Fathers and Children, Ivan Turgenev [best book reader .TXT] 📗

Katerina Sergyevna, do you know, that’s really an insult?”

“Why, would you like to be a wild⁠—”

“Not wild, but strong, full of force.”

“It’s no good wishing for that.⁠ ⁠… Your friend, you see, doesn’t wish for it, but he has it.”

“Hm! So you imagine he had a great influence on Anna Sergyevna?”

“Yes. But no one can keep the upper hand of her for long,” added Katya in a low voice.

“Why do you think that?”

“She’s very proud.⁠ ⁠… I didn’t mean that⁠ ⁠… she values her independence a great deal.”

“Who doesn’t value it?” asked Arkady, and the thought flashed through his mind, “What good is it?” “What good is it?” it occurred to Katya to wonder too. When young people are often together on friendly terms, they are constantly stumbling on the same ideas.

Arkady smiled, and, coming slightly closer to Katya, he said in a whisper, “Confess that you are a little afraid of her.”

“Of whom?”

“Her,” repeated Arkady significantly.

“And how about you?” Katya asked in her turn.

“I am too, observe I said, I am too.”

Katya threatened him with her finger. “I wonder at that,” she began; “my sister has never felt so friendly to you as just now; much more so than when you first came.”

“Really!”

“Why, haven’t you noticed it? Aren’t you glad of it?”

Arkady grew thoughtful.

“How have I succeeded in gaining Anna Sergyevna’s good opinion? Wasn’t it because I brought her your mother’s letters?”

“Both that and other causes, which I shan’t tell you.”

“Why?”

“I shan’t say.”

“Oh! I know; you’re very obstinate.”

“Yes, I am.”

“And observant.”

Katya gave Arkady a sidelong look. “Perhaps so; does that irritate you? What are you thinking of?”

“I am wondering how you have come to be as observant as in fact you are. You are so shy so reserved; you keep everyone at a distance.”

“I have lived a great deal alone; that drives one to reflection. But do I really keep everyone at a distance?”

Arkady flung a grateful glance at Katya.

“That’s all very well,” he pursued; “but people in your position⁠—I mean in your circumstances⁠—don’t often have that faculty; it is hard for them, as it is for sovereigns, to get at the truth.”

“But, you see, I am not rich.”

Arkady was taken aback, and did not at once understand Katya. “Why, of course, the property’s all her sister’s!” struck him suddenly; the thought was not unpleasing to him. “How nicely you said that!” he commented.

“What?”

“You said it nicely, simply, without being ashamed or making a boast of it. By the way, I imagine there must always be something special, a kind of pride of a sort in the feeling of any man, who knows and says he is poor.”

“I have never experienced anything of that sort, thanks to my sister. I only referred to my position just now because it happened to come up.”

“Well; but you must own you have a share of that pride I spoke of just now.”

“For instance?”

“For instance, you⁠—forgive the question⁠—you wouldn’t marry a rich man, I fancy, would you?”

“If I loved him very much.⁠ ⁠… No, I think even then I wouldn’t marry him.”

“There! you see!” cried Arkady, and after a short pause he added, “And why wouldn’t you marry him?”

“Because even in the ballads unequal matches are always unlucky.”

“You want to rule, perhaps, or⁠ ⁠…”

“Oh, no! why should I? On the contrary, I am ready to obey; only inequality is intolerable. To respect one’s self and obey, that I can understand, that’s happiness; but a subordinate existence⁠ ⁠… No, I’ve had enough of that as it is.”

“Enough of that as it is,” Arkady repeated after Katya. “Yes, yes,” he went on, “you’re not Anna Sergyevna’s sister for nothing; you’re just as independent as she is; but you’re more reserved. I’m certain you wouldn’t be the first to give expression to your feeling, however strong and holy it might be⁠ ⁠…”

“Well, what would you expect?” asked Katya.

“You’re equally clever; and you’ve as much, if not more, character than she.”

“Don’t compare me with my sister, please,” interposed Katya hurriedly; “that’s too much to my disadvantage. You seem to forget my sister’s beautiful and clever, and⁠ ⁠… you in particular, Arkady Nikolaevitch, ought not to say such things, and with such a serious face too.”

“What do you mean by ‘you in particular’⁠—and what makes you suppose I am joking?”

“Of course, you are joking.”

“You think so? But what if I’m persuaded of what I say? If I believe I have not put it strongly enough even?”

“I don’t understand you.”

“Really? Well, now I see; I certainly took you to be more observant than you are.”

“How?”

Arkady made no answer, and turned away, while Katya looked for a few more crumbs in the basket, and began throwing them to the sparrows; but she moved her arm too vigorously, and they flew away, without stopping to pick them up.

“Katerina Sergyevna!” began Arkady suddenly; “it’s of no consequence to you, probably; but, let me tell you, I put you not only above your sister, but above everyone in the world.”

He got up and went quickly away, as though he were frightened at the words that had fallen from his lips.

Katya let her two hands drop together with the basket on to her lap, and with bent head she stared a long while after Arkady. Gradually a crimson flush came faintly out upon her cheeks; but her lips did not smile and her dark eyes had a look of perplexity and some other, as yet undefined, feeling.

“Are you alone?” she heard the voice of Anna Sergyevna near her; “I thought you came into the garden with Arkady.”

Katya slowly raised her eyes to her sister (elegantly, even elaborately dressed, she was standing in the path and tickling Fifi’s ears with the tip of her open parasol), and slowly replied, “Yes, I’m alone.”

“So I see,” she answered with a smile; “I suppose he has gone to his room.”

“Yes.”

“Have you been reading together?”

“Yes.”

Anna Sergyevna took Katya by the chin and lifted her face up.

“You have not been quarrelling, I hope?”

“No,” said Katya, and she quietly removed her sister’s hand.

“How solemnly you answer! I expected to