Fathers and Children

  CHAPTER V

  The next morning Bazarov woke up earlier than any one and went out ofthe house. 'Oh, my!' he thought, looking about him, 'the little placeisn't much to boast of!' When Nikolai Petrovitch had divided the landwith his peasants, he had had to build his new manor-house on fouracres of perfectly flat and barren land. He had built a house, offices,and farm buildings, laid out a garden, dug a pond, and sunk two wells;but the young trees had not done well, very little water had collectedin the pond, and that in the wells tasted brackish. Only one arbour oflilac and acacia had grown fairly well; they sometimes had tea anddinner in it. In a few minutes Bazarov had traversed all the littlepaths of the garden; he went into the cattle-yard and the stable,routed out two farm-boys, with whom he made friends at once, and setoff with them to a small swamp about a mile from the house to look forfrogs.

  'What do you want frogs for, sir?' one of the boys asked him.

  'I'll tell you what for,' answered Bazarov, who possessed the specialfaculty of inspiring confidence in people of a lower class, though henever tried to win them, and behaved very casually with them; 'I shallcut the frog open, and see what's going on in his inside, and then, asyou and I are much the same as frogs, only that we walk on legs, Ishall know what's going on inside us too.'

  'And what do you want to know that for?'

  'So as not to make a mistake, if you're taken ill, and I have to cureyou.'

  'Are you a doctor then?'

  'Yes.'

  'Vaska, do you hear, the gentleman says you and I are the same asfrogs, that's funny!'

  'I'm afraid of frogs,' observed Vaska, a boy of seven, with a head aswhite as flax, and bare feet, dressed in a grey smock with a stand-upcollar.

  'What is there to be afraid of? Do they bite?'

  'There, paddle into the water, philosophers,' said Bazarov.

  Meanwhile Nikolai Petrovitch too had waked up, and gone in to seeArkady, whom he found dressed. The father and son went out on to theterrace under the shelter of the awning; near the balustrade, on thetable, among great bunches of lilacs, the samovar was already boiling.A little girl came up, the same who had been the first to meet them atthe steps on their arrival the evening before. In a shrill voice shesaid--

  'Fedosya Nikolaevna is not quite well, she cannot come; she gave ordersto ask you, will you please to pour out tea yourself, or should shesend Dunyasha?'

  'I will pour out myself, myself,' interposed Nikolai Petrovitchhurriedly. 'Arkady, how do you take your tea, with cream, or withlemon?'

  'With cream,' answered Arkady; and after a brief silence, he utteredinterrogatively, 'Daddy?'

  Nikolai Petrovitch in confusion looked at his son.

  'Well?' he said.

  Arkady dropped his eyes.

  'Forgive me, dad, if my question seems unsuitable to you,' he began,'but you yourself, by your openness yesterday, encourage me to be open... you will not be angry ...?'

  'Go on.'

  'You give me confidence to ask you.... Isn't the reason, Fen ... isn'tthe reason she will not come here to pour out tea, because I'm here?'

  Nikolai Petrovitch turned slightly away.

  'Perhaps,' he said, at last, 'she supposes ... she is ashamed.'

  Arkady turned a rapid glance on his father.

  'She has no need to be ashamed. In the first place, you are aware of myviews' (it was very sweet to Arkady to utter that word); 'and secondly,could I be willing to hamper your life, your habits in the least thing?Besides, I am sure you could not make a bad choice; if you have allowedher to live under the same roof with you, she must be worthy of it; inany case, a son cannot judge his father,--least of all, I, and least ofall such a father who, like you, has never hampered my liberty inanything.'

  Arkady's voice had been shaky at the beginning; he felt himselfmagnanimous, though at the same time he realised he was deliveringsomething of the nature of a lecture to his father; but the sound ofone's own voice has a powerful effect on any man, and Arkady broughtout his last words resolutely, even with emphasis.

  'Thanks, Arkasha,' said Nikolai Petrovitch thickly, and his fingersagain strayed over his eyebrows and forehead. 'Your suppositions arejust in fact. Of course, if this girl had not deserved.... It is not afrivolous caprice. It's not easy for me to talk to you about this; butyou will understand that it is difficult for her to come here, in yourpresence, especially the first day of your return.'

  'In that case I will go to her,' cried Arkady, with a fresh rush ofmagnanimous feeling, and he jumped up from his seat. 'I will explain toher that she has no need to be ashamed before me.'

  Nikolai Petrovitch too got up.

  'Arkady,' he began, 'be so good ... how can ... there ... I have nottold you yet ...'

  But Arkady did not listen to him, and ran off the terrace. NikolaiPetrovitch looked after him, and sank into his chair overcome byconfusion. His heart began to throb. Did he at that moment realise theinevitable strangeness of the future relations between him and his son?Was he conscious that Arkady would perhaps have shown him more respectif he had never touched on this subject at all? Did he reproach himselffor weakness?--it is hard to say; all these feelings were within him,but in the state of sensations--and vague sensations--while the flushdid not leave his face, and his heart throbbed.

  There was the sound of hurrying footsteps, and Arkady came on to theterrace. 'We have made friends, dad!' he cried, with an expression of akind of affectionate and good-natured triumph on his face. 'FedosyaNikolaevna is not quite well to-day really, and she will come a littlelater. But why didn't you tell me I had a brother? I should have kissedhim last night, as I have kissed him just now.'

  Nikolai Petrovitch tried to articulate something, tried to get up andopen his arms. Arkady flung himself on his neck.

  'What's this? embracing again?' sounded the voice of Pavel Petrovitchbehind them.

  Father and son were equally rejoiced at his appearance at that instant;there are positions, genuinely affecting, from which one longs toescape as soon as possible.

  'Why should you be surprised at that?' said Nikolai Petrovitch gaily.'Think what ages I have been waiting for Arkasha. I've not had time toget a good look at him since yesterday.'

  'I'm not at all surprised,' observed Pavel Petrovitch; 'I feel notindisposed to be embracing him myself.'

  Arkady went up to his uncle, and again felt his cheeks caressed by hisperfumed moustache. Pavel Petrovitch sat down to the table. He wore anelegant morning suit in the English style, and a gay little fez on hishead. This fez and the carelessly tied little cravat carried asuggestion of the freedom of country life, but the stiff collars of hisshirt--not white, it is true, but striped, as is correct in morningdress--stood up as inexorably as ever against his well-shaved chin.

  'Where's your new friend?' he asked Arkady.

  'He's not in the house; he usually gets up early and goes offsomewhere. The great thing is, we mustn't pay any attention to him; hedoesn't like ceremony.'

  'Yes, that's obvious.' Pavel Petrovitch began deliberately spreadingbutter on his bread. 'Is he going to stay long with us?'

  'Perhaps. He came here on the way to his father's.'

  'And where does his father live?'

  'In our province, sixty-four miles from here. He has a small propertythere. He was formerly an army doctor.'

  'Tut, tut, tut! To be sure, I kept asking myself, "Where have I heardthat name, Bazarov?" Nikolai, do you remember, in our father's divisionthere was a surgeon Bazarov?'

  'I believe there was.'

  'Yes, yes, to be sure. So that surgeon was his father. Hm!' PavelPetrovitch pulled his moustaches. 'Well, and what is Mr. Bazarovhimself?' he asked, deliberately.

  'What is Bazarov?' Arkady smiled. 'Would you like me, uncle, to tellyou what he really is?'

  'If you will be so good, nephew.'

  'He's a nihilist.'

  'Eh?' inquired Nikolai Petrovitch, while Pavel Petrovitch lilted aknife in the air with a small piece of butter on its tip, and remainedmotionles
s.

  'He's a nihilist,' repeated Arkady.

  'A nihilist,' said Nikolai Petrovitch. 'That's from the Latin, _nihil_,_nothing_, as far as I can judge; the word must mean a man who ... whoaccepts nothing?'

  'Say, "who respects nothing,"' put in Pavel Petrovitch, and he set towork on the butter again.

  'Who regards everything from the critical point of view,' observedArkady.

  'Isn't that just the same thing?' inquired Pavel Petrovitch.

  'No, it's not the same thing. A nihilist is a man who does not bow downbefore any authority, who does not take any principle on faith,whatever reverence that principle may be enshrined in.'

  'Well, and is that good?' interrupted Pavel Petrovitch.

  'That depends, uncle. Some people it will do good to, but some peoplewill suffer for it.'

  'Indeed. Well, I see it's not in our line. We are old-fashioned people;we imagine that without principles, taken as you say on faith, there'sno taking a step, no breathing. _Vous avez change tout cela_. God giveyou good health and the rank of a general, while we will be content tolook on and admire, worthy ... what was it?'

  'Nihilists,' Arkady said, speaking very distinctly.

  'Yes. There used to be Hegelists, and now there are nihilists. We shallsee how you will exist in void, in vacuum; and now ring, please,brother Nikolai Petrovitch; it's time I had my cocoa.'

  Nikolai Petrovitch rang the bell and called, 'Dunyasha!' But instead ofDunyasha, Fenitchka herself came on to the terrace. She was a youngwoman about three-and-twenty, with a white soft skin, dark hair andeyes, red, childishly-pouting lips, and little delicate hands. She worea neat print dress; a new blue kerchief lay lightly on her plumpshoulders. She carried a large cup of cocoa, and setting it down beforePavel Petrovitch, she was overwhelmed with confusion: the hot bloodrushed in a wave of crimson over the delicate skin of her pretty face.She dropped her eyes, and stood at the table, leaning a little on thevery tips of her fingers. It seemed as though she were ashamed ofhaving come in, and at the same time felt that she had a right to come.

  Pavel Petrovitch knitted his brows severely, while Nikolai Petrovitchlooked embarrassed.

  'Good morning, Fenitchka,' he muttered through his teeth.

  'Good morning,' she replied in a voice not loud but resonant, and witha sidelong glance at Arkady, who gave her a friendly smile, she wentgently away. She walked with a slightly rolling gait, but even thatsuited her.

  For some minutes silence reigned on the terrace. Pavel Petrovitchsipped his cocoa; suddenly he raised his head. 'Here is Sir Nihilistcoming towards us,' he said in an undertone.

  Bazarov was in fact approaching through the garden, stepping over theflower-beds. His linen coat and trousers were besmeared with mud;clinging marsh weed was twined round the crown of his old round hat; inhis right hand he held a small bag; in the bag something alive wasmoving. He quickly drew near the terrace, and said with a nod, 'Goodmorning, gentlemen; sorry I was late for tea; I'll be back directly; Imust just put these captives away.'

  'What have you there--leeches?' asked Pavel Petrovitch.

  'No, frogs.'

  'Do you eat them--or keep them?'

  'For experiment,' said Bazarov indifferently, and he went off into thehouse.

  'So he's going to cut them up,' observed Pavel Petrovitch. 'He has nofaith in principles, but he has faith in frogs.'

  Arkady looked compassionately at his uncle; Nikolai Petrovitch shruggedhis shoulders stealthily. Pavel Petrovitch himself felt that hisepigram was unsuccessful, and began to talk about husbandry and the newbailiff, who had come to him the evening before to complain that alabourer, Foma, 'was deboshed,' and quite unmanageable. 'He's such anAesop,' he said among other things; 'in all places he has protestedhimself a worthless fellow; he's not a man to keep his place; he'llwalk off in a huff like a fool.'