 :34d
 
 FATHERS AND CIIILDREX 
 
 acing some one. " And T will repine, I will re- 
 pine! " But Arina Vlasievna, all in tears, flung 
 herself upon his neck, and both fell on their knees. 
 — " So," — as Anfisushka afterward narrated in 
 the servants' hall, — " they bowed their heads side 
 by side, like sheep at noonday. . . ." 
 
 But the midday heat passes and evening draws 
 on. and the night, and then comes the return to 
 the quiet refuge, where the suffering and the 
 %\eary find sweet repose. . . . 
 
 844
 
 XXVIII 
 
 Six niojitlis have ])as,sc'(l. Tlic wliitt \siiit( r lias 
 come, M'ith its stern stillness of cloiKJicss frosts, 
 dense creaking snow, rosy hoar-frost on llu- trees, 
 pale-enierahl sky, caps of smoke ahoM- the chim- 
 neys, chimps of steam from the doors oj)ened for a 
 moment, the fresli faces, as though hitten. of the 
 people, and the hustling trot of henumhed horses. 
 The January dav is already drawing to its close: 
 
 • • • ■ 
 
 the eyening chill is seizing the motionless air in a 
 still tighter grip, and the hlood-red sunset is dy- 
 ing out. The lights have heen UindKd in the win- 
 dows of the house at Marino; I*rok('>fitch, in a 
 black dress suit and white gloves, is laying the 
 table for seven persons. A week jjrtviously, in 
 the little parish church, (luiclly. and almost with- 
 out witnesses, two weddings had taken place: 
 Arkady's to Ksitva, and Nikolai Petrovitch's to 
 Fenitchka; and on the day in (luestion 
 Nikolai Petroviteh is giving a farewell din- 
 ner for his brother, who is about to take his 
 departure for Moscow on business. Anna 
 Sergyeevna had gone thither also immediately 
 after the wedding, after having lavishly endowed 
 the young coui)le. Precisely at three o'clock all 
 
 34.'>
 
 FATHERS AND CIIILDREX 
 
 assembled round the table, Mitya was placed 
 tliere also: he had been provided with a nurse, in 
 a tj"lazed brocade coronet-cap. Pavel Petrovitch 
 took his seat between Katya and Fenitchka: the 
 " husbands " settled themselves beside their wives. 
 Our acquaintances have changed of late: all of 
 them seem to have grown handsomer and more 
 manly: Pavel Petrovitch alone has grown thin, 
 which, however, has imparted still more elegance 
 and grand-seigueurmn to his expressive features. 
 . . . And Fenitchka also has become a different 
 person. In a fresh silken gown, with a gold chain 
 on her neck, she sat with respectful composure, — 
 respectful toward herself, toward everything 
 which surrounded her, and smiled, as though she 
 wished to saj^: " You must excuse me, I am not 
 to blame." And not she alone, but all the others 
 smiled also, and seemed to be excusing them- 
 selves ; all felt somewhat awkward, somewhat sad, 
 and, in reality, very comfortable. Each one lis- 
 tened to the other with amusing amiabilit}', as 
 though all of them had entered into an agreement 
 to plav some artless comedy. Katva was more 
 comj)osed than all the rest: she gazed confidingly 
 4d)out her, and was able to observe that Xikolai 
 Petrovitch had already succeeded in falling head 
 over ears in love with her. Before the end of the 
 dinner he rose, and taking his wine-glass in hand, 
 he addressed himself to Pavel Petrovitch : 
 
 " Thou art leaving us ... . thou art leaving 
 
 346
 
 FATIIKUS AM) C Illl.DUKX 
 
 us, my (k'iir brother,"- Ir- l)C'^aii: " ol ((hhm-, 
 not for lontr; hut, ru'vi rlluliss, I caiiiiol r( finiii 
 from expressing to tliee thai I . . . . I hat wo 
 . . . . so far as I .... so far as \\v .... 
 That 's the diffieulty, that \\e do not know liou to 
 make speeehes! .iVrkady, do tlioii s|MakI" 
 
 " No. ])apa, I am not |)rc paird. " 
 
 " And I pre])ared myself finely! .Simplx tluii. 
 brother, permit me to embraee thee, to wish thee 
 all that is good, and retni-n to us as sj)rcdily ;is 
 possible! " 
 
 Pavel Petroviteh kissed all present, not cxelud- 
 ing Mitya, of course; over and above this, he 
 kissed Fenitchka's hand, which siie did not know 
 how to offer properly, and draining his glass, 
 which had \)een filled for the second time, he said, 
 with a profound sigh: "Be happy, my friends! 
 Fareicell!" — This English tail to his sj)eeeh 
 passed unnoticed, but all were touelied. 
 
 " In memory of BazarofF," — whispered Katya 
 in her husband's ear, as she clinked glasses with 
 him. In reply, Arkady ])ressed her hand warnd\ . 
 but could not bring himself to pro})ose tiiat toast 
 aloud. 
 
 This would appear to be the end ^ But jkt- 
 chance some one of our readers would like to 
 know what each one of the persons whom \\i- have 
 introduced is doing now, precisely at the |)re.sent 
 moment. We are ready to gratify hiin. 
 
 Anna Sergyeevna has recently married, not for 
 
 347
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 love, but from conviction, one of the future promi- 
 nent men of Russia, a very clever man, a lawyer 
 with strong practical sense, a firm will, and a re- 
 markable gift of words,— a man who is still 
 young, kind, and cold as ice. They live on good 
 terms with each other, and will, in all probability, 
 attain to happiness . . . perchance to love. Prin- 
 cess X. . . has died, forgotten on the very day of 
 her death. The KirsanofF's. father and son, have 
 settled down in Marino. Their affairs are begin- 
 ning to right themselves. Arkady has become an 
 ardent farmer, and the " farm " already yields 
 a fairly large income. Nikolai Petrovitch has 
 been made an Arbitrator of the Peace, ^ and toils 
 with all his might; he is incessantly travelling 
 about over his section ; he makes long speeches ( he 
 is of the opinion that the peasants must be 
 " taught," that is to say, they must be reduced to 
 a state of exhaustion by frequent repetition of one 
 and the same set of words), and, nevertheless, to 
 tell the truth, he does not wholly satisfy either 
 the cultivated nobles, who talk now with chic and 
 again with melancholy, about the wawcipation 
 (pronouncing the man through their noses), nor 
 the uneducated nobles, who unceremoniously re- 
 vile " thot 77i?/7?cipation." He is too tender to suit 
 either party. A son, Kolya, has been born to 
 
 1 A class of officials, appointed after the emancipation of the serfs, 
 to adjust the questions which arose between the landed proprietors 
 :ind the serfs as to the division of the land.— Translator. 
 
 348
 
 FATTIKKS AM) CI I I 1 Din^X 
 
 Katerina Sorgyecx iia. and .Milya is already run- 
 ning about like a fine, dasliin^' I'clluw, and chat- 
 ters volubly. I^Y'nitclika ( Ft-dosya \ ik<)l;i(\ ua ) 
 adores no one— ai'ter Ik r husband and son so 
 much as her (lau<>htei--in-la\\ , and wlun Iht- hitter 
 seats herself at the ])iau() she is delinhlcd not to 
 leave her all day loiii)-. l?y the way. let us niaki- 
 mention of Piotr. lie has stiffened up I'oi- o()o(|. 
 with stupidity and j)()nii)()usness, pronomiirs 
 every c like in: tiupiur, ()J)inzpiiitc}iiini,^ but he 
 also has married, and aecjuired a \ery respeetable 
 dowry with his bride, the daughter of a market- 
 gardener in the town, who refused two fine suit- 
 ors, merely because they did not possess watches: 
 but Piotr not only had a watch, but patent-leather 
 half -boots into the bargain. 
 
 In Dresden, on the Briihl terrace, between two 
 and four o'clock, at the most fashional)le time for 
 promenading, you may meet a man about fifty 
 years of age, who is already c()mj)letely grew and 
 seems to be suffering from gout, l)ut is still hand- 
 some, elegantly attired, and with that peculiar 
 stamp which a man ac(]uires only by long asso- 
 ciation with the highest classes of society. 'IMiis 
 man is Pavel Petrovitch. He has (juitted Mos- 
 cow and gone abroad to restore liis health, and 
 has taken up his residence in Dresden, where he 
 consorts mostly with the Knglish and w ith travel- 
 
 1 Instead of /f per (now'); ohezpe'trhtn {\^n^\\AcA furl Th^ksi^toii 
 
 3H>
 
 FATHERS AND CIIIT.DREN 
 
 ling Russians. With the Enghsh, his manner is 
 simple, abiiost modest, yet not lacking in dignity; 
 they find him rather tiresome, but respect in him 
 a perfect gentleman. With the Russians he is 
 more at his ease, gives free play to his bile, sneers 
 at himself and at them ; but all this is very charm- 
 ing, and careless, and decorous, as he does it. He 
 entertains Slavyan()})hil views: every one knows 
 that this is considered Ires distingue in the upper 
 circles. He never reads anything in Russian, but 
 on his writing-table there is a silver ash-tray in 
 the form of a peasant's bast slipj^er. Our tourists 
 run after him a great deal. INIatvyei Hitch Kol- 
 yazin, when he was in temporary opposition, paid 
 him a majestic visit, as he was passing through 
 on his way to a Bohemian watering-place; and 
 the natives, with whom, however, he has very little 
 to do, fairly revere him. Xo one can obtain a 
 ticket for the Court Choir, the theatre, and so 
 forth, so easily and so quickly as der Ilerr Baron 
 von Kirsdnoff. He always does as much' good as 
 can; he still makes some noise: not for nothing 
 had he once been a lion;— but life is painful for 
 him — more painful than he himself suspects. 
 . . . One needs but to watch him in the Russian 
 church, when, leaning against the wall, apart, he 
 falls into thought, and does not move for a long 
 time, bitterly setting his teeth, then suddenly he 
 comes to himself, and begins, almost imperce])ti- 
 l)ly, to cross himself. . . . 
 
 Madame Kukshin also has gone abroad. She 
 
 350
 
 FATIIKHS AM) CIIII.DHKN 
 
 is now in Ilt'idelber*^', and is sliidyini;- the natinal 
 sciences no more, but aivhitcctuir, in wliicli. ac- 
 cording to her statement, she has thscovcred new 
 laws. As of yore, she liaunts tlie society of stu- 
 dents, especially that oi' the youiii;- Kussian j)hysi- 
 cists and cliemists, with whom I Icidclherg is filled, 
 and who, after at first ama/ing the simple-minded 
 German professors with their sober views of 
 things, afterward ama/e those same ])rofessors 
 with their utter idleness and absolute laziness. 
 With two or three chemists of this description, 
 who cannot distinguish oxygen from niti-ogen, 
 but are filled full of self-abnegation and resix-et 
 for themselves, and with the great Kli.syevitch. 
 Sitnikoff, who also is preparing to be great, is 
 sauntering about Petersburg, and, according to 
 his own statement, is carrying on lia/aroff's 
 " cause." It is said that some one recently ga\ c 
 him a thrashing, but he did not remain in debt: 
 in an obscure little article, inserted in an ob- 
 scure little newspaper, he hinted that the man \\ Im 
 had thrashed him was a coward. He calls this 
 irony. His father torments him, as of yore, and 
 his wife considers him a fool . . . and a literai\ 
 man. 
 
 There is a small village cemetery In one of the 
 remote corners oi' Russia. Like almost all otn 
 cemeteries, it ])resents a sorry as|)ect : the trench 
 which surrounds it has longsiiu'c bee?i o\( rgrown: 
 the grey wooden crosses have (lrooi>ed and are rot- 
 ting beneath their ])enthouses. which once wen 
 
 Sol
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN 
 
 painted ; tlie stone slabs are all out of place, as 
 though some one were thrusting them up from be- 
 low; two or three deruuled trees barely afford a 
 scanty shade; shee]) wander unchecked over the 
 graves. — But among these there is one, which no 
 man touches, which no beast tramples on: only 
 the birds alight u})()n it and carol at the dawn. 
 An iron railing surrounds it; two young fir-trees 
 are ])lanted at each end of it : Evgeny Bazaroff is 
 })uried in that grave. Thither, from the hamlet 
 hard by, two old people, already decrepit — hus- 
 band and wife — come frequently. Supporting 
 each other, they advance with painful tread ; they 
 approach the railing, fall upon their knees, and 
 \veep long and bitterly, and gaze long and atten- 
 tively at the dumb stone, beneath which lies their 
 son ; they exchange a brief word, remove the dust 
 from the stone, adjust the branches of the fir- 
 trees, and again fall to praying, and cannot quit 
 that spot, where they seem to be nearer to their 
 son, to their memories of him. . . Can it be that 
 their prayers, their tears, are fruitless? Can it be 
 that love, holy, devoted love, is not all-powerful? 
 Oh, no! However passionate, sinful, rebellious, 
 may be the heart which has taken refuge in the 
 grave, the flowers which grow upon it gaze tran- 
 quilly at us with their innocent eyes: not alone of 
 eternal repose do they s])eak to us, of that great 
 repose of " indifferent " nature; they speak also 
 of eternal reconciliation and of life everlasting. . . 
 
 352
 
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