The Giants of Russian Literature: The Greatest Russian Novels, Stories, Plays, Folk Tales & Legends. Максим Горький

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СКАЧАТЬ is what troubles me. Once upon a time I used to winter in Moscow, but now good Monsieur Kukshin has to dwell there alone. And Moscow itself is, is—well, not what it used to be. As a matter of fact, I contemplate going abroad. I have spent the whole year in making my preparations for the journey."

      "You will go to Paris, I presume?"

      "Yes, and to Heidelberg."

      "Why to Heidelberg?"

"Because there the great Herr Bunsen1 has his home."

      Bazarov could not think of a suitable reply.

      "Do you know Pierre Sapozhnikov?" continued she.

      "No, I do not."

      "He is always to be found at Lydia Khostatov's."

      "Even with her I am not acquainted."

      "Well, Sapozhnikov is going to escort me on my travels. For at least I am free—I have no children, thank God! Why I should have put in that 'Thank God!' I scarcely know."

      She rolled another cigarette between her nicotine-stained fingers, licked it, placed it between her lips, and struck a match. The servant entered with a tray.

      "Ah! Here comes luncheon! Will you have some? Victor, pray uncork the bottle. It is your function to do so."

      "Mine, yes, mine," he hummed; then gave another of his shrill giggles.

      "Have you any good-looking ladies in this town?" Bazarov asked after a third glassful of champagne.

      "Yes," replied Evdoksia. "But uniformly they are futile. For example, a friend of mine, a Madame Odintsov, is not bad-looking, and has nothing against her except a doubtful reputation (a thing of no consequence in itself); but, alas! she combines with it such a complete lack of freedom, or of breadth of view, or, in fact, of anything! The system of bringing up women needs a radical change. I myself have given much thought to the matter, and come to the conclusion that our women are ill-educated."

      "Yes; the only thing to be done with them is to hold them in contempt," agreed Sitnikov. To him any opportunity of despising, of expressing scornful sentiments, was the most agreeable of sensations. Yet, though he thus chose women for his especial censure, he little suspected that before many months were over he himself would be grovelling at the feet of a wife—and doing so merely for the reason that she had been born a Princess Durdoleosov!

      "No, to none of them would our conversation convey anything," he continued. "Nor is there a single one of them upon whom the attention of a serious-minded man would be anything but thrown away."

      "Scarcely need they desire to have anything conveyed to them by our conversation," remarked Bazarov.

      "Of whom are you speaking?" interposed Evdoksia.

      "Of the smart women of the day."

"What? I suppose you agree with Proudhon's2 opinion on the subject?"

      Bazarov drew himself up.

      "I agree with no man's opinions," he remarked. "I have some of my own."

      "A bas les autorités!" cried Sitnikov, delighted at this unlooked-for opportunity of showing off in the presence of the man whom he worshipped.

      "But even Macaulay——" began Madame Kukshin.

      "A bas Macaulay!" roared Sitnikov. "How can you defend those dolls of ours?"

      "I am not defending them at all," said Madame Kukshin. "I am merely standing up for the rights of women—rights which I have sworn to defend to the last drop of my blood."

      "A bas——" began Sitnikov—then paused. "I do not reject them," he added in a lower tone.

      "But you do reject them, for you are a Slavophil, as I can see very clearly."

      "On the contrary, I am not a Slavophil; although, of course, I——"

"But you are a Slavophil: you believe in the principles of the Domostroi,3 and would like always to be holding over women a scourge."

      "A scourge is not a bad thing in its proper place," observed Bazarov. "But, seeing that we have reached the last drop of, of——"

      "Of what?" said Evdoksia.

      "Of champagne, most respected Avdotia Nikitishna—not of your blood."

"Never when I hear my sex abused can I listen with indifference," resumed Evdoksia. "It is all too horrible, too horrible! Instead of attacking us, people ought to read Michel's4 De l'Amour. What a wonderful work it is! Let us talk of love."

      She posed her arm gracefully upon the tumbled cushions of the sofa.

      There fell a sudden silence.

      "What is there to say concerning love?" at length said Bazarov. "In passing, you mentioned a certain Madame Odintsov (I think that was the name?). Who is she?"

      "A very charming woman," squeaked Sitnikov, "as well as clever, rich, and a widow. Unfortunately, she is not sufficiently developed, and a closer acquaintance with our Evdoksia would do her a world of good. Evdoksia, I drink to your health! Let us sing the honours. 'Et toc, et toc, et tin, tin, tin! Et toc, et toc, et tin, tin, tin!'"

      "You scamp, Victor!"

      The luncheon proved a lengthy affair, for to the first bottle of champagne there succeeded a second, and to the latter a third, and to that a fourth. Meanwhile Evdoksia kept up an unceasing flow of chatter, and received effective assistance from Sitnikov. In particular did the pair discuss the nature of marriage ("the outcome of prejudice and vice"), the question whether people are born "single," and the consistency of "individuality." Then Evdoksia seated herself at the piano, and, red in the face with wine which she had drunk, clattered her flat finger-nails upon the keys, and essayed hoarsely to sing, first of all some gipsy ditties, and then the ballad, "Dreaming Granada lies asleep"; while, throwing a scarf over his head to represent the dying lover, Sitnikov joined her at the words "Your lips meet mine in a burning kiss."

      At length Arkady could stand it no longer.

      "Gentlemen," he exclaimed, "this is sheer Bedlam!"

      As for Bazarov, he yawned, for he had done little more than interject a satirical word or two—his attention had been devoted, rather, to the champagne. At length he rose, and, accompanied by Arkady, left the house without so much as a word of farewell to the hostess. Sitnikov pursued the pair.

      "Ah, ha!" he exclaimed as he skipped about the roadway. "Did I not tell you that she would prove a most remarkable personality? Would that more of our women were like her! In her way, she is a moral phenomenon."

      "And your father's establishment?" remarked Bazarov as he pointed to a tavern which they happened to be passing. "Is that also a moral phenomenon?"

      Sitnikov СКАЧАТЬ