Fathers & Sons. Ivan Turgenev

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ has well deserved it. In any case, moreover, it is not for a son to summon his father to judgment—least of all for me, who possess a father like yourself, a father who has never restricted his son's freedom of action."

      At first Arkady's voice had trembled a little, since not only did he feel that he was doing the "magnanimous," but also he knew that he was delivering something like a "lecture" to his father; but such an effect does the sound of his own voice exercise upon a human being that towards the end Arkady pronounced his words firmly, and even with a certain degree of empressement.

      "I thank you, Arkady," Nikolai Petrovitch said faintly as his fingers began their customary perambulation of his forehead. "Nor is your conjecture mistaken, for if this girl had not deserved the invitation, I should not, of course, have—in other words, as you imply, this is no frivolous whim on my part. Nor need I have spoken of the matter, were it not that I desired you to understand that she might possibly have felt embarrassed at meeting you on the very day after your arrival."

      "Then let me go and meet her," exclaimed Arkady with another access of "magnanimity" as he sprang from his chair. "Yes, let me go and explain to her why she need not shun me."

      Nikolai Petrovitch also rose.

      "Arkady," he began, "pray do me a favour. Hitherto I had not warned you that——"

      But, without listening to him, Arkady darted from the terrace. For a moment or two Nikolai Petrovitch gazed after him—then, overcome with confusion, relapsed into a chair. His heart was beating rapidly. Whether or not he was picturing to himself a strangeness of future relations with his son; whether he was imagining that, had his son refrained from interfering, the latter might have paid him more respect in future; whether he was reproaching himself for his own weakness—it is difficult to say what his thoughts were. Probably in them there was a combination of the feelings just indicated, if only in the form of apprehensions. Yet those apprehensions cannot have been deeply rooted, as was proved by the fact that, for all the beating of his heart, the colour had not left his face.

      Soon hasty footsteps were heard approaching, and Arkady reappeared on the terrace.

      "I have made her acquaintance!" he shouted with a kindly, good-humoured, triumphant expression. "That Theodosia Nikolaievna is not well to-day is a fact; but also it is a fact that she is going to appear later. And why did you not tell me that I had a little brother? Otherwise I should have gone and kissed him last night, even as I have done this moment."

      Nikolai Petrovitch tried to say something—to rise and to make an explanation of some sort; but Arkady cut him short by falling upon his neck.

      "What is this? Again embracing?" said Paul Petrovitch behind them.

      As a matter of fact, neither father nor son was ill-pleased to see him appear, for, however touching such situations may be, one may be equally glad to escape from them.

      "At what are you surprised?" asked Nikolai Petrovitch gaily. "Remember that I have not seen Arkesha for several centuries—at all events, not since last night!"

      "Oh, I am not surprised," said Paul Petrovitch. "On the contrary, I should not mind embracing him myself."

      And Arkady, on approaching his uncle, felt once more upon his cheek the impression of a perfumed moustache. Paul Petrovitch then sat down to table. Clad in an elegant morning suit of English cut, he was flaunting on his head a diminutive fez which helped the carelessly folded tie to symbolise the freedom of a country life. At the same time, the stiff collar of the shirt (which was striped, not white, as best befitted a matutinal toilet) supported with its usual rigour an immaculately shaven chin.

      "Well, Arkady?" said he. "Where is your new friend?"

      "Out somewhere. He seldom misses going for an early morning walk. But the great thing is to take no notice of him, for he detests all ceremony."

      "So I have perceived." And with his usual deliberateness Paul Petrovitch began to butter a piece of bread. "Will he be staying here very long?"

      "Well, as long as he may care to stay. As a matter of fact, he is going on to his father's place."

      "And where does his father live?"

      "Some eighty versts from here, in the same province as ourselves. I believe he has a small property, and used to be an army doctor."

      "H'm! Ever since last night I have been asking myself where I can have heard the name before. Nikolai, do you remember whether there was a doctor of that name in our father's division?"

      "Yes, there used to be."

      "Then that doctor will be this fellow's father. H'm!" And Paul Petrovitch twitched his moustache. "What exactly is your Bazarov?" he enquired of Arkady.

      "What is he?" Arkady repeated smiling. "Do you really want me to tell you what he is, Uncle?"

      "If you please, my nephew."

      "He is a Nihilist."

      "A what?" exclaimed Nikolai Petrovitch, while even Paul Petrovitch paused in the act of raising a knife to the edge of which there was a morsel of butter adhering.

      "A Nihilist," repeated Arkady.

      "A Nihilist?" queried Nikolai Petrovitch. "I imagine that that must be a term derived from the Latin nihil or 'nothing.' It denotes, I presume, a man who—a man who—well, a man who declines to accept anything."

      "Or a man who declines to respect anything," hazarded Paul Petrovitch as he re-applied himself to the butter.

      "No, a man who treats things solely from the critical point of view," corrected Arkady.

      "But the two things are one and the same, are they not?" queried Paul Petrovitch.

      "Oh no. A Nihilist is a man who declines to bow to authority, or to accept any principle on trust, however sanctified it may be."

      "And to what can that lead?" asked Paul Petrovitch.

      "It depends upon the individual. In one man's case, it may lead to good; in that of another, to evil."

      "I see. But we elders view things differently. We folk of the older generation believe that without principles" (Paul Petrovitch pronounced the word softly, and with a French accent, whereas Arkady had pronounced it with an emphasis on the leading syllable)—"without principles it is impossible to take a single step in life, or to draw a single breath. Mais vous avez changé tout cela. God send you health and a general's rank, Messieurs Nihil—how do you pronounce it?"

      "Ni-hi-lists," said Arkady distinctly.

      "Quite so (formerly we had Hegelists, and now they have become Nihilists)—God send you health and a general's rank, but also let us see how you will contrive to exist in an absolute void, an airless vacuum. Pray ring the bell, brother Nikolai, for it is time for me to take my cocoa."

      Nikolai Petrovitch did as requested, and also shouted for Duniasha; but, instead of the latter, there issued on to the terrace Thenichka in person. A young woman of twenty-three, she was pale, and gentle-looking, with dark eyes and hair, a pair of childishly red, pouting lips, and delicate hands. Also, she was clad in a clean cotton gown, a new blue kerchief was thrown lightly over her rounded shoulders, and she was carrying in front of her a large cup of cocoa. Shyly she placed СКАЧАТЬ