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

“So you are thinking of making yourself a nest?” he said the same day to Arkady, as he packed his box, crouching on the floor. “Well, it’s a capital thing. But you needn’t have been such a humbug. I expected something from you in quite another quarter. Perhaps, though, it took you by surprise yourself?”

“I certainly didn’t expect this when I parted from you,” answered Arkady; “but why are you a humbug yourself, calling it ‘a capital thing,’ as though I didn’t know your opinion of marriage.”

“Ah, my dear fellow,” said Bazarov, “how you talk! You see what I’m doing; there seems to be an empty space in the box, and I am putting hay in; that’s how it is in the box of our life; we would stuff it up with anything rather than have a void. Don’t be offended, please; you remember, no doubt, the opinion I have always had of Katerina Sergyevna. Many a young lady’s called clever simply because she can sigh cleverly; but yours can hold her own, and, indeed, she’ll hold it so well that she’ll have you under her thumb⁠—to be sure, though, that’s quite as it ought to be.” He slammed the lid to, and got up from the floor. “And now, I say again, goodbye, for it’s useless to deceive ourselves⁠—we are parting for good, and you know that yourself⁠ ⁠… you have acted sensibly; you’re not made for our bitter, rough, lonely existence. There’s no dash, no hate in you, but you’ve the daring of youth and the fire of youth. Your sort, you gentry, can never get beyond refined submission or refined indignation, and that’s no good. You won’t fight⁠—and yet you fancy yourselves gallant chaps⁠—but we mean to fight. Oh well! Our dust would get into your eyes, our mud would bespatter you, but yet you’re not up to our level, you’re admiring yourselves unconsciously, you like to abuse yourselves; but we’re sick of that⁠—we want something else! we want to smash other people! You’re a capital fellow; but you’re a sugary, liberal snob for all that⁠—ay volla-too, as my parent is fond of saying.”

“You are parting from me forever, Yevgeny,” responded Arkady mournfully; “and have you nothing else to say to me?”

Bazarov scratched the back of his head. “Yes, Arkady, yes, I have other things to say to you, but I’m not going to say them, because that’s sentimentalism⁠—that means, mawkishness. And you get married as soon as you can; and build your nest, and get children to your heart’s content. They’ll have the wit to be born in a better time than you and me. Aha! I see the horses are ready. Time’s up! I’ve said goodbye to everyone.⁠ ⁠… What now? embracing, eh?”

Arkady flung himself on the neck of his former leader and friend, and the tears fairly gushed from his eyes.

“That’s what comes of being young!” Bazarov commented calmly. “But I rest my hopes on Katerina Sergyevna. You’ll see how quickly she’ll console you! Goodbye, brother!” he said to Arkady when he had got into the light cart, and, pointing to a pair of jackdaws sitting side by side on the stable roof, he added, “That’s for you! follow that example.”

“What does that mean?” asked Arkady.

“What? Are you so weak in natural history, or have you forgotten that the jackdaw is a most respectable family bird? An example to you!⁠ ⁠… Goodbye!”

The cart creaked and rolled away.

Bazarov had spoken truly. In talking that evening with Katya, Arkady completely forgot about his former teacher. He already began to follow her lead, and Katya was conscious of this, and not surprised at it. He was to set off the next day for Maryino, to see Nikolai Petrovitch. Anna Sergyevna was not disposed to put any constraint on the young people, and only on account of the proprieties did not leave them by themselves for too long together. She magnanimously kept the princess out of their way; the latter had been reduced to a state of tearful frenzy by the news of the proposed marriage. At first Anna Sergyevna was afraid the sight of their happiness might prove rather trying to herself, but it turned out quite the other way; this sight not only did not distress her, it interested her, it even softened her at last. Anna Sergyevna felt both glad and sorry at this. “It is clear that Bazarov was right,” she thought; “it has been curiosity, nothing but curiosity, and love of ease, and egoism⁠ ⁠…”

“Children,” she said aloud, “what do you say, is love a purely imaginary feeling?”

But neither Katya nor Arkady even understood her. They were shy with her; the fragment of conversation they had involuntarily overheard haunted their minds. But Anna Sergyevna soon set their minds at rest; and it was not difficult for her⁠—she had set her own mind at rest.

Bazarov’s old parents were all the more overjoyed by their son’s arrival, as it was quite unexpected. Arina Vlasyevna was greatly excited, and kept running backwards and forwards in the house, so that Vassily Ivanovitch compared her to a “hen partridge”; the short tail of her abbreviated jacket did, in fact, give her something of a birdlike appearance. He himself merely growled and gnawed the amber mouthpiece of his pipe, or, clutching his neck with his fingers, turned his head round, as though he were trying whether it were properly screwed on, then all at once he opened his wide mouth and went off into a perfectly noiseless chuckle.

“I’ve come to you for six whole weeks, governor,” Bazarov said to him. “I want to work, so please don’t hinder me now.”

“You shall forget my face completely, if you call that hindering you!” answered Vassily Ivanovitch.

He kept his promise. After installing his son as before in his study, he almost hid himself away from him, and he kept his wife from all superfluous demonstrations of tenderness. “On Enyusha’s first visit, my dear soul,” he said