Fathers and Children

  CHAPTER VII

  Pavel Petrovitch Kirsanov was educated first at home, like his youngerbrother, and afterwards in the Corps of Pages. From childhood he wasdistinguished by remarkable beauty; moreover he was self-confident,somewhat ironical, and had a rather biting humour; he could not fail toplease. He began to be seen everywhere, directly he had received hiscommission as an officer. He was much admired in society, and heindulged every whim, even every caprice and every folly, and gavehimself airs, but that too was attractive in him. Women went out oftheir senses over him; men called him a coxcomb, and were secretlyjealous of him. He lived, as has been related already, in the sameapartments as his brother, whom he loved sincerely, though he was notat all like him. Nikolai Petrovitch was a little lame, he had small,pleasing features of a rather melancholy cast, small, black eyes, andthin, soft hair; he liked being lazy, but he also liked reading, andwas timid in society.

  Pavel Petrovitch did not spend a single evening at home, prided himselfon his ease and audacity (he was just bringing gymnastics into fashionamong young men in society), and had read in all some five or sixFrench books. At twenty-eight he was already a captain; a brilliantcareer awaited him. Suddenly everything was changed.

  At that time, there was sometimes seen in Petersburg society a womanwho has even yet not been forgotten. Princess R----. She had awell-educated, well-bred, but rather stupid husband, and no children.She used suddenly to go abroad, and suddenly return to Russia, and ledan eccentric life in general. She had the reputation of being afrivolous coquette, abandoned herself eagerly to every sort ofpleasure, danced to exhaustion, laughed and jested with young men, whomshe received in the dim light of her drawing-room before dinner; whileat night she wept and prayed, found no peace in anything, and oftenpaced her room till morning, wringing her hands in anguish, or sat,pale and chill, over a psalter. Day came, and she was transformed againinto a grand lady; again she went out, laughed, chattered, and simplyflung herself headlong into anything which could afford her theslightest distraction. She was marvellously well-proportioned, her haircoloured like gold and heavy as gold hung below her knees, but no onewould have called her a beauty; in her whole face the only good pointwas her eyes, and even her eyes were not good--they were grey, and notlarge--but their glance was swift and deep, unconcerned to the point ofaudacity, and thoughtful to the point of melancholy--an enigmaticglance. There was a light of something extraordinary in them, evenwhile her tongue was lisping the emptiest of inanities. She dressedwith elaborate care. Pavel Petrovitch met her at a ball, danced amazurka with her, in the course of which she did not utter a singlerational word, and fell passionately in love with her. Being accustomedto make conquests, in this instance, too, he soon attained his object,but his easy success did not damp his ardour. On the contrary, he wasin still more torturing, still closer bondage to this woman, in whom,even at the very moment when she surrendered herself utterly, thereseemed always something still mysterious and unattainable, to whichnone could penetrate. What was hidden in that soul--God knows! Itseemed as though she were in the power of mysterious forces,incomprehensible even to herself; they seemed to play on her at will;her intellect was not powerful enough to master their caprices. Herwhole behaviour presented a series of inconsistencies; the only letterswhich could have awakened her husband's just suspicions, she wrote to aman who was almost a stranger to her, whilst her love had always anelement of melancholy; with a man she had chosen as a lover, she ceasedto laugh and to jest, she listened to him, and gazed at him with a lookof bewilderment. Sometimes, for the most part suddenly, thisbewilderment passed into chill horror; her face took a wild, death-likeexpression; she locked herself up in her bedroom, and her maid, puttingher ear to the keyhole, could hear her smothered sobs. More than once,as he went home after a tender interview, Kirsanov felt within him thatheartrending, bitter vexation which follows on a total failure.

  'What more do I want?' he asked himself, while his heart was heavy. Heonce gave her a ring with a sphinx engraved on the stone.

  'What's that?' she asked; 'a sphinx?'

  'Yes,' he answered, 'and that sphinx is you.'

  'I?' she queried, and slowly raising her enigmatical glance upon him.'Do you know that's awfully flattering?' she added with a meaninglesssmile, while her eyes still kept the same strange look.

  Pavel Petrovitch suffered even while Princess R---- loved him; but whenshe grew cold to him, and that happened rather quickly, he almost wentout of his mind. He was on the rack, and he was jealous; he gave her nopeace, followed her about everywhere; she grew sick of his pursuit ofher, and she went abroad. He resigned his commission in spite of theentreaties of his friends and the exhortations of his superiors, andfollowed the princess; four years he spent in foreign countries, at onetime pursuing her, at another time intentionally losing sight of her.He was ashamed of himself, he was disgusted with his own lack of spirit... but nothing availed. Her image, that incomprehensible, almostmeaningless, but bewitching image, was deeply rooted in his heart. AtBaden he once more regained his old footing with her; it seemed asthough she had never loved him so passionately ... but in a month itwas all at an end: the flame flickered up for the last time and wentout for ever. Foreseeing inevitable separation, he wanted at least toremain her friend, as though friendship with such a woman waspossible.... She secretly left Baden, and from that time steadilyavoided Kirsanov. He returned to Russia, and tried to live his formerlife again; but he could not get back into the old groove. He wanderedfrom place to place like a man possessed; he still went into society;he still retained the habits of a man of the world; he could boast oftwo or three fresh conquests; but he no longer expected anything muchof himself or of others, and he undertook nothing. He grew old andgrey; spending all his evenings at the club, jaundiced and bored, andarguing in bachelor society became a necessity for him--a bad sign, aswe all know. Marriage, of course, he did not even think of. Ten yearspassed in this way; they passed by colourless and fruitless--andquickly, fearfully quickly. Nowhere does time fly past as in Russia; inprison they say it flies even faster. One day at dinner at the club,Pavel Petrovitch heard of the death of the Princess R----. She had diedat Paris in a state bordering on insanity.

  He got up from the table, and a long time he paced about the rooms ofthe club, or stood stockstill near the card-players, but he did not gohome earlier than usual. Some time later he received a packet addressedto him; in it was the ring he had given the princess. She had drawnlines in the shape of a cross over the sphinx and sent him word thatthe solution of the enigma--was the cross.

  This happened at the beginning of the year 1848, at the very time whenNikolai Petrovitch came to Petersburg, after the loss of his wife.Pavel Petrovitch had scarcely seen his brother since the latter hadsettled in the country; the marriage of Nikolai Petrovitch hadcoincided with the very first days of Pavel Petrovitch's acquaintancewith the princess. When he came back from abroad, he had gone to himwith the intention of staying a couple of months with him, insympathetic enjoyment of his happiness, but he had only succeeded instanding a week of it. The difference in the positions of the twobrothers was too great. In 1848, this difference had grown less;Nikolai Petrovitch had lost his wife, Pavel Petrovitch had lost hismemories; after the death of the princess he tried not to think of her.But to Nikolai, there remained the sense of a well-spent life, his sonwas growing up under his eyes; Pavel, on the contrary, a solitarybachelor, was entering upon that indefinite twilight period of regretsthat are akin to hopes, and hopes that are akin to regrets, when youthis over, while old age has not yet come.

  This time was harder for Pavel Petrovitch than for another man; inlosing his past, he lost everything.

  'I will not invite you to Maryino now,' Nikolai Petrovitch said to himone day, (he had called his property by that name in honour of hiswife); 'you were dull there in my dear wife's time, and now I think youwould be bored to death.'

  'I was stupid and fidgety then,' answered Pavel Petrovitch; 'since thenI have grown quieter, if not wis
er. On the contrary, now, if you willlet me, I am ready to settle with you for good.'

  For all answer Nikolai Petrovitch embraced him; but a year and a halfpassed after this conversation, before Pavel Petrovitch made up hismind to carry out his intention. When he was once settled in thecountry, however, he did not leave it, even during the three winterswhich Nikolai Petrovitch spent in Petersburg with his son. He began toread, chiefly English; he arranged his whole life, roughly speaking, inthe English style, rarely saw the neighbours, and only went out to theelection of marshals, where he was generally silent, only occasionallyannoying and alarming land-owners of the old school by his liberalsallies, and not associating with the representatives of the youngergeneration. Both the latter and the former considered him 'stuck up';and both parties respected him for his fine aristocratic manners; forhis reputation for successes in love; for the fact that he was verywell dressed and always stayed in the best room in the best hotel; forthe fact that he generally dined well, and had once even dined withWellington at Louis Philippe's table; for the fact that he always tookeverywhere with him a real silver dressing-case and a portable bath;for the fact that he always smelt of some exceptionally 'good form'scent; for the fact that he played whist in masterly fashion, andalways lost; and lastly, they respected him also for his incorruptiblehonesty. Ladies considered him enchantingly romantic, but he did notcultivate ladies' acquaintance....

  'So you see, Yevgeny,' observed Arkady, as he finished his story, 'howunjustly you judge of my uncle! To say nothing of his having more thanonce helped my father out of difficulties, given him all his money--theproperty, perhaps you don't know, wasn't divided--he's glad to help anyone, among other things he always sticks up for the peasants; it'strue, when he talks to them he frowns and sniffs eau de cologne.' ...

  'His nerves, no doubt,' put in Bazarov.

  'Perhaps; but his heart is very good. And he's far from being stupid.What useful advice he has given me especially ... especially in regardto relations with women.'

  'Aha! a scalded dog fears cold water, we know that!'

  'In short,' continued Arkady, 'he's profoundly unhappy, believe me;it's a sin to despise him.'

  'And who does despise him?' retorted Bazarov. 'Still, I must say that afellow who stakes his whole life on one card--a woman's love--and whenthat card fails, turns sour, and lets himself go till he's fit fornothing, is not a man, but a male. You say he's unhappy; you ought toknow best; to be sure, he's not got rid of all his fads. I'm convincedthat he solemnly imagines himself a superior creature because he readsthat wretched _Galignani_, and once a month saves a peasant from aflogging.'

  'But remember his education, the age in which he grew up,' observedArkady.

  'Education?' broke in Bazarov. 'Every man must educate himself, just asI've done, for instance.... And as for the age, why should I depend onit? Let it rather depend on me. No, my dear fellow, that's allshallowness, want of backbone! And what stuff it all is, about thesemysterious relations between a man and woman? We physiologists knowwhat these relations are. You study the anatomy of the eye; where doesthe enigmatical glance you talk about come in there? That's allromantic, nonsensical, aesthetic rot. We had much better go and look atthe beetle.'

  And the two friends went off to Bazarov's room, which was alreadypervaded by a sort of medico-surgical odour, mingled with the smell ofcheap tobacco.