We know approximately why bodily ailments occur. Essays

Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev
(1818 – 1883)

Fathers and Sons
Novel

The estate in which Anna Sergeevna lived stood on a gently sloping open hill, not far from the yellow stone church with a green roof, white columns and al fresco painting (fresco (French)) above the main entrance, representing the "Resurrection of Christ" in " Italian" taste. Particularly remarkable for its rounded contours was the dark-skinned warrior in a cone, stretched out in the foreground. Behind the church stretched in two rows a long village with here and there chimneys flickering above the thatched roofs. The manor's house was built in the same style as the church, in the style that is known among us under the name of Alexandrovsky; This house was also painted yellow, and had a green roof, white columns, and a pediment with a coat of arms. The provincial architect erected both buildings with the approval of the late Odintsov, who did not tolerate any empty and spontaneous, as he put it, innovations. The dark trees of an ancient garden adjoined the house on both sides, and an alley of trimmed fir trees led to the entrance.
Our friends were met in the hallway by two tall footmen in livery; one of them immediately ran after the butler. The butler, a fat man in a black tailcoat, immediately appeared and directed the guests up the carpeted staircase to special room, where there were already two beds with all toilet accessories. Order apparently reigned in the house: everything was clean, there was a decent smell everywhere, as if in ministerial reception rooms.
“Anna Sergeevna asks you to come to them in half an hour,” the butler reported. – Will there be any orders from you for now?
“There will be no orders, most respected,” answered Bazarov, “unless you deign to bring me a glass of vodka.”
“I’m listening, sir,” said the butler, not without bewilderment, and walked away, his boots creaking.
- What a grunge! - Bazarov noted, - I think that’s what you call it? Duchess, that's it.
“The duchess is good,” Arkady objected, “from the first time she invited such strong aristocrats as you and me.”
- Especially me, the future doctor, and the doctor’s son, and the sexton’s grandson... After all, you know that I am the grandson of the sexton?..
“Like Speransky,” added Bazarov after a short silence and curling his lips. “Still, she spoiled herself; oh, how this lady spoiled herself! Shouldn't we wear tailcoats?
Arkady just shrugged his shoulder... but he also felt a little embarrassed.
Half an hour later, Bazarov and Arkady went into the living room. It was a spacious, high room, decorated quite luxuriously, but without any particular taste. Heavy, expensive furniture stood in the usual prim order along the walls, upholstered in brown wallpaper with gold streaks; the late Odintsov ordered her from Moscow through his friend and commission agent, a wine merchant. Above the middle sofa hung a portrait of a flabby blond man - and it seemed to be looking unfriendly at the guests. “It must be on his own,” Bazarov whispered to Arkady and, wrinkling his nose, added: “Should I run away?” But at that moment the hostess entered. She was wearing a light barge dress; her hair combed smoothly behind her ears gave a girlish expression to her clean and fresh face.
“Thank you for keeping your word,” she began, “stay with me: it’s really not bad here.” I'll introduce you to my sister, she plays the piano well. It doesn’t matter to you, Monsieur Bazarov; but you, Monsieur Kirsanov, seem to love music; Besides my sister, I have an old aunt who lives with me, and a neighbor sometimes comes over to play cards: that’s our whole community. Now let's sit down.
Odintsova pronounced this entire little speech with particular clarity, as if she had learned it by heart; then she turned to Arkady. It turned out that her mother knew Arkady’s mother and was even the confidant of her love for Nikolai Petrovich. Arkady spoke passionately about the deceased; and Bazarov, meanwhile, began to look at the albums. “How humble I have become,” he thought to himself.
A beautiful greyhound dog with a blue collar ran into the living room, knocking its nails on the floor, and after her came a girl of about eighteen, black-haired and dark-skinned, with a somewhat round but pleasant face, with small dark eyes. She was holding a basket filled with flowers.
“Here’s my Katya,” said Odintsova, pointing at her with a movement of her head.
Katya sat down slightly, positioned herself next to her sister, and began sorting out the flowers. The greyhound dog, whose name was Fifi, approached the two guests in turn, wagging its tail, and poked each of them in the hand with its cold nose.
– Did you pick it all yourself? – Odintsova asked.
“On my own,” answered Katya.
- Will auntie come for tea?
- He will come.
When Katya spoke, she smiled very sweetly, shyly and frankly, and looked somehow funny and stern, from bottom to top. Everything about her was still young-green: her voice, the fluff all over her face, her pink hands with whitish circles on their palms, and her slightly compressed shoulders... She blushed incessantly and quickly took a breath.
Odintsova turned to Bazarov.
“You are looking at the pictures out of decency, Evgeny Vasilich,” she began. - It doesn't bother you. Better come over to us and let's argue about something.
Bazarov approached.
-What do you want, sir? - he said.
- About whatever you want. I warn you that I am a terrible debater.
- You?
– I am. This seems to surprise you. Why?
- Because, as far as I can judge, your disposition is calm and cold, and for an argument you need passion.
- How did you manage to recognize me so soon? First of all, I am impatient and persistent, better ask Katya; and secondly, I get carried away very easily.
Bazarov looked at Anna Sergeevna.
“Perhaps you should know better.” So, you want to argue, if you please. I looked at the views of Saxon Switzerland in your album, and you noticed to me that this could not occupy me. You said this because you don’t expect me to be artistic meaning, – yes, I really don’t have it in me; but these species could interest me from a geological point of view, from the point of view of mountain formation, for example.
- Sorry; as a geologist, you would rather resort to a book, a special essay, rather than a drawing.
– The drawing will clearly present to me what is presented in the book on ten whole pages.
Anna Sergeevna was silent.
– And yet you don’t have a bit of artistic sense? - she said, leaning her elbows on the table and with this very movement bringing her face closer to Bazarov. - How do you manage without him?
– What is it used for, may I ask?
- Yes, at least to be able to recognize and study people.
Bazarov grinned.
- Firstly, there is a reason for this life experience; and, secondly, let me tell you, studying individual personalities is not worth the trouble. All people are similar to each other both in body and soul; each of us has the same brain, spleen, heart, and lungs; and the so-called moral qualities the same for everyone: small modifications mean nothing. One human specimen is enough to judge all others. People are like trees in the forest; not a single botanist will study each individual birch tree.
Katya, who was slowly matching flower to flower, raised her eyes to Bazarov in bewilderment - and, meeting his quick and careless gaze, she flushed all the way to her ears. Anna Sergeevna shook her head.
“Trees in the forest,” she repeated. - So, in your opinion, there is no difference between stupid and smart person, between good and evil?
– No, there is: as between a sick person and a healthy person. A consumptive person’s lungs are not in the same position as yours and mine, although they are structured the same. We know approximately why bodily ailments occur; and moral illnesses come from bad upbringing, from all sorts of trifles that fill people’s heads from childhood, from the ugly state of society, in a word. Correct society and there will be no diseases.
Bazarov said all this with such an air, as if at the same time he was thinking to himself: “Believe me or don’t believe me, it’s all the same to me!” He slowly passed his long fingers across his sideburns, and his eyes darted around the corners.
“And you believe,” said Anna Sergeevna, “that when society corrects itself, there will no longer be either stupid or evil people?
- At least, with the correct structure of society, it will be completely equal whether a person is stupid or smart, evil or kind.
- Yes, I understand; everyone will have the same spleen.
- That's right, ma'am.
Odintsova turned to Arkady.
– What is your opinion, Arkady Nikolaevich?
“I agree with Evgeniy,” he answered.
Katya looked at him from under her brows.
“You surprise me, gentlemen,” said Odintsova, “but we will talk to you later.” And now, I hear auntie going to drink tea; we must spare her ears.
Anna Sergeevna's aunt, Princess H...ya, a thin and small woman with her face clenched into a fist and motionless with evil eyes under a gray overlay, she entered and, barely bowing to the guests, sank into a wide velvet chair, on which no one except her had the right to sit. Katya put a bench under her feet; The old woman did not thank her, did not even look at her, she only moved her hands under the yellow shawl that covered almost the entirety of her frail body. The princess loved yellow: She also had bright yellow ribbons on her cap.
- How did you rest, auntie? – Odintsova asked, raising her voice.
“That dog is here again,” the old woman grumbled in response and, noticing that Fifi took two hesitant steps in her direction, exclaimed: “Scram, scram!”
Katya called Fifi and opened the door for her.
Fifi happily rushed out, hoping that she would be taken for a walk, but, left alone outside the door, she began to scratch herself and squeal. The princess frowned, Katya wanted to go out...
– I think the tea is ready? - Odintsova said. - Gentlemen, let's go; Auntie, please have some tea.
The princess silently rose from her chair and was the first to leave the living room. Everyone followed her to the dining room. A Cossack man in livery noisily pushed away from the table a chair covered with pillows, also a treasured one, into which the princess sank; Katya, who was pouring tea, was the first to serve her a cup with a painted coat of arms. The old woman put honey in her cup (she thought that drinking tea with sugar was both sinful and expensive, although she herself did not spend a penny on anything) and suddenly asked in a hoarse voice:
– What does Prince Ivan write?
Nobody answered her. Bazarov and Arkady soon realized that they did not pay attention to her, although they treated her respectfully. “They keep it for the sake of importance, because they are princely offspring,” thought Bazarov... After tea, Anna Sergeevna suggested going for a walk; but it began to rain, and the whole company, with the exception of the princess, returned to the living room. A neighbor arrived, an amateur card game, named Porfiry Platonich, a plump, gray-haired man with short, precisely chiseled legs, very polite and funny. Anna Sergeevna, who was talking more and more with Bazarov, asked him if he wanted to fight them in the old-fashioned way in preference. Bazarov agreed, saying that he needed to prepare in advance for his upcoming position as a district doctor.
“Be careful,” Anna Sergeevna remarked, “Porfiry Platonich and I will defeat you.” And you, Katya,” she added, “play something for Arkady Nikolaevich; he loves music, by the way, we’ll listen.
Katya reluctantly approached the piano; and Arkady, although he definitely loved music, reluctantly followed her: it seemed to him that Odintsova was sending him away, but in his heart, like everyone else young man at his age, some vague and languid feeling was already brewing, similar to a premonition of love. Katya lifted the lid of the piano and, without looking at Arkady, said in a low voice:
- What should you play?
“Whatever you want,” Arkady answered indifferently.
– What kind of music do you like best? – Katya repeated without changing her position.
“Classical,” Arkady answered in the same voice.
– Do you like Mozart?
- I love Mozart.
Katya took out Mozart’s purest sonata-fantasy. She played very well, although a little stern and dry. Without taking her eyes off the notes and tightly clenching her lips, she sat motionless and straight, and only towards the end of the sonata her face became hot and a small strand of her hair fell on her dark eyebrow.
Arkady was especially struck by the last part of the sonata, that part in which, in the midst of the captivating gaiety of a carefree melody, gusts of such sad, almost tragic grief suddenly arise... But the thoughts aroused in him by the sounds of Mozart did not relate to Katya. Looking at her, he just thought: “But this young lady plays well, and she herself is not bad.”
Having finished the sonata, Katya, without moving her hands on the key, asked: “Is that enough?” Arkady announced that he did not dare bother her any more, and started talking to her about Mozart; I asked her whether she chose this sonata herself, or who recommended it to her? But Katya answered him in monosyllables: she hid, retreated into herself. When this happened to her, she did not come out quickly; Her very face then took on a stubborn, almost stupid expression. She was not only timid, but distrustful and a little intimidated by the sister who raised her, which, of course, she did not suspect. Arkady ended up calling Fifi, who had returned, and began stroking her head with a benevolent smile. Katya took up her flowers again.
And Bazarov, meanwhile, got back up and down. Anna Sergeevna played cards masterfully, Porfiry Platonich could also stand up for himself. Bazarov was left with a loss, although insignificant, but still not entirely pleasant for him. At dinner, Anna Sergeevna again started talking about botany.
“Let’s go for a walk tomorrow morning,” she told him, “I want to learn from you the Latin names of field plants and their properties.”
– What do you need Latin names for? - asked Bazarov.
“Everything needs order,” she answered.
“What a wonderful woman Anna Sergeevna is,” exclaimed Arkady, left alone with his friend in the room assigned to them.
“Yes,” answered Bazarov, “a woman with a brain.” Well, she's seen the sights.
- In what sense are you saying this, Evgeny Vasilich?
- IN in a good way, in a good way, my father, Arkady Nikolaich! I am sure that she manages her estate well. But the miracle is not she, but her sister.
- How? Is this one dark?
- Yes, this one is dark. It’s fresh, and untouched, and timid, and silent, and everything you want. Here's what you can do. From this you can make whatever you want; and that one is grated kalach.
Arkady did not answer Bazarov, and each of them went to bed with special thoughts in his head.
And Anna Sergeevna that evening thought about her guests. She liked Bazarov - for his lack of coquetry and the very harshness of his judgments. She saw something new in him that she had never encountered, and she was curious.
Anna Sergeevna was a rather strange creature. Having no prejudices, not even having any strong beliefs, she did not retreat from anything and did not go anywhere. She saw a lot clearly, a lot occupied her, and nothing completely satisfied her; Yes, she hardly even wanted complete satisfaction. Her mind was inquisitive and indifferent at the same time: her doubts never subsided to the point of forgetfulness and never grew to anxiety. If she had not been rich and independent, she might have rushed into battle, would have known passion... But life was easy for her, although she was bored at times, and she continued to pass day after day, slowly and only occasionally worrying. Rainbow colors sometimes lit up before her eyes, but she rested when they faded and did not regret them. Her imagination carried even beyond the limits of what is considered permissible according to the laws of ordinary morality; but even then her blood still flowed quietly in her charmingly slender and calm body. Sometimes, coming out of the fragrant bath, all warm and pampered, she would dream about the insignificance of life, about its grief, work and evil... Her soul would be filled with sudden courage, boil with a noble aspiration; but a draft wind will blow from the half-closed window, and Anna Sergeevna will shrink all over, and complain, and almost become angry, and only one thing she needs at this moment: so that this nasty wind does not blow on her.
Like all women who failed to fall in love, she wanted something, without knowing what exactly. Actually, she didn’t want anything, although it seemed to her that she wanted everything. She could hardly stand the late Odintsov (she married him out of convenience, although she probably would not have agreed to become his wife if she had not considered him kind person) and received a secret disgust for all men, whom she imagined as nothing other than unkempt, heavy and lethargic, powerlessly annoying creatures. Once, somewhere abroad, she met a young, handsome Swede with a chivalrous expression on his face, with honest blue eyes under an open forehead; he impressed her strong impression, but this did not stop her from returning to Russia.
"A strange man this doctor?" she thought, lying in her magnificent bed, on lace pillows, under a light silk blanket... Anna Sergeevna inherited from her father a part of his inclination towards luxury. She loved her sinner very much, but good father, and he adored her, joked friendly with her, as with an equal, and trusted her completely, consulted with her. She barely remembered her mother.
"This doctor is strange!" – she repeated to herself. She stretched, smiled, put her hands behind her head, then ran her eyes over two pages of a stupid French novel, dropped the book - and fell asleep, all clean and cold, in clean and fragrant linen.
The next morning, Anna Sergeevna immediately after breakfast went to botanize with Bazarov and returned just before lunch; Arkady did not go anywhere and spent about an hour with Katya. He was not bored with her; she herself volunteered to repeat yesterday’s sonata to him; but when Odintsova finally returned, when he saw her, his heart instantly sank... She walked through the garden with a somewhat tired gait; Her cheeks turned red and her eyes shone brighter than usual under her round straw hat. She twirled a thin stalk of a wildflower in her fingers, a light mantilla fell over her elbows, and the wide gray ribbons of her hat clung to her chest. Bazarov walked behind her, self-confidently and casually, as always, but the expression on his face, although cheerful and even affectionate, did not please Arkady. Muttering through clenched teeth: “Hello!” - Bazarov went to his room, and Odintsova absentmindedly shook Arkady’s hand and also walked past him.
“Hello,” thought Arkady... “Didn’t we see each other today?”

Time (it’s a well-known fact) sometimes flies like a bird, sometimes it crawls like a worm; but it feels especially good for a person when he doesn’t even notice whether it passes quickly or quietly. Arkady and Bazarov spent fifteen days with Odintsova in exactly this way. This was partly facilitated by the order that she established in her home and life. She strictly adhered to it and forced others to obey it. Everything during the day took place at a certain time. In the morning, exactly at eight o'clock, the whole company gathered for tea; from tea to breakfast everyone did what they wanted, the hostess herself worked with the clerk (the estate was on rent), with the butler, with the main housekeeper. Before dinner, the company met again to talk or read; the evening was devoted to a walk, cards, music; at half past ten Anna Sergeevna went to her room, gave orders for the next day and went to bed. Bazarov did not like this measured, somewhat solemn correctness of daily life; “It’s like you’re rolling on rails,” he assured: livery footmen and decorous butlers offended his democratic feeling. He thought that, if it came to that, he should dine in English, in tails and white ties. He once explained this to Anna Sergeevna. She behaved in such a way that every person, without hesitation, expressed their opinions to her. She listened to him and said: “From your point of view, you are right - and, perhaps, in this case, I am a lady; but in the village you cannot live disorderly, boredom will overcome you,” and she continued to do it her way. Bazarov grumbled, but that’s why life was so easy for him and Arkady with Odintsova, because everything in her house “rolled like it was on rails.” With all that, a change occurred in both young people, from the very first days of their stay in Nikolskoye. In Bazarov, whom Anna Sergeevna obviously favored, although she rarely agreed with him, an unprecedented anxiety began to manifest itself; he was easily irritated, spoke reluctantly, looked angrily and could not sit still, as if something was tempting him; and Arkady, who finally decided with himself that he was in love with Odintsova, began to indulge in quiet despondency. However, this despondency did not prevent him from getting closer to Katya; it even helped him enter into an affectionate, friendly relationship with her. “She doesn’t value me! Let her?.. But kind creature doesn’t reject me,” he thought, and his heart again tasted the sweetness of generous sensations. Katya vaguely understood that he was looking for some kind of consolation in her company, and did not deny either him or herself the innocent pleasure of half-ashamed, half-trusting friendship. In the presence of Anna Sergeevna, they did not talk to each other: Katya always shrank under the watchful gaze of her sister, and Arkady, as befits a man in love, when near his object he could no longer pay attention to anything else, but he felt good with only Katya. , that he was unable to occupy Odintsova; he was timid and lost when he was alone with her; and she did not know what to say to him: he was too young for her. On the contrary, Arkady was at home with Katya; he treated her condescendingly, did not prevent her from expressing the impressions aroused in her by music, reading stories, poems and other trifles, without noticing or not realizing that these trifles occupied him too. For her part, Katya did not prevent him from being sad. Arkady felt good with Katya, Odintsova - with Bazarov, and therefore this usually happened: both couples, after being together for a while, each went their separate ways, especially during walks. Katya adored nature, and Arkady loved her, although he did not dare admit it; Odintsova was rather indifferent to her, just like Bazarov. The almost constant separation of our friends did not remain without consequences: the relationship between them began to change. Bazarov stopped talking to Arkady about Odintsova, even stopped scolding her “aristocratic manners”; True, he still praised Katya and only advised her to moderate her sentimental inclinations, but his praise was hasty, his advice was dry, and in general he talked with Arkady much less than before... he seemed to be avoiding him, as if he was ashamed...
Arkady noticed all this, but kept his comments to himself.
The real reason all this “novelty” was the feeling instilled in Bazarov by Odintsova - a feeling that tormented and enraged him and which he would have immediately abandoned with contemptuous laughter and cynical abuse if anyone had even remotely hinted to him at the possibility of what was in him happened. Bazarov was a great hunter of women and female beauty, but he called love in the ideal sense, or, as he put it, romantic, nonsense, unforgivable stupidity, considered chivalric feelings something like deformity or illness, and more than once expressed his surprise: why weren’t Toggenburg put in the yellow house with all the minnesingers and troubadours ? “If you like a woman,” he used to say, “try to get some sense; but you can’t - well, don’t, turn away - the earth is not a wedge.” He liked Odintsova: the widespread rumors about her, the freedom and independence of her thoughts, her undoubted disposition towards him - everything seemed to speak in his favor; but he soon realized that with her “you wouldn’t get anywhere,” and, to his amazement, he did not have the strength to turn away from her. His blood burned as soon as he remembered her; he could have easily dealt with his blood, but something else had taken possession of him, which he had never allowed, which he always mocked, which outraged all his pride. In conversations with Anna Sergeevna, he expressed his indifferent contempt for everything romantic even more than before; and when left alone, he was indignantly aware of the romanticism in himself. Then he went into the forest and walked through it with long steps, breaking the branches he came across and cursing in a low voice both at her and at himself; or he climbed into the hayloft, into the barn, and, stubbornly closing his eyes, forced himself to sleep, which, of course, he did not always succeed. Suddenly he will imagine that these chaste hands will someday wrap themselves around his neck, that these proud lips will respond to his kisses, that these intelligent eyes with tenderness - yes, with tenderness will rest on his eyes, and his head will spin, and he will forget himself. a moment until indignation flares up in him again. He caught himself in all sorts of “shameful” thoughts, as if a demon were teasing him. It sometimes seemed to him that a change was taking place in Odintsova, that something special was manifesting itself in the expression of her face, that perhaps... But here he usually stamped his foot or gnashed his teeth and shook his fist at himself.
Meanwhile, Bazarov was not entirely mistaken. He struck Odintsova’s imagination; he occupied her, she thought a lot about him. In his absence she was not bored, did not wait for him, but his appearance immediately revived her; she willingly remained alone with him and willingly talked to him, even when he angered her or insulted her taste, her elegant habits. It was as if she wanted to test him and test herself.
One day, while walking with her in the garden, he suddenly said in a gloomy voice that he intended to soon leave for the village, to visit his father... She turned pale, as if something had pricked her in the heart, and it pricked her so much that she was surprised and thought for a long time about it. what would that mean? Bazarov announced his departure to her not with the idea of ​​testing her, to see what would come of it: he never “made up things.” On the morning of that day, he saw his father’s clerk, who was his uncle, Timofeich. This Timofeich, a shabby and agile old man, with faded yellow hair, a weathered, red face and tiny tears in his shrunken eyes, unexpectedly appeared before Bazarov in his short jacket made of thick gray-bluish cloth, belted with a scrap of belt and wearing tar boots.
- Oh, old man, hello! - exclaimed Bazarov.
“Hello, Father Evgeny Vasilyevich,” the old man began and smiled joyfully, causing his whole face to suddenly become covered with wrinkles.
- Why did you come? Have they sent for me?
- For mercy, father, as possible! - Timofeich babbled (he remembered the strict order received from the master upon departure). “We were on our way to the city on government business and heard about your honor, so we turned along the way, that is, to look at your honor... otherwise how can you bother us!”
“Well, don’t lie,” Bazarov interrupted him. – Is this the way to the city for you?
Timofeich hesitated and did not answer.
- Is your father healthy?
- Thank God, sir.
- And mother?
– And Arina Vlasyevna, glory to you, Lord.
- Are they waiting for me?
The old man tilted his tiny head to the side.
- Oh, Evgeny Vasilyevich, why not wait, sir! Believe it or not, your heart ached for your parents as they looked on.
- Well, okay, okay! don't write it down. Tell them I'll be there soon.
“I’m listening, sir,” Timofeich answered with a sigh.
Leaving the house, he pulled his cap over his head with both hands, climbed onto the wretched racing droshky he had left at the gate, and trotted off, but not in the direction of the city.
That evening, Odintsova was sitting in her room with Bazarov, and Arkady was walking around the hall and listening to Katya play. The princess went upstairs; She generally hated guests, and especially these “new rabid ones,” as she called them. In the state rooms she only sulked; but at home, in front of her maid, she sometimes burst into such abuse that the cap jumped on her head along with the lining. Odintsova knew all this.
“How are you going to go,” she began, “and what about your promise?”
Bazarov perked up.
- Which one, sir?
- You forgot? You wanted to give me some chemistry lessons.
- What to do with! My father is waiting for me; I can't hesitate any longer. However, you can read Pelouse et Fremy, Notions generales de Chimie (Pelouse and Fremy, " General Basics chemistry" (French); the book is good and written clearly. You will find everything you need in it.
– And remember: you assured me that a book cannot replace... I forgot how you put it, but you know what I want to say... remember?
- What to do with! - repeated Bazarov.
- Why go? – Odintsova said, lowering her voice.
He glanced at her. She threw her head back on the chair and crossed her arms over her chest, bare to the elbows. She seemed paler in the light of a single lamp, hung with a cut-out paper grid. Wide White dress covered her all with its soft folds; the tips of her legs, also crossed, were barely visible.
- Why stay? - answered Bazarov.
Odintsova turned her head slightly.
- What do you mean why? Aren't you having fun with me? Or do you think that they won’t regret you here?
– I am convinced of this.
Odintsova was silent.
– You’re wrong to think that. However, I don't believe you. You couldn't say it seriously. - Bazarov continued to sit motionless. – Evgeny Vasilyevich, why are you silent?
- What should I tell you? There’s no point in feeling sorry for people in general, least of all for me.
- Why?
– I am a positive, uninteresting person. I can't speak.
– You are asking for a courtesy, Evgeniy Vasilyevich.
- This is not in my habits. Don’t you know yourself that the graceful side of life is inaccessible to me, the side that you value so much?
Odintsova bit the corner of her handkerchief.
- Think what you want, but I will be bored when you leave.
“Arkady will stay,” Bazarov noted.
Odintsova slightly shrugged her shoulder.
“I’ll be bored,” she repeated.
- Indeed? In any case, you won't be bored for long.
- Why do you think so?
- Because you yourself told me that you are bored only when your order is disrupted. You have organized your life so infallibly correctly that there can be no place in it for either boredom, melancholy... any difficult feelings.
– And you find that I am infallible... that is, that I have organized my life so correctly?
- Still would! Well, for example: in a few minutes ten o’clock will strike, and I already know in advance that you will drive me away.
- No, I won’t drive you away, Evgeny Vasilich. You can stay. Open this window... I’m feeling stuffy.
Bazarov stood up and pushed the window. It opened at once with a thud... He did not expect that it opened so easily; Moreover, his hands were shaking. The dark soft night looked into the room with its almost black sky, faintly rustling trees and the fresh smell of free, clean air.
“Leave the curtains down and sit down,” said Odintsova, “I’d like to chat with you before you leave.” Tell me something about yourself; you never talk about yourself.
– I try to talk with you about useful subjects, Anna Sergeevna.
– You are very modest... But I would like to know something about you, about your family, about your father, for whom you are leaving us.
"Why does she say such words?" - thought Bazarov.
“All this is not at all interesting,” he said out loud, “especially for you; we are dark people...
– Do you think I’m an aristocrat?
Bazarov raised his eyes to Odintsova.
“Yes,” he said exaggeratedly sharply.
She grinned.
“I see that you don’t know me much, although you insist that all people are alike and that it’s not worth studying them.” Someday I will tell you my life... but you will tell me yours first.
“I don’t know you well,” repeated Bazarov. - Maybe you're right; maybe, for sure, every person is a mystery. Yes, although you, for example: you are alienated from society, you are burdened by it - and you invited two students to live with you. Why do you, with your intelligence, with your beauty, live in the village?
- How? How did you say it? – Odintsova picked up with liveliness. - With my... beauty?
Bazarov frowned.
“It’s all the same,” he muttered, “I wanted to say that I don’t understand well why you settled in the village?”
– You don’t understand this... However, do you explain this to yourself somehow?
- Yes... I believe that you constantly stay in one place because you have spoiled yourself, because you really love comfort, convenience, and are very indifferent to everything else.
Odintsova grinned again.
“You absolutely don’t want to believe that I’m capable of getting carried away?” -
Bazarov looked at her from under his brows.
– Curiosity – perhaps; but not otherwise.
- Indeed? Well, now I understand why we got together; after all, you are the same as me.
“We’ve agreed...” Bazarov said dully.
– Yes!.. because I forgot that you want to leave.
Bazarov stood up. The lamp burned dimly in the middle of the darkened, fragrant, secluded room; Through the occasionally swaying curtains, the irritable freshness of the night poured in, and its mysterious whispering could be heard. Odintsova did not move a single member, but a secret excitement gradually took hold of her... It was communicated to Bazarov. He suddenly felt alone with a young, beautiful woman...
- Where are you going? – she said slowly.
He didn’t answer and sank into a chair.
“So, you consider me a calm, pampered, spoiled creature,” she continued in the same voice, without taking her eyes off the window. “And what I know about myself is that I am very unhappy.”
- You are unhappy! From what? Can you really attach any importance to trashy gossip?
Odintsova frowned. She was annoyed that he understood her that way.
“This gossip doesn’t even make me laugh, Evgeniy Vasilyevich, and I’m too proud to let it bother me.” I am unhappy because... I have no desire, no desire to live. You look at me incredulously, you think: this is the “aristocrat” speaking, who is all in lace and sitting on a velvet chair. I’m not hiding it: I love what you call comfort, and at the same time I have little desire to live. Reconcile this contradiction as best you can. However, this is all romanticism in your eyes.
Bazarov shook his head.
– You are healthy, independent, rich; what else? What do you want?
“What do I want,” Odintsova repeated and sighed. “I’m very tired, I’m old, it seems to me that I’ve been living for a very long time.” Yes, I’m old,” she added, quietly pulling the ends of her mantilla over her bare arms. Her eyes met Bazarov's eyes, and she blushed a little. “I already have so many memories behind me: life in St. Petersburg, wealth, then poverty, then the death of my father, marriage, then a trip abroad, as it should be... There are many memories, but there is nothing to remember, and ahead of me is a long, long road, but there is no goal... I don’t even want to go.
-Are you that disappointed? - asked Bazarov.
“No,” Odintsova said deliberately, “but I’m not satisfied.” It seems that if I could become strongly attached to something...
“You want to love,” interrupted Bazarov, “but you cannot love: that is your misfortune.”
Odintsova began to examine the sleeves of her mantilla.
-Can't I love? - she said.
- Hardly! Only I was wrong to call it a misfortune. On the contrary, he is rather worthy of pity to whom this thing happens.
- What happens?
- To fall in love.
- How do you know this?
“Hearsay,” Bazarov answered angrily.
“You’re flirting,” he thought, “you’re bored and teasing me because you have nothing to do, but I...” His heart really was breaking.
“Besides, you may be too demanding,” he said, leaning his whole body forward and playing with the fringe of the chair.
- May be. In my opinion, it’s all or nothing. A life for a life. You took mine, give me yours, and then without regret and without return. Otherwise it’s better not to.
- Well? - Bazarov noted, - this condition is fair, and I’m surprised how you still... haven’t found what you wanted.
– Do you think it’s easy to completely surrender to anything?
– It’s not easy if you start thinking, waiting, and putting value on yourself, valuing yourself, that is; and without thinking, it is very easy to surrender.
- How can you not value yourself? If I have no value, who needs my devotion?
– It’s no longer my business; It’s up to someone else to figure out what my price is. The main thing is to be able to surrender.
Odintsova separated herself from the back of the chair.
“You talk like that,” she began, “as if you’ve all experienced it.”
– By the way, I had to, Anna Sergeevna: all this, you know, is not my part.
– But would you be able to surrender?
– I don’t know, I don’t want to brag.
Odintsova said nothing, and Bazarov fell silent. The sounds of the piano reached them from the living room.
“Why is Katya playing so late,” Odintsova remarked.
Bazarov stood up.
- Yes, it’s definitely too late now, it’s time for you to rest.
– Wait, where are you rushing... I need to tell you one word.
- Which?
“Wait,” Odintsova whispered.
Her eyes settled on Bazarov; she seemed to be examining him carefully.
He walked around the room, then suddenly approached her, hastily said “goodbye,” squeezed her hand so that she almost screamed, and walked out. She brought her stuck fingers to her lips, blew on them and suddenly, impulsively rising from her chair, walked with quick steps towards the door, as if wanting to bring Bazarov back... The maid entered the room with a decanter on a silver tray. Odintsova stopped, told her to leave and sat down again, and began to think again. Her braid unfurled and fell like a dark snake onto her shoulder. The lamp burned for a long time in Anna Sergeevna’s room, and for a long time she remained motionless, only occasionally running her fingers over her hands, which were slightly bitten by the night cold.
And Bazarov, two hours later, returned to his bedroom with his boots wet from dew, disheveled and gloomy. He found Arkady at his desk, with a book in his hands, in a frock coat buttoned to the top.
-Have you gone to bed yet? - he said as if with annoyance.
“You sat with Anna Sergeevna for a long time today,” said Arkady, without answering his question.
– Yes, I sat with her the whole time while you and Katerina Sergeevna played the piano.
“I didn’t play...” Arkady began and fell silent. He felt tears coming to his eyes, and he did not want to cry in front of his mocking friend.

The next day, when Odintsova came to tea, Bazarov sat for a long time, bending over his cup, and suddenly looked at her... She turned to him, as if he had pushed her, and it seemed to him that her face had turned slightly pale during the night. She soon went to her room and appeared only for breakfast. In the morning the weather was rainy, there was no opportunity to walk. The whole company gathered in the living room. Arkady took out the latest issue of the magazine and began reading. The princess, as was her custom, first expressed surprise on her face, as if he were up to something indecent, then she stared angrily at him; but he paid no attention to her.
“Evgeny Vasilyevich,” said Anna Sergeevna, “come to me... I want to ask you... Yesterday you named one leadership...
She stood up and headed towards the doors. The princess looked around with such an expression as if she wanted to say: “Look, look how amazed I am!” - and again stared at Arkady, but he raised his voice and, exchanging glances with Katya, next to whom he was sitting, continued reading.
Odintsova quickly walked to her office. Bazarov quickly followed her, without raising his eyes and only catching with his ears the subtle whistle and rustle of the silk dress sliding in front of him. Odintsova sat down on the same chair on which she had sat the day before, and Bazarov took his place yesterday.
- So what is the name of this book? – she began after a short silence.
“Pelouse et Fremy, Notions generales...” answered Bazarov. – However, we can also recommend you Ganot, Traite elementaire de physique experimentale (Ganot, “Elementary textbook of experimental physics” (French).). In this essay the drawings are clearer, and in general this textbook...
Odintsova extended her hand.
– Evgeny Vasilyevich, excuse me, but I didn’t call you here to talk about textbooks. I wanted to resume our conversation yesterday. You left so suddenly... Won't you be bored?
– I am at your service, Anna Sergeevna. But what exactly did we talk about yesterday?
Odintsova cast an indirect glance at Bazarov.
– We were talking to you, it seems, about happiness. I told you about myself. By the way, I mentioned the word “happiness”. Tell me why, even when we enjoy, for example, music, a good evening, a conversation with sympathetic people, why does all this seem more like a hint of some immeasurable happiness that exists somewhere, than real happiness, that is, the kind that we ourselves do we have? Why is this? Or maybe you don’t feel anything like that?
“You know the saying: “It’s good where we are not,” objected Bazarov, “besides, you yourself said yesterday that you are not satisfied.” But such thoughts certainly don’t enter my head.
- Maybe they seem funny to you?
– No, but they don’t occur to me.
- Indeed? You know, I would really like to know what you are thinking about?
- How? I do not understand.
– Listen, I’ve been wanting to explain myself to you for a long time. You have nothing to say - you know this yourself - that you are not an ordinary person; you are still young - your whole life is before you. What are you preparing yourself for? what future awaits you? I want to say - what goal do you want to achieve, where are you going, what is in your soul? In a word, who are you, what are you?
– You surprise me, Anna Sergeevna. You know that I am engaged in natural sciences, and who am I...
- Yes, who are you?
– I have already reported to you that I am the future district doctor.
Anna Sergeevna made an impatient movement.
- Why are you saying this? You don't believe it yourself. Arkady could answer me like that, not you.
- Why Arkady...
- Stop it! Is it possible for you to be satisfied with such a modest activity, and don’t you yourself always claim that medicine does not exist for you? You, with your pride, are the district doctor! You answer me in such a way as to get rid of me, because you have no confidence in me. Do you know, Evgeniy Vasilyevich, that I would be able to understand you: I myself was poor and proud, like you; I may have gone through the same trials as you.
- All this is wonderful, Anna Sergeevna, but excuse me... I’m not used to speaking out at all, and there’s such a distance between you and me...
– What is the distance? Will you tell me again that I am an aristocrat? Completeness, Evgeniy Vasilich; I think I've proven it to you...
“And besides,” interrupted Bazarov, “what is the desire to talk and think about the future, which for the most part does not depend on us?” If there’s a chance to do something, it’s great, but if it doesn’t work out, at least you’ll be pleased that you didn’t chatter in vain beforehand.
-You call a friendly conversation chatter... Or maybe you, as a woman, don’t consider me worthy of your trust? After all, you despise us all.
“I don’t despise you, Anna Sergeevna, and you know it.”
– No, I don’t know anything... but let’s put it this way: I understand your reluctance to talk about your future activities; but what is happening in you now...
- It's happening! - repeated Bazarov, - as if I were some kind of state or society! In any case, this is not at all curious; And besides, can a person always say loudly everything that “happens” in him?
“But I don’t see why you can’t express everything that’s in your heart.”
- You can? - asked Bazarov.
“I can,” answered Anna Sergeevna after a slight hesitation.
Bazarov bowed his head.
– You are happier than me.
Anna Sergeevna looked at him questioningly.
“As you wish,” she continued, “but still something tells me that it was not for nothing that we got together, that we will good friends. I am sure that your, how should I say, your tension and restraint will finally disappear?
– Have you noticed in me restraint... as you also put it... tension?
- Yes.
Bazarov stood up and went to the window.
“And you would like to know the reason for this restraint, you would like to know what is happening inside me?”
“Yes,” Odintsova repeated with some kind of fear that was still incomprehensible to her.
- And you won’t be angry?
- No.
- No? - Bazarov stood with his back to her. - So know that I love you, stupidly, madly... This is what you have achieved.
Odintsova extended both hands forward, and Bazarov rested his forehead against the glass of the window. He was out of breath; his whole body was apparently trembling. But it was not the trembling of youthful timidity, it was not the sweet horror of the first confession that took possession of him: it was passion that beat within him, strong and heavy - a passion similar to anger and, perhaps, akin to it... Madame Odintsova felt both afraid and sorry for him.
“Evgeny Vasilich,” she said, and involuntary tenderness rang in her voice.
He quickly turned around, cast a devouring gaze on her - and, grabbing both her hands, suddenly pulled her to his chest.
She did not immediately free herself from his embrace; but a moment later she was already standing far away in the corner and looking from there at Bazarov. He rushed towards her...
“You didn’t understand me,” she whispered with hasty fear. It seemed that if he had taken another step, she would have screamed... Bazarov bit his lips and left.
Half an hour later, the maid handed Anna Sergeevna a note from Bazarov; it consisted of only one line: “Should I leave today - or can I stay until tomorrow?” “Why leave? I didn’t understand you - you didn’t understand me,” Anna Sergeevna answered him, and she herself thought: “I didn’t understand myself either.”
She didn’t show up until lunch and kept walking back and forth in her room, her hands behind her, occasionally stopping first in front of the window, then in front of the mirror, and slowly ran a handkerchief over her neck, on which she still felt like there was a hot spot. She asked herself what made her “seek,” as Bazarov put it, his frankness, and whether she suspected anything... “I’m guilty,” she said out loud, “but I couldn’t foresee it.” She thought and blushed, remembering Bazarov’s almost brutal face when he rushed towards her...
"Or?" - she said suddenly, and stopped, and shook her curls... She saw herself in the mirror; her head thrown back with a mysterious smile on her half-closed, half-opened eyes and lips seemed to be telling her at that moment something that made her herself embarrassed...
“No,” she finally decided, “God knows where this would lead, this cannot be joked about, peace is still better than anything in the world.”
Her calm was not shaken; but she became sad and even cried once, without knowing why, but not because of the insult. She did not feel offended: she rather felt guilty. Under the influence of various vague feelings, the consciousness of a passing life, the desire for novelty, she forced herself to reach famous trait, forced myself to look behind it - and behind it I saw not even an abyss, but emptiness... or ugliness.

No matter how much Odintsova controlled herself, no matter how she stood above all prejudices, she, too, felt awkward when she appeared in the dining room for dinner. However, it went quite well. Porfiry Platonich arrived and told various jokes; he just returned from the city. Among other things, he reported that the governor, Bourdalu, ordered his officials to special assignments wear spurs, in case he sends them somewhere, for speed, on horseback. Arkady reasoned with Katya in a low voice and served the princess diplomatically. Bazarov remained stubbornly and gloomily silent. Odintsova looked twice - directly, not furtively - at his face, stern and bilious, with downcast eyes, with an imprint of contemptuous determination in every feature, and thought: “No... no... no...” After dinner she with the whole company she went to the garden and, seeing that Bazarov wanted to talk to her, took a few steps to the side and stopped. He approached her, but even then he did not raise his eyes and said in a dull voice:
– I must apologize to you, Anna Sergeevna. You can't help but be angry with me.
“No, I’m not angry with you, Evgeny Vasilich,” answered Odintsova, “but I’m upset.”
- So much the worse. Anyway, I'm pretty punished. My position, you will probably agree, is the most stupid. You wrote to me: why leave? But I can’t and don’t want to stay. I won't be here tomorrow.
- Evgeny Vasilich, why do you...
- Why am I leaving?
– No, that’s not what I wanted to say.
“You can’t undo the past, Anna Sergeevna... and sooner or later it had to happen.” Therefore, I need to leave. I understand only one condition under which I could stay; but this condition will never happen. After all, you, excuse my insolence, do not love me and will never love me?
Bazarov's eyes sparkled for a moment from under his dark eyebrows.
Anna Sergeevna did not answer him. “I’m afraid of this man,” flashed through her head.
“Goodbye, sir,” said Bazarov, as if guessing her thought, and headed towards the house.
Anna Sergeevna quietly followed him and, calling Katya, took her arm. She did not part with her until the evening. She did not play cards and laughed more and more, which did not at all suit her pale and embarrassed face. Arkady was perplexed and watched her the way young people watch, that is, he constantly asked himself: what does this mean? Bazarov locked himself in his room; However, he returned to tea. Anna Sergeevna wanted to tell him something kind word, but she didn’t know how to talk to him...
An unexpected incident brought her out of her difficulty: the butler announced Sitnikov’s arrival.
It is difficult to express in words how the young progressive flew into the room like a quail. Having decided, with his characteristic importunity, to go to the village to visit a woman whom he barely knew, who had never invited him, but with whom, according to the information collected, such smart people and people close to him were staying, he still became timid to the core and, instead of saying the prearranged apologies and greetings, he muttered some rubbish that Evdoksia, they say, Kukshina sent him to find out about Anna Sergeevna’s health and that Arkady Nikolaevich, too, always spoke to him with the greatest praise... At this word he faltered and was lost before he sat on your own hat. However, since no one drove him away and Anna Sergeevna even introduced him to his aunt and sister, he soon recovered and began to crack like a charm. The appearance of vulgarity is often useful in life: it weakens strings that are too highly tuned, sobers up self-confident or self-forgetful feelings, reminding them of its close kinship with them. With the arrival of Sitnikov, everything became somehow dumber - and simpler; everyone even had a heartier dinner and went to bed half an hour earlier than usual.
“I can now repeat to you,” Arkady said, lying in bed, to Bazarov, who had also undressed, “what you once told me: “Why are you so sad? Surely you fulfilled some sacred duty?”
For some time now, a kind of false, cheeky banter had been established between the two young people, which always serves as a sign of secret displeasure or unexpressed suspicions.
“I’m leaving to see my dad tomorrow,” said Bazarov.
Arkady stood up and leaned on his elbow. He was both surprised and for some reason happy.
- A! - he said. - And that makes you sad?
Bazarov yawned.
– You will know a lot, you will grow old.
– What about Anna Sergeevna? - Arkady continued.
– What is Anna Sergeevna?
“I want to say: will she let you go?”
“I didn’t hire her.”
Arkady became thoughtful, and Bazarov lay down and turned his face to the wall.
Several minutes passed in silence.
- Eugene! - Arkady suddenly exclaimed.
- Well?
“I’ll leave with you tomorrow too.”
Bazarov did not answer.
“I’ll just go home,” Arkady continued. “We’ll go together to the Khokhlovsky settlements, and there you’ll take horses from Fedot.” I would love to meet yours, but I’m afraid to embarrass them and you. After all, you will come to us again later?
“I left my things with you,” Bazarov responded without turning around.
“Why doesn’t he ask me why I’m going? And just as suddenly as he does?” thought Arkady. “Really, why am I going, and why is he going?” – he continued his thoughts. He could not answer his own question satisfactorily, and his heart was filled with something caustic. He felt that it would be hard for him to part with this life to which he was so accustomed; but being alone was somehow strange. “Something happened to them,” he reasoned with himself, “why will I hang around in front of her after leaving? She’ll be completely tired of me; I’ll lose the last thing.” He began to imagine Anna Sergeevna, then other features gradually emerged through the beautiful appearance of the young widow.
"Sorry for Katya too!" - Arkady whispered into the pillow, on which a tear had already dropped... He suddenly threw up his hair and said loudly:
- Why the hell did this fool Sitnikov complain?
Bazarov first stirred on the bed, and then said the following:
- You, brother, are still stupid, I see. We need the Sitnikovs. I, understand this, I need idiots like this. It’s really not for the gods to burn pots!..
“Hey, hey!..” Arkady thought to himself, and then the whole bottomless abyss of Bazarov’s pride was revealed to him for a moment. “So, you and I are gods? That is, you’re a god, and am I not a fool?”
“Yes,” Bazarov repeated gloomily, “you’re still stupid.”
Odintsova did not express any particular surprise when the next day Arkady told her that he was leaving with Bazarov; she seemed distracted and tired. Katya silently and seriously looked at him, the princess even crossed herself under her shawl, so he could not help but notice it; but Sitnikov was completely alarmed. He had just come down to breakfast in a new, smart, this time not Slavophile, outfit; the day before he surprised the man assigned to him with the amount of linen he had brought, and suddenly his comrades desert him! He shuffled his feet a little, rushed about like a rutting hare at the edge of the forest, and suddenly, almost with fear, almost with a cry, announced that he, too, intended to leave. Odintsova did not hold him back.
“I have a very comfortable carriage,” added the unfortunate young man, turning to Arkady, “I can give you a ride, and Evgeny Vasilich can take your tarantass, so it will be even more convenient.”
“For mercy’s sake, you’re not on the road at all, and it’s a long way from me.”
– It’s nothing, nothing; I have a lot of time, and besides, I have other things to do.
- By farming out? – Arkady asked too contemptuously.
But Sitnikov was in such despair that, contrary to usual, he did not even laugh.
“I assure you, the carriage is extremely comfortable,” he muttered, “and there will be room for everyone.”
“Don’t upset Monsieur Sitnikov with a refusal,” said Anna Sergeevna...
Arkady looked at her and tilted his head significantly.
The guests left after breakfast. Saying goodbye to Bazarov, Odintsova extended her hand to him and said:
- We'll see each other again, won't we?
“As you order,” answered Bazarov.
- In that case, we'll see each other.
Arkady was the first to go out onto the porch; he climbed into Sitnikov's carriage. The butler respectfully sat him down, and he would have gladly beaten him or burst into tears. Bazarov fit into the tarantass. Having reached the Khokhlovsky settlements, Arkady waited until Fedot, the owner of the inn, harnessed the horses, and, approaching the tarantass, with the same smile he said to Bazarov:
- Evgeny, take me with you; I want to go to you.
“Sit down,” Bazarov said through clenched teeth.
Sitnikov, who was pacing, whistling briskly, around the wheels of his carriage, just opened his mouth when he heard these words, and Arkady calmly took his things out of his carriage, sat down next to Bazarov - and, politely bowing to his former companion, shouted: “Touch it!” The carriage rolled off and soon disappeared from sight... Sitnikov, completely embarrassed, looked at his coachman, but he was playing with his whip over the tail of the harness. Then Sitnikov jumped into the carriage and thundered at two passing men: “Put on your hats, fools!” - dragged himself to the city, where he arrived very late and where the next day, at Kukshina’s, two “nasty proud and ignorant people” got a lot of trouble.
Getting into the carriage with Bazarov, Arkady squeezed his hand tightly and said nothing for a long time. It seemed that Bazarov understood and appreciated both this squeeze and this silence. He had not slept or smoked the previous night, and had eaten almost nothing for several days. His thin profile stood out gloomily and sharply from under his pulled cap.
“What, brother,” he said finally, “give me a cigar... Look, tea, is my tongue yellow?”
“Yellow,” answered Arkady.
- Well, yes... the cigar is not tasty. The car fell apart.
-You've really changed this time Lately“,” Arkady noted.
- Nothing! we'll get better. One thing is boring - my mother is so compassionate: if she doesn’t grow a belly and don’t eat ten times a day, she kills herself. Well, father never mind, he himself was everywhere, both in the sieve and in the sieve. No, you can’t smoke,” he added and threw the cigar into the dust of the road.
- Is it twenty-five miles to your estate? – asked Arkady.
- Twenty five. Yes, just ask this sage.
He pointed to the man sitting on the box, Fedotov’s worker.
But the sage replied that “who knows, the miles here are not measured,” and continued in a low voice to scold the indigenous woman for “kicking with her head,” that is, jerking her head.
“Yes, yes,” said Bazarov, “a lesson for you, my young friend, an instructive example.” The devil knows what nonsense! Each person hangs by a thread, an abyss can open up under him every minute, and he still comes up with all sorts of troubles for himself, ruining his life.
- What do you mean? – asked Arkady.
“I’m not hinting at anything, I’m saying directly that you and I both behaved very stupidly.” What is there to interpret here! But I already noticed in the clinic: whoever is angry at his pain will certainly overcome it.
“I don’t quite understand you,” said Arkady, “it seems you had nothing to complain about.”
“And if you don’t quite understand me, then I’ll tell you the following: in my opinion, it’s better to break stones on the pavement than to let a woman take even the tip of your finger.” This is all... - Bazarov almost uttered his favorite word “romanticism,” but restrained himself and said: “nonsense.” You won’t believe me now, but I’m telling you: you and I are in sorority, and we were pleased; but quit similar society- just like on a hot day cold water roll around A man has no time to deal with such trifles; A man must be fierce, says a great Spanish proverb. After all, here you are,” he added, turning to the peasant sitting on the box, “you, clever girl, do you have a wife?”
The man showed both friends his flat and weak-sighted face.
- Wife? Eat. How can a wife not be?
-Are you hitting her?
- Your wife? Stuff happens. We don't hit without reason.
- And wonderful. Well, does she hit you?
The man pulled the reins.
- You said a good word, master. You should be joking... - He was apparently offended.
– Do you hear, Arkady Nikolaevich! And you and I were beaten... this is what it means to be educated people.
Arkady laughed forcedly, but Bazarov turned away and did not open his mouth the entire way.
Twenty-five miles seemed like fifty miles to Arkady. But then, on the slope of a gentle hill, a small village finally opened up, where Bazarov’s parents lived. Next to her, in a young birch grove, one could see a noble house under a thatched roof. At the first hut two men in hats stood and cursed. “You’re a big pig,” one said to the other, “but worse than a little pig.” “And your wife is a witch,” the other objected.
“By the ease of his address,” Bazarov noted to Arkady, “and by the playfulness of his turns of speech, you can judge that my father’s men are not too oppressed.” Yes, and he himself goes out onto the porch of his home. I heard, know, a bell. He, he - I recognize his figure. Hey, hey! How he turned grey, however, poor fellow!

Bazarov leaned out of the carriage, and Arkady stretched his head out from behind his comrade and saw on the porch of the manor’s house a tall, thin man, with tousled hair and a thin aquiline nose, dressed in an open old military frock coat. He stood with his legs spread apart, smoking a long pipe and squinting in the sun.
The horses stopped.
“He’s finally here,” said Bazarov’s father, still continuing to smoke, although the chibouk kept jumping between his fingers. - Well, get out, get out, let's scratch.
He began to hug his son... “Enyusha, Enyusha,” a trembling female voice rang out. The door swung open, and a round, short old woman in a white cap and a short colorful blouse appeared on the threshold. She gasped, staggered and probably would have fallen if Bazarov had not supported her. Her plump arms instantly wrapped themselves around his neck, her head pressed against his chest, and everything fell silent. Only her intermittent sobs could be heard.
Old man Bazarov was breathing deeply and squinting more than ever.
- Well, that's enough, that's enough, Arisha! stop,” he said, exchanging glances with Arkady, who stood motionless by the carriage, while the man on the box even turned away. - This is not necessary at all! please stop.
“Ah, Vasily Ivanovich,” the old woman stammered, “for once, my father, my darling, Enyushenka...” And, without unclenching her hands, she moved her face, wet with tears, crumpled and touched, away from Bazarov, she looked at him with some blissful and funny eyes and fell to him again.
“Well, yes, of course, this is all in the nature of things,” said Vasily Ivanovich, “but it’s better if we go to the room.” A guest has arrived with Evgeniy. Sorry,” he added, turning to Arkady, and shuffled his foot slightly, “you understand, female weakness; Well, and a mother's heart...
And his lips and eyebrows were twitching, and his chin was shaking... but he, apparently, wanted to conquer himself and seem almost indifferent. Arkady leaned over.
“Come on, mother, really,” said Bazarov and led the weakened old woman into the house. Having seated her in a comfortable chair, he once again hastily embraced his father and introduced Arkady to him.
“I’m sincerely glad to meet you,” said Vasily Ivanovich, “but you won’t blame me: I do everything here in simplicity, on a military footing.” Arina Vlasyevna, calm down, do me a favor: what kind of cowardice is this? Mister guest must judge you.
“Father,” the old woman said through tears, “I don’t have the honor to know your first and patronymic names...
“Arkady Nikolaich,” Vasily Ivanovich prompted with importance, in a low voice.
- Excuse me, I'm stupid. “The old woman blew her nose and, tilting her head now to the right, now to the left, carefully wiped one eye after the other. - Excuse me. After all, I thought that I would die, I wouldn’t wait for my darling.
“And here we are, madam,” picked up Vasily Ivanovich. “Tanyushka,” he turned to a barefoot girl of about thirteen, in a bright red chintz dress, who was timidly peeking out from behind the door, “bring the lady a glass of water, on a tray, do you hear?” “And you, gentlemen,” he added with some old-fashioned playfulness, “let me ask you to go to the office of a retired veteran.”
“Let me hug you just one more time, Enyushechka,” moaned Arina Vlasyevna. Bazarov bent over to her. - What a handsome man you have become!
“Well, a handsome man is not a handsome man,” noted Vasily Ivanovich, “but a man, as they say: ommfe ( a real man(from the French homme fait). And now, I hope, Arina Vlasyevna, that, having satisfied your motherly heart, you will take care of feeding your dear guests, because, as you know, you should not feed the nightingale with fables.
The old woman rose from her chair.
- This minute, Vasily Ivanovich, the table will be set, I’ll run into the kitchen myself and order the samovar to be put on, everything will be, everything. After all, I haven’t seen him for three years, I haven’t fed him, I haven’t given him water, is it easy?
- Well, look, hostess, work hard, don’t disgrace yourself; and you, gentlemen, please follow me. So Timofeich came to bow to you, Evgeniy. And he, tea, was delighted, the old watchdog. What? you were happy, old watchdog? You are welcome to follow me.
And Vasily Ivanovich fussily walked forward, shuffling and splashing with worn-out shoes.
His entire house consisted of six tiny rooms. One of them, the one where he brought our friends, was called an office. A thick-legged table, littered with papers blackened by ancient dust, as if smoked, occupied the entire space between the two windows; on the walls hung Turkish guns, whips, a saber, two land maps, some anatomical drawings, a portrait of Hufeland, a hair monogram in a black frame and a diploma under glass; a leather sofa, dented and torn here and there, was placed between two huge cabinets made of Karelian birch; books, boxes, stuffed birds, jars, and bottles were crowded in disarray on the shelves; in one corner stood a broken electric machine.
“I warned you, my dear visitor,” began Vasily Ivanovich, “that we live here, so to speak, in bivouacs...
- Stop it, why are you apologizing? - Bazarov interrupted. “Kirsanov knows very well that you and I are not Croesus and that you do not have a palace.” Where do we put it, that's the question?
- Have mercy, Evgeny; I have an excellent room in my outbuilding: they will be very happy there.
- So you’ve got an outhouse too?
- Of course, sir; “Where is the bathhouse, sir,” Timofeich intervened.
“That is, next to the bathhouse,” Vasily Ivanovich hastily added. - Now it’s summer... I’ll run there now and give orders; And you, Timofeich, while you bring in their things. Of course, I will give you my office, Evgeny. Suum cuique (To each his own (lat.).).
- Here you go! “A very funny old man and the kindest,” Bazarov added as soon as Vasily Ivanovich left. - The same eccentric as yours, only in a different way. He talks a lot.
- And your mother, it seems, a beautiful woman“,” Arkady noted.
- Yes, I have it without cunning. Lunch for us, see what he sets.
“They didn’t expect you today, father, they didn’t bring any beef,” said Timofeich, who had just pulled in Bazarov’s suitcase.
“We can do without beef, and there’s no trial.” Poverty, they say, is not a vice.
- How many souls does your father have? – Arkady suddenly asked.
- The estate is not his, but his mother’s; I remember fifteen showers.
“And all twenty-two,” Timofeich noted with displeasure.
The slap of shoes was heard, and Vasily Ivanovich appeared again.
“In a few minutes your room will be ready to receive you,” he exclaimed with solemnity, “Arkady... Nikolaich?” so, it seems, you deign to boast? “And here are the servants for you,” he added, pointing to a short-cropped boy who came in with him in a blue caftan, torn at the elbows, and in someone else’s boots. - His name is Fedka. Again, I repeat, even though your son forbids it, do not punish it. However, he knows how to fill a pipe. After all, you smoke?
“I smoke more than cigars,” answered Arkady.
- And you are acting very wisely. I myself give preference to cigars, but in our secluded areas it is extremely difficult to get them.
“It’s enough for you to sing Lazarus,” Bazarov interrupted again. “You’d better sit here on the sofa and let me look at you.”
Vasily Ivanovich laughed and sat down. His face was very similar to his son, only his forehead was lower and narrower, and his mouth was a little wider, and he constantly moved, moved his shoulders, as if his dress was cutting under his arms, blinked, coughed and moved his fingers, while his son was different some kind of careless immobility.
- Sing Lazarus! - Vasily Ivanovich repeated. – You, Evgeny, don’t think that I want to, so to speak, pity the guest: here, they say, we live in such a remote place. On the contrary, I am of the opinion that for a thinking person there is no backwater. At least, I try, if possible, not to become overgrown with moss, as they say, to keep up with the times.
Vasily Ivanovich pulled out of his pocket a new yellow foulard, which he had managed to grab while running to Arkady’s room, and continued, waving it in the air:
– I’m not even talking about the fact that I, for example, not without making sensitive sacrifices for myself, put the peasants on quitrent and gave them my land for share. I considered this my duty; prudence itself commands in this case, although other owners do not even think about it: I am talking about science, about education.
- Yes; “I see you have a “Friend of Health” for the year one thousand eight hundred and fifty-five,” Bazarov noted.
“I know him through acquaintance.” “I’ll tell you as a consolation,” said Bazarov, “that now we generally laugh at medicine and do not bow to anyone.”
- How is this so? After all, you want to be a doctor?
- I want to, but one thing doesn’t interfere with the other.
Vasily Ivanovich poked his third finger into the pipe, where there was still some hot ash left.
- Well, maybe, maybe - I won’t argue. What am I? Retired staff doctor, volatou (that's all (from the French voila tout).); Now I’ve become an agronomist. “I served in your grandfather’s brigade,” he turned again to Arkady, “yes, yes, yes; I have seen many species in my time. And what kind of societies have you not been to, with whom have you not gotten involved? I, the same me whom you deign to see before you now, I felt the pulse of Prince Wittgenstein and Zhukovsky! Those in the southern army, in the fourteenth, you understand (and here Vasily Ivanovich pursed his lips significantly), knew everyone inside out. Well, my business is the side; know your lancet and that's it! And your grandfather was a very respectable man, a real military man.
“Admit it, it was a decent club,” Bazarov said lazily.
- Oh, Evgeny, how do you express yourself! have mercy... Of course, General Kirsanov was not one of those...
“Well, leave him,” Bazarov interrupted. - As I drove up here, I was glad to see your birch grove, it stretched out nicely.
Vasily Ivanovich perked up.
- And look, what a kindergarten I have now! I planted every tree myself. There are fruits, berries, and all sorts of medicinal herbs. No matter how cunning you may be, young gentlemen, still the old man Paracelsius spoke the holy truth: in herbis, verbis et lapidibus... (in herbs, words and stones (lat.).) After all, you know, I am from practice refused, but twice a week I have to shake off the old stuff. They go for advice - you can’t just push people in the face. Sometimes the poor resort to help. And there are no doctors here at all. One local neighbor, imagine, a retired major, also treats. I ask about him: did he study medicine?.. They tell me: no, he did not study, he is more from philanthropy... Ha-ha, from philanthropy! A? what! Ha ha! haha!
- Fedka! dial me up! - Bazarov said sternly.
“And here is another doctor, he comes to the patient,” Vasily Ivanovich continued with some despair, “and the patient is already ad patres ([went] to the forefathers (lat.).); The man doesn’t let the doctor in, he says: now there’s no more need. He did not expect this, was embarrassed and asked: “What, did the master hiccup before his death?” - “Ikali, sir.” - “And hiccupped a lot?” - "A lot of". - “Oh, well, that’s good,” - and turn back. Ha ha ha!
The old man laughed alone; Arkady expressed a smile on his face. Bazarov just dragged on. The conversation continued in this way for about an hour; Arkady managed to go to his room, which turned out to be a dressing room, but very cozy and clean. Finally Tanyusha came in and reported that dinner was ready.
Vasily Ivanovich was the first to rise.
- Let's go, gentlemen! Sorry generously if I'm bored. Perhaps my mistress will satisfy you more than me.
The dinner, although hastily prepared, came out very good, even plentiful; only the wine, as they say, was a little off: the almost black sherry that Timofeich bought in the city from a merchant he knew smelled of either copper or rosin; and the flies also got in the way. Usually the yard boy drove them away big green branch; but this time Vasily Ivanovich sent him away for fear of condemnation from the younger generation. Arina Vlasyevna managed to dress up; put on a tall cap with silk ribbons and a blue shawl with streaks. She cried again as soon as she saw her Enyusha, but her husband did not have to admonish her: she herself quickly wiped away her tears so as not to drip on her shawl. Only young people ate: the owners had already had lunch long ago. Fedka served, apparently burdened with unusual boots, and he was helped by a woman with a courageous face and a crooked face, named Anfisushka, who served as housekeeper, poultry keeper and laundress. Vasily Ivanovich walked around the room throughout dinner and with a completely happy and even blissful look spoke about the grave fears instilled in him by Napoleonic policies and the intricacies of the Italian question. Arina Vlasyevna did not notice Arkady, did not treat him; prop up your fist round face, whose puffy, cherry-colored lips and moles on her cheeks and above her eyebrows gave her a very good-natured expression, she did not take her eyes off her son and kept sighing; she was dying to know how long he had arrived, but she was afraid to ask him. “Well, whatever he says, for two days,” she thought, and her heart sank. After the roast, Vasily Ivanovich disappeared for a moment and returned with an uncorked half-bottle of champagne. “Here,” he exclaimed, “even though we live in the wilderness, on special occasions we have something to amuse ourselves with!” He poured three glasses and a glass, proclaimed the health of the “invaluable visitors” and at once, military-style, slammed his glass, and forced Arina Vlasyevna to drink the glass to the last drop. When the turn came to jam, Arkady, who could not tolerate anything sweet, nevertheless considered it his duty to taste four different, freshly brewed varieties, especially since Bazarov flatly refused and immediately lit a cigar. Then tea with cream, butter and pretzels appeared on the scene; then Vasily Ivanovich led everyone into the garden to admire the beauty of the evening. Walking past the bench, he whispered to Arkady:
– At this point I like to philosophize, looking at the setting of the sun: it befits a hermit. And there, further away, I planted several trees that Horace loved.
-What kind of trees? - asked Bazarov, having listened carefully.
- What about... acacias.
Bazarov began to yawn.
“I think it’s time for travelers to embrace Morpheus,” noted Vasily Ivanovich.
- So it’s time to sleep! - Bazarov picked up. - This judgment is fair. It's time, for sure.
Saying goodbye to his mother, he kissed her forehead, and she hugged him and, behind her back, secretly blessed him three times. Vasily Ivanovich took Arkady to his room and wished him “the same blessed rest that I tasted during your happy summers.” And indeed, Arkady slept well in his dressing room: it smelled of mint, and two crickets alternated in a sleepy way behind the stove. Vasily Ivanovich went from Arkady to his office and, dozing on the sofa at the feet of his son, was about to chat with him, but Bazarov immediately sent him away, saying that he wanted to sleep, but he himself did not fall asleep until the morning. With his eyes wide open, he looked angrily into the darkness: childhood memories had no power over him, and besides, he had not yet managed to get rid of the last bitter impressions. Arina Vlasyevna first prayed to her heart's content, then talked for a long, long time with Anfisushka, who, standing rooted to the spot in front of the lady and fixing her only eye on her, conveyed to her in a mysterious whisper all her comments and thoughts about Evgeniy Vasilyevich. The old woman became completely dizzy from joy, from the wine, from the cigar smoke; The husband started talking to her and waved his hand.
Arina Vlasyevna was a real Russian noblewoman of the past; she should have lived over two hundred years old, in old Moscow times. She was very pious and sensitive if Vasily Ivanovich had a headache; I didn’t read a single book except “Alexis, or the Cabin in the Woods,” I wrote one, many two letters a year, and I knew a lot about housekeeping, drying and making jam, although I didn’t touch anything with my own hands and was generally reluctant to move. Arina Vlasyevna was very kind and, in her own way, not stupid at all. She knew that there are gentlemen in the world who must command, and simple people who must serve, and therefore she did not disdain either servility or prostrations; but she treated her subordinates kindly and meekly, never let a single beggar pass without a handout, and never judged anyone, although she did gossip sometimes. In her youth she was very pretty, played the clavichord and spoke a little French; but during many years of wandering with her husband, whom she married against her will, she became blurred and forgot music and the French language. She loved and feared her son unspeakably; she left the management of the estate to Vasily Ivanovich - and no longer entered into anything: she groaned, waved her handkerchief and raised her eyebrows higher and higher in fear as soon as her old man began to talk about the upcoming transformations and his plans. She was suspicious, constantly expecting some great misfortune and immediately cried as soon as she remembered something sad... Such women are now a thing of the past. God knows whether we should rejoice at this!

Katya, who was slowly matching flower to flower, raised her eyes to Bazarov in bewilderment - and, meeting his quick and careless gaze, she flushed all the way to her ears. Anna Sergeevna shook her head.

“Trees in the forest,” she repeated. - So, in your opinion, there is no difference between a stupid and an intelligent person, between a good and an evil person?

– No, there is: as between a sick person and a healthy person. A consumptive person’s lungs are not in the same position as yours and mine, although they are structured the same. We know approximately why bodily ailments occur; and moral illnesses come from bad upbringing, from all sorts of trifles that fill people’s heads from childhood, from the ugly state of society, in a word. Correct society and there will be no diseases.

Bazarov said all this with such an air, as if at the same time he was thinking to himself: “Believe me or not, it’s all the same to me!” He slowly ran his long fingers over his sideburns, and his eyes darted to the corners.

“And you believe,” said Anna Sergeevna, “that when society corrects itself, there will no longer be either stupid or evil people?”

- At least, with the correct structure of society, it will be completely equal whether a person is stupid or smart, evil or kind.

- Yes, I understand; everyone will have the same spleen.

- That's right, ma'am.

Odintsova turned to Arkady.

– What is your opinion, Arkady Nikolaevich?

“I agree with Evgeniy,” he answered.

Katya looked at him from under her brows.

“You surprise me, gentlemen,” said Odintsova, “but we will talk to you later.” And now, I hear auntie going to drink tea; we must spare her ears.

Anna Sergeevna's aunt, Princess X...ya, a thin and small woman with a face clenched into a fist and motionless evil eyes under a gray overlay, entered and, barely bowing to the guests, sank into a wide velvet chair, on which no one but her had the right to sit . Katya put a bench under her feet; The old woman did not thank her, did not even look at her, she only moved her hands under the yellow shawl that covered almost the entirety of her frail body. The princess loved the color yellow: she also had bright yellow ribbons on her cap.

- How did you rest, auntie? – Odintsova asked, raising her voice.

“That dog is here again,” the old woman grumbled in response and, noticing that Fifi took two hesitant steps in her direction, exclaimed: “Scram, scram!”

Katya called Fifi and opened the door for her.

Fifi happily rushed out, hoping that she would be taken for a walk, but, left alone outside the door, she began to scratch herself and squeal. The princess frowned, Katya wanted to go out...

– I think the tea is ready? - Odintsova said. - Gentlemen, let's go; Auntie, please have some tea.

The princess silently rose from her chair and was the first to leave the living room. Everyone followed her to the dining room. A Cossack man in livery noisily pushed away from the table a chair covered with pillows, also a treasured one, into which the princess sank; Katya, who was pouring tea, was the first to serve her a cup with a painted coat of arms. The old woman put honey in her cup (she thought that drinking tea with sugar was both sinful and expensive, although she herself did not spend a penny on anything) and suddenly asked in a hoarse voice:

– What does Prince Ivan write?

Nobody answered her. Bazarov and Arkady soon realized that they did not pay attention to her, although they treated her respectfully. “They are keeping it for the sake of importance, because they are princely offspring,” thought Bazarov... After tea, Anna Sergeevna suggested going for a walk; but it began to rain, and the whole company, with the exception of the princess, returned to the living room. A neighbor arrived, a card game fan named Porfiry Platonich, a plump, gray-haired man with short, precisely chiseled legs, very polite and funny. Anna Sergeevna, who was talking more and more with Bazarov, asked him if he wanted to fight them in the old-fashioned way in preference. Bazarov agreed, saying that he needed to prepare in advance for his upcoming position as a district doctor.

“Be careful,” Anna Sergeevna remarked, “Porfiry Platonich and I will defeat you.” And you, Katya,” she added, “play something for Arkady Nikolaevich; he loves music, by the way, we’ll listen.

Katya reluctantly approached the piano; and Arkady, although he definitely loved music, reluctantly followed her: it seemed to him that Odintsova was sending him away, and in his heart, like every young man of his age, some vague and languid feeling was already boiling up, similar to a premonition of love . Katya lifted the lid of the piano and, without looking at Arkady, said in a low voice:

- What should you play?

“Whatever you want,” Arkady answered indifferently.

– What kind of music do you like best? – Katya repeated without changing her position.

– Do you like Mozart?

- I love Mozart.

Katya took out Mozart’s purest sonata-fantasy. She played very well, although a little stern and dry. Without taking her eyes off the notes and tightly clenching her lips, she sat motionless and straight, and only towards the end of the sonata her face became hot and a small strand of her hair fell on her dark eyebrow.

Arkady was especially struck by the last part of the sonata, that part in which, in the midst of the captivating gaiety of a carefree melody, gusts of such sad, almost tragic sorrow suddenly arise... But the thoughts aroused in him by the sounds of Mozart did not relate to Katya. Looking at her, he just thought: “But this young lady plays well, and she herself is not bad.”

Having finished the sonata, Katya, without moving her hands on the key, asked: “Is that enough?” Arkady announced that he did not dare bother her any more, and started talking to her about Mozart; I asked her whether she chose this sonata herself, or who recommended it to her? But Katya answered him in monosyllables: she hid, retreated into herself. When this happened to her, she did not come out quickly; Her very face then took on a stubborn, almost stupid expression. She was not only timid, but distrustful and a little intimidated by the sister who raised her, which, of course, she did not suspect. Arkady ended up calling Fifi, who had returned, and began stroking her head with a benevolent smile. Katya took up her flowers again.

And Bazarov, meanwhile, got back up and down. Anna Sergeevna played cards masterfully, Porfiry Platonich could also stand up for himself. Bazarov was left with a loss, although insignificant, but still not entirely pleasant for him. At dinner, Anna Sergeevna again started talking about botany.

“Let’s go for a walk tomorrow morning,” she told him, “I want to learn from you the Latin names of field plants and their properties.”

– What do you need Latin names for? - asked Bazarov.

“Everything needs order,” she answered.

“What a wonderful woman Anna Sergeevna is,” exclaimed Arkady, left alone with his friend in the room assigned to them.

“Yes,” answered Bazarov, “a woman with a brain.” Well, she's seen the sights.

- In what sense are you saying this, Evgeny Vasilich?

A beautiful greyhound dog with a blue collar ran into the living room, knocking its nails on the floor, and after her came a girl of about eighteen, black-haired and dark-skinned, with a somewhat round but pleasant face, with small dark eyes. She was holding a basket filled with flowers.

“Here’s my Katya,” said Odintsova, pointing at her with a movement of her head.

Katya sat down slightly, positioned herself next to her sister, and began sorting out the flowers. The greyhound dog, whose name was Fifi, approached the two guests in turn, wagging its tail, and poked each of them in the hand with its cold nose.

– Did you pick it all yourself? – Odintsova asked.

“On my own,” answered Katya.

– Will auntie come for tea?

- He will come.

When Katya spoke, she smiled very sweetly, shyly and frankly, and looked somehow funny and stern, from bottom to top. Everything about her was still young-green: her voice, the fluff all over her face, her pink hands with whitish circles on their palms, and her slightly compressed shoulders... She blushed constantly and quickly took a breath.

Odintsova turned to Bazarov.

“You are looking at the pictures out of decency, Evgeny Vasilich,” she began. - It doesn't bother you. Better come over to us and let's argue about something.

Bazarov approached.

-What do you want, sir? - he said.

- About whatever you want. I warn you that I am a terrible debater.

– I am. This seems to surprise you. Why?

- Because, as far as I can judge, your disposition is calm and cold, and for an argument you need passion.

- How did you manage to recognize me so soon? First of all, I am impatient and persistent, better ask Katya; and secondly, I get carried away very easily.

Bazarov looked at Anna Sergeevna.

“Perhaps you should know better.” So, you want to argue, if you please. I looked at the views of Saxon Switzerland in your album, and you noticed to me that this could not occupy me. You said this because you don’t assume artistic sense in me - yes, I really don’t have it; but these species could interest me from a geological point of view, from the point of view of mountain formation, for example.

- Sorry; as a geologist, you would rather resort to a book, a special essay, rather than a drawing.

– The drawing will clearly present to me what is presented in the book on ten whole pages.

Anna Sergeevna was silent.

– And yet you don’t have a bit of artistic sense? - she said, leaning her elbows on the table and with this very movement bringing her face closer to Bazarov. - How do you manage without him?

– What is it used for, may I ask?

- Yes, at least to be able to recognize and study people.

Bazarov grinned.

– Firstly, there is life experience for this; and secondly, let me tell you, studying individual personalities is not worth the trouble. All people are similar to each other both in body and soul; each of us has the same brain, spleen, heart, and lungs; and the so-called moral qualities are the same for everyone: small modifications mean nothing. One human specimen is enough to judge all others. People are like trees in the forest; not a single botanist will study each individual birch tree.

Katya, who was slowly matching flower to flower, raised her eyes to Bazarov in bewilderment - and, meeting his quick and careless gaze, she flushed all the way to her ears. Anna Sergeevna shook her head.

“Trees in the forest,” she repeated. - So, in your opinion, there is no difference between a stupid and an intelligent person, between a good and an evil person?

– No, there is: as between a sick person and a healthy person. A consumptive person’s lungs are not in the same position as yours and mine, although they are structured the same. We know approximately why bodily ailments occur; and moral illnesses come from bad upbringing, from all sorts of trifles that fill people’s heads from childhood, from the ugly state of society, in a word. Correct society and there will be no diseases.

Bazarov said all this with such an air, as if at the same time he was thinking to himself: “Believe me or not, it’s all the same to me!” He slowly ran his long fingers over his sideburns, and his eyes darted to the corners.

“And you believe,” said Anna Sergeevna, “that when society corrects itself, there will no longer be either stupid or evil people?”

- At least, with the correct structure of society, it will be completely equal whether a person is stupid or smart, evil or kind.

- Yes, I understand; everyone will have the same spleen.

- That's right, ma'am.

Odintsova turned to Arkady:

– What is your opinion, Arkady Nikolaevich?

“I agree with Evgeniy,” he answered.

Katya looked at him from under her brows.

“You surprise me, gentlemen,” said Odintsova, “but we will talk to you later.” And now, I hear auntie going to drink tea; we must spare her ears.

Anna Sergeevna's aunt, Princess X......I, a thin and small woman with a face clenched into a fist and motionless evil eyes under a gray overlay, entered and, barely bowing to the guests, sank into a wide velvet chair, to which no one but her had the right sit down. Katya placed a bench under her feet: the old woman did not thank her, did not even look at her, she only moved her hands under the yellow shawl that covered almost the entirety of her frail body. The princess loved the color yellow: she also had bright yellow ribbons on her cap.

- How did you rest, auntie? – Odintsova asked, raising her voice.

“That dog is here again,” the old woman grumbled in response and, noticing that Fifi took two hesitant steps in her direction, exclaimed: “Scram, scram!”

Katya called Fifi and opened the door for her.

Fifi happily rushed out, hoping that she would be taken for a walk, but, left alone outside the door, she began to scratch herself and squeal. The princess frowned, Katya wanted to go out...

- Sorry; as a geologist, you would rather resort to a book, a special essay, rather than a drawing.

– The drawing will clearly present to me what is presented in the book on ten whole pages.

Anna Sergeevna was silent.

– And yet you don’t have a bit of artistic sense? - she said, leaning her elbows on the table and with this very movement bringing her face closer to Bazarov. - How do you manage without him?

– What is it used for, may I ask?

- Yes, at least to be able to recognize and study people.

Bazarov grinned.

– Firstly, there is life experience for this; and secondly, let me tell you, studying individual personalities is not worth the trouble. All people are similar to each other both in body and soul; each of us has the same brain, spleen, heart, and lungs; and the so-called moral qualities are the same for everyone: small modifications mean nothing. One human specimen is enough to judge all others. People are like trees in the forest; not a single botanist will study each individual birch tree.

Katya, who was slowly matching flower to flower, raised her eyes to Bazarov in bewilderment - and, meeting his quick and careless gaze, she flushed all the way to her ears. Anna Sergeevna shook her head.

“Trees in the forest,” she repeated. - So, in your opinion, there is no difference between a stupid and an intelligent person, between a good and an evil person?

– No, there is: as between a sick person and a healthy person. A consumptive person’s lungs are not in the same position as yours and mine, although they are structured the same. We know approximately why bodily ailments occur; and moral illnesses come from bad upbringing, from all sorts of trifles that fill people’s heads from childhood, from the ugly state of society, in a word. Correct society and there will be no diseases.

Bazarov said all this with such an air, as if at the same time he was thinking to himself: “Believe me or not, it’s all the same to me!” He slowly ran his long fingers over his sideburns, and his eyes darted to the corners.

“And you believe,” said Anna Sergeevna, “that when society corrects itself, there will no longer be either stupid or evil people?”

- At least, with the correct structure of society, it will be completely equal whether a person is stupid or smart, evil or kind.

- Yes, I understand; everyone will have the same spleen.

- That's right, ma'am.

Odintsova turned to Arkady:

– What is your opinion, Arkady Nikolaevich?

“I agree with Evgeniy,” he answered.

Katya looked at him from under her brows.

“You surprise me, gentlemen,” said Odintsova, “but we will talk to you later.” And now, I hear auntie going to drink tea; we must spare her ears.

Anna Sergeevna's aunt, Princess X......I, a thin and small woman with a face clenched into a fist and motionless evil eyes under a gray overlay, entered and, barely bowing to the guests, sank into a wide velvet chair, to which no one but her had the right sit down. Katya placed a bench under her feet: the old woman did not thank her, did not even look at her, she only moved her hands under the yellow shawl that covered almost the entirety of her frail body. The princess loved the color yellow: she also had bright yellow ribbons on her cap.

- How did you rest, auntie? – Odintsova asked, raising her voice.

“That dog is here again,” the old woman grumbled in response and, noticing that Fifi took two hesitant steps in her direction, exclaimed: “Scram, scram!”

Katya called Fifi and opened the door for her.

Fifi happily rushed out, hoping that she would be taken for a walk, but, left alone outside the door, she began to scratch herself and squeal. The princess frowned, Katya wanted to go out...

– I think the tea is ready? - Odintsova said. - Gentlemen, let's go; Auntie, please have some tea.

The princess silently rose from her chair and was the first to leave the living room. Everyone followed her to the dining room. A Cossack man in livery noisily pushed away from the table a chair covered with pillows, also a treasured one, into which the princess sank; Katya, who was pouring tea, was the first to serve her a cup with a painted coat of arms. The old woman put honey in her cup (she thought that drinking tea with sugar was both sinful and expensive, although she herself did not spend a penny on anything) and suddenly asked in a hoarse voice:

Nobody answered her. Bazarov and Arkady soon realized that they did not pay attention to her, although they treated her respectfully. " For-sake they hold it in importance because they are princely offspring,” thought Bazarov... After tea, Anna Sergeevna suggested going for a walk; but it began to rain, and the whole company, with the exception of the princess, returned to the living room. A neighbor arrived, a card game fan named Porfiry Platonich, a plump, gray-haired man with short, precisely chiseled legs, very polite and funny. Anna Sergeevna, who was talking more and more with Bazarov, asked him if he wanted to fight them in the old-fashioned way in preference. Bazarov agreed, saying that he needed to prepare in advance for his upcoming position as a district doctor.

“Be careful,” Anna Sergeevna remarked, “Porfiry Platonich and I will defeat you.” And you, Katya,” she added, “play something for Arkady Nikolaevich; he loves music, by the way, we’ll listen.

Katya reluctantly approached the piano; and Arkady, although he definitely loved music, reluctantly followed her: it seemed to him that Odintsova was sending him away, and in his heart, like every young man of his age, some vague and languid feeling was already boiling up, similar to a premonition of love . Katya lifted the lid of the piano and, without looking at Arkady, said in a low voice:

- What should you play?

“Whatever you want,” Arkady answered indifferently.

– What kind of music do you like best? – Katya repeated without changing her position.

– Do you like Mozart?

- I love Mozart.

Katya took out Mozart’s purest sonata-fantasy. She played very well, although a little stern and dry. Without taking her eyes off the notes and tightly clenching her lips, she sat motionless and straight, and only towards the end of the sonata her face became hot and a small strand of her hair fell on her dark eyebrow.

Arkady was especially struck by the last part of the sonata, that part in which, in the midst of the captivating gaiety of a carefree melody, gusts of such sad, almost tragic sorrow suddenly arise... But the thoughts aroused in him by the sounds of Mozart did not relate to Katya. Looking at her, he just thought: “But this young lady plays well, and she herself is not bad.”

Having finished the sonata, Katya, without moving her hands on the key, asked: “Is that enough?” Arkady announced that he did not dare to bother her any more, and started talking to her about Mozart; I asked her whether she chose this sonata herself or who recommended it to her? But Katya answered him in monosyllables: she hid, went into herself. When this happened to her, she did not come out quickly; Her very face then took on a stubborn, almost stupid expression. She was not only timid, but distrustful and a little intimidated by the sister who raised her, which, of course, she did not suspect. Arkady ended up calling Fifi, who had returned, and began stroking her head with a benevolent smile for continence. Katya took up her flowers again.

And Bazarov, meanwhile, got back up and down. Anna Sergeevna played cards masterfully, Porfiry Platonich could also stand up for himself. Bazarov was left with a loss, although insignificant, but still not entirely pleasant for him. At dinner, Anna Sergeevna again started talking about botany.

“Let’s go for a walk tomorrow morning,” she told him, “I want to learn from you the Latin names of field plants and their properties.”

– What do you need Latin names for? - asked Bazarov.

“Everything needs order,” she answered.

“What a wonderful woman Anna Sergeevna is,” exclaimed Arkady, left alone with his friend in the room assigned to them.

Bazarov has little practical knowledge; his position is that of a theorist. He explains the imperfection of society and social illnesses by the nature of society itself. “We know approximately why bodily ailments occur; and moral illnesses come from bad upbringing, from all sorts of trifles that fill people’s heads from childhood, from the ugly state of society... - says Bazarov. “Correct society, and there will be no diseases.” As for the upbringing that Turgenev’s hero is talking about here, in his opinion, everyone should educate themselves, the way they do. Turgenev does not show how and under the influence of what Bazarov’s upbringing took place, but in the novel he is presented as a person strong will, smart and active. Even in the Kirsanov estate he does not sit on

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place, conducts physical and chemical experiments, is engaged in natural science.

In disputes with Pavel Petrovich, issues related to literature, poetry and art in general were raised. Bazarov believes that art means nothing and gives nothing to a person; rather, it leads to fruitless dreams.

Nature for Bazarov is only a “workshop”, and he believes that “a person is a worker in it.” Bazarov's nihilism was not based out of nowhere. The youth of the 60s mainly relied on natural science and practical activities, believing that only accurate knowledge and practical actions would help in reorganizing the world. Not everyone in this era understood the true transformative meaning of art.

As in many other works, Turgenev tests the hero with love. Here Bazarov’s character appears from one more side, I must say from the best. We are accustomed to considering the hero of the novel a person with a cold mind, to whom all feelings are alien, including love. This confirms his statement about women as rather stupid creatures. Odintsova was an intelligent, beautiful woman, but selfish and cold. Love for her did not bring Bazarov happiness.

Bazarov spent the rest of his life on his parents' estate. Turgenev describes Bazarov's parents as sensitive, kind, deeply loving their son and tragically experiencing his death. Using the example of the Bazarov family, Turgenev also showed the conflict of generations. Its essence is that Bazarov, despite the fact that he loves his parents, follows a different path, not the one that the older generation had. It is difficult for parents who have lived a different life to understand their son. But the son cannot live the way his parents lived. Bazarov is alone in his family. And not only in the family. He is forced to part with his students. Arkady marries and moves away from the views of his teacher. Sitnikov and Kukshina are not so much followers of democrats as companions of every new idea.