Fathers and Sons. Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev

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СКАЧАТЬ and beginning to lead the way towards the inn yard, he added: "Come this way, come this way. The horses will soon be ready."

      His excitement seemed even to outdo his son's, so much did he stammer and stutter, and, at times, find himself at a loss for a word. Arkady stopped him.

      "Papa," he said, "first let me introduce my good friend Bazarov, who is the comrade whom I have so often mentioned in letters to you, and who has been kind enough to come to us for a visit."

      At once Nikolai Petrovitch wheeled round, and, approaching a tall man who, clad in a long coat with a tasselled belt, had just alighted from the tarantass, pressed the bare red hand which, after a pause, the stranger offered him.

      "I am indeed glad to see you!" was Nikolai Petrovitch's greeting, "I am indeed grateful to you for your kindness in paying us this visit! Alas, I hope that, that——But first might I inquire your name?"

      "Evgenii Vasiliev," replied the other in slow, but virile, accents as, turning down the collar of his coat, he revealed his face more clearly. Long and thin, with a high forehead which looked flattened at the top and became sharpened towards the nose, the face had large, greenish eyes and long, sandy whiskers. The instant that the features brightened into a smile, however, they betokened self-assurance and intellect.

      "My dearest Evgenii Vasiliev", Nikolai Petrovitch continued, "I trust that whilst you are with us you will not find time hang heavy upon your hands."

      Bazarov gave his lips a slight twitch, but vouchsafed no reply beyond raising his cap—a movement which revealed the fact that the prominent convolutions of the skull were by no means concealed by the superincumbent mass of indeterminate-coloured hair.

      "Now, Arkady," went on Nikolai Petrovitch as he turned to his son, "shall we have the horses harnessed at once, or should you prefer to rest a little?"

      "Let us rest at home, Papa. So pray have the horses put to."

      "I will," his father agreed. "Peter! Bestir yourself, my good fellow!"

      Being what is known as a "perfectly trained servant," Peter had neither approached nor shaken hands with the young barin, but contented himself with a distant bow. He now vanished through the yard gates.

      "Though I have come in the koliaska," said Nikolai Petrovitch, "I have brought three fresh horses for the tarantass."

      Arkady then drank some water from a yellow bowl proffered by the landlord, while Bazarov lighted a pipe, and approached the ostler, who was engaged in unharnessing the stagehorses.

      "Only two can ride in the koliaska," continued Nikolai Petrovitch; "wherefore I am rather in a difficulty to know how your friend will——"

      "Oh, he can travel in the tarantass," interrupted Arkady. "Moreover, do not stand on any ceremony with him, for, wonderful though he is, he is also quite simple, as you will find for yourself."

      Nikolai Petrovitch's coachman brought out the horses, and Bazarov remarked to the ostler:

      "Come, bestir yourself, fat-beard!"

      "Did you hear that, Mitiusha?" added another ostler who was standing with his hands thrust into the back slits of his blouse. "The barin has just called you a fat-beard. And a fat-beard you are."

      For answer Mitiusha merely cocked his cap to one side and drew the reins from the back of the sweating shafts-horse.

      "Quick now, my good fellows!" cried Nikolai Petrovitch. "Bear a hand, all of you, and for each there will be a glassful of vodka."

      Naturally, it was not long before the horses were harnessed, and then father and son seated themselves in the koliaska, Peter mounted the box of that vehicle, and Bazarov stepped into the tarantass, and lolled his head against the leather cushion at the back. Finally the cortège moved away.

      III

      "To think that you are now a graduate and home again!" said Nikolai Petrovitch as he tapped Arkady on the knee, and then on the shoulder. "There now, there now!"

      "And how is Uncle? Is he quite well?" asked Arkady—the reason for the question being that though he felt filled with a genuine, an almost childish delight at his return, he also felt conscious of an instinct that the conversation were best diverted from the emotional to the prosaic.

      "Yes, your uncle is quite well. As a matter of fact, he also had arranged to come and meet you, but at the last moment changed his mind."

      "Did you have very long to wait?" continued Arkady.

      "About five hours."

      "Dearest Papa!" cried Arkady as, leaning over towards his father, he imprinted upon his cheek a fervent kiss. Nikolai Petrovitch smiled quietly.

      "I have got a splendid horse for you," he next remarked. "Presently you shall see him. Also, your room has been entirely repapered."

      "And have you a room for Bazarov as well?"

      "One shall be found for him."

      "Oh—and pray humour him in every way you can. I could not express to you how much I value his friendship."

      "But you have not known him very long, have you?"

      "No—not very long."

      "I thought not, for I do not remember to have seen him in St. Petersburg last winter. In what does he most interest himself?"

      "Principally in natural science. But, to tell the truth, he knows practically everything, and is to become a doctor next year."

      "Oh! So he is in the Medical Faculty?" Nikolai Petrovitch remarked; after which there was silence for a moment.

      "Peter," went on Nikolai, pointing with his hand, "are not those peasants there some of our own?"

      Peter glanced in the direction indicated, and saw a few waggons proceeding along a narrow by-road. The teams were bridleless, and in each waggon were seated some two or three muzhiks with their blouses unbuttoned.

      "Yes, they are some of our own," Peter responded.

      "Then whither can they be going? To the town?"

      "Yes—or to the tavern." This last was added contemptuously, and with a wink to the coachman that was designed to enlist that functionary's sympathy: but as the functionary in question was one of the old school which takes no share in the modern movement, he stirred not a muscle of his face.

      "This year my peasants have been giving me a good deal of trouble," Nikolai Petrovitch continued to his son. "Persistently do they refuse to pay their tithes. What ought to be done with them?"

      "And do you find your hired workmen satisfactory?"

      "Not altogether," muttered Nikolai Petrovitch. "You see, they have become spoilt, more's the pity! Any real energy seems quite to have left them, and they not only ruin my implements, but also leave the land untilled. Does estate-management interest you?"

      "The СКАЧАТЬ