CHAPTER XXIII
Having seen Arkady off with ironical compassion, and given him tounderstand that he was not in the least deceived as to the real objectof his journey, Bazarov shut himself up in complete solitude; he wasovertaken by a fever for work. He did not dispute now with PavelPetrovitch, especially as the latter assumed an excessivelyaristocratic demeanour in his presence, and expressed his opinions morein inarticulate sounds than in words. Only on one occasion PavelPetrovitch fell into a controversy with the _nihilist_ on the subjectof the question then much discussed of the rights of the nobles of theBaltic province; but suddenly he stopped of his own accord, remarkingwith chilly politeness, 'However, we cannot understand one another; I,at least, have not the honour of understanding you.'
'I should think not!' cried Bazarov. 'A man's capable of understandinganything--how the aether vibrates, and what's going on in the sun--buthow any other man can blow his nose differently from him, that he'sincapable of understanding.'
'What, is that an epigram?' observed Pavel Petrovitch inquiringly, andhe walked away.
However, he sometimes asked permission to be present at Bazarov'sexperiments, and once even placed his perfumed face, washed with thevery best soap, near the microscope to see how a transparent infusoriaswallowed a green speck, and busily munched it with two very rapid sortof clappers which were in its throat. Nikolai Petrovitch visitedBazarov much oftener than his brother; he would have come every day, ashe expressed it, to 'study,' if his worries on the farm had not takenoff his attention. He did not hinder the young man in his scientificresearches; he used to sit down somewhere in a corner of the room andlook on attentively, occasionally permitting himself a discreetquestion. During dinner and supper-time he used to try to turn theconversation upon physics, geology, or chemistry, seeing that all othertopics, even agriculture, to say nothing of politics, might lead, ifnot to collisions, at least to mutual unpleasantness. NikolaiPetrovitch surmised that his brother's dislike for Bazarov was no less.An unimportant incident, among many others, confirmed his surmises. Thecholera began to make its appearance in some places in theneighbourhood, and even 'carried off' two persons from Maryino itself.In the night Pavel Petrovitch happened to have rather severe symptoms.He was in pain till the morning, but did not have recourse to Bazarov'sskill. And when he met him the following day, in reply to his question,'Why he had not sent for him?' answered, still quite pale, butscrupulously brushed and shaved, 'Why, I seem to recollect you saidyourself you didn't believe in medicine.' So the days went by. Bazarovwent on obstinately and grimly working ... and meanwhile there was inNikolai Petrovitch's house one creature to whom, if he did not open hisheart, he at least was glad to talk.... That creature was Fenitchka.
He used to meet her for the most part early in the morning, in thegarden, or the farmyard; he never used to go to her room to see her,and she had only once been to his door to inquire--ought she to letMitya have his bath or not? It was not only that she confided in him,that she was not afraid of him--she was positively freer and more ather ease in her behaviour with him than with Nikolai Petrovitchhimself. It is hard to say how it came about; perhaps it was becauseshe unconsciously felt the absence in Bazarov of all gentility, of allthat superiority which at once attracts and overawes. In her eyes hewas both an excellent doctor and a simple man. She looked after herbaby without constraint in his presence; and once when she was suddenlyattacked with giddiness and headache--she took a spoonful of medicinefrom his hand. Before Nikolai Petrovitch she kept, as it were, at adistance from Bazarov; she acted in this way not from hypocrisy, butfrom a kind of feeling of propriety. Pavel Petrovitch she was moreafraid of than ever; for some time he had begun to watch her, and wouldsuddenly make his appearance, as though he sprang out of the earthbehind her back, in his English suit, with his immovable vigilant face,and his hands in his pockets. 'It's like a bucket of cold water onone,' Fenitchka complained to Dunyasha, and the latter sighed inresponse, and thought of another 'heartless' man. Bazarov, without theleast suspicion of the fact, had become the _cruel tyrant_ of herheart.
Fenitchka liked Bazarov; but he liked her too. His face was positivelytransformed when he talked to her; it took a bright, almost kindexpression, and his habitual nonchalance was replaced by a sort ofjesting attentiveness. Fenitchka was growing prettier every day. Thereis a time in the life of young women when they suddenly begin to expandand blossom like summer roses; this time had come for Fenitchka.Dressed in a delicate white dress, she seemed herself slighter andwhiter; she was not tanned by the sun; but the heat, from which shecould not shield herself, spread a slight flush over her cheeks andears, and, shedding a soft indolence over her whole body, was reflectedin a dreamy languor in her pretty eyes. She was almost unable to work;her hands seem to fall naturally into her lap. She scarcely walked atall, and was constantly sighing and complaining with comichelplessness.
'You should go oftener to bathe,' Nikolai Petrovitch told her. He hadmade a large bath covered in with an awning in one of his ponds whichhad not yet quite disappeared.
'Oh, Nikolai Petrovitch! But by the time one gets to the pond, one'sutterly dead, and, coming back, one's dead again. You see, there's noshade in the garden.'
'That's true, there's no shade,' replied Nikolai Petrovitch, rubbinghis forehead.
One day at seven o'clock in the morning Bazarov, returning from a walk,came upon Fenitchka in the lilac arbour, which was long past flowering,but was still thick and green. She was sitting on the garden seat, andhad as usual thrown a white kerchief over her head; near her lay awhole heap of red and white roses still wet with dew. He said goodmorning to her.
'Ah! Yevgeny Vassilyitch!' she said, and lifted the edge of herkerchief a little to look at him, in doing which her arm was left bareto the elbow.
'What are you doing here?' said Bazarov, sitting down beside her. 'Areyou making a nosegay?'
'Yes, for the table at lunch. Nikolai Petrovitch likes it.'
'But it's a long while yet to lunch time. What a heap of flowers!'
'I gathered them now, for it will be hot then, and one can't go out.One can only just breathe now. I feel quite weak with the heat. I'mreally afraid whether I'm not going to be ill.'
'What an idea! Let me feel your pulse.' Bazarov took her hand, felt forthe evenly-beating pulse, but did not even begin to count its throbs.'You'll live a hundred years!' he said, dropping her hand.
'Ah, God forbid!' she cried.
'Why? Don't you want a long life?'
'Well, but a hundred years! There was an old woman near us eighty-fiveyears old--and what a martyr she was! Dirty and deaf and bent andcoughing all the time; nothing but a burden to herself. That's adreadful life!'
'So it's better to be young?'
'Well, isn't it?'
'But why is it better? Tell me!'
'How can you ask why? Why, here I now, while I'm young, I can doeverything--go and come and carry, and needn't ask any one foranything.... What can be better?'
'And to me it's all the same whether I'm young or old.'
'How do you mean--it's all the same? It's not possible what you say.'
'Well, judge for yourself, Fedosya Nikolaevna, what good is my youth tome. I live alone, a poor lonely creature ...'
'That always depends on you.'
'It doesn't at all depend on me! At least, some one ought to take pityon me.'
Fenitchka gave a sidelong look at Bazarov, but said nothing. 'What'sthis book you have?' she asked after a short pause.
'That? That's a scientific book, very difficult.'
'And are you still studying? And don't you find it dull? You knoweverything already I should say.'
'It seems not everything. You try to read a little.'
'But I don't understand anything here. Is it Russian?' asked Fenitchka,taking the heavily bound book in both hands. 'How thick it is!'
'Yes, it's Russian.'
'All the same, I shan't understand anything.'
'Well, I didn't give it you for you to
understand it. I wanted to lookat you while you were reading. When you read, the end of your littlenose moves so nicely.'
Fenitchka, who had set to work to spell out in a low voice the articleon 'Creosote' she had chanced upon, laughed and threw down the book ...it slipped from the seat on to the ground.
'Nonsense!'
'I like it too when you laugh,' observed Bazarov.
'I like it when you talk. It's just like a little brook babbling.'
Fenitchka turned her head away. 'What a person you are to talk!' shecommented, picking the flowers over with her finger. 'And how can youcare to listen to me? You have talked with such clever ladies.'
'Ah, Fedosya Nikolaevna! believe me; all the clever ladies in the worldare not worth your little elbow.'
'Come, there's another invention!' murmured Fenitchka, clasping herhands.
Bazarov picked the book up from the ground.
'That's a medical book; why do you throw it away?'
'Medical?' repeated Fenitchka, and she turned to him again. 'Do youknow, ever since you gave me those drops--do you remember?--Mitya hasslept so well! I really can't think how to thank you; you are so good,really.'
'But you have to pay doctors,' observed Bazarov with a smile. 'Doctors,you know yourself, are grasping people.'
Fenitchka raised her eyes, which seemed still darker from the whitishreflection cast on the upper part of her face, and looked at Bazarov.She did not know whether he was joking or not.
'If you please, we shall be delighted.... I must ask NikolaiPetrovitch ...'
'Why, do you think I want money?' Bazarov interposed. 'No; I don't wantmoney from you.'
'What then?' asked Fenitchka.
'What?' repeated Bazarov. 'Guess!'
'A likely person I am to guess!'
'Well, I will tell you; I want ... one of those roses.'
Fenitchka laughed again, and even clapped her hands, so amusingBazarov's request seemed to her. She laughed, and at the same time feltflattered. Bazarov was looking intently at her.
'By all means,' she said at last; and, bending down to the seat, shebegan picking over the roses. 'Which will you have--a red one or awhite one?'
'Red, and not too large.'
She sat up again. 'Here, take it,' she said, but at once drew back heroutstretched hand, and, biting her lips, looked towards the entrance ofthe arbour, then listened.
'What is it?' asked Bazarov. 'Nikolai Petrovitch?'
'No ... Mr. Kirsanov has gone to the fields ... besides, I'm not afraidof him ... but Pavel Petrovitch ... I fancied ...'
'What?'
'I fancied he was coming here. No ... it was no one. Take it.'Fenitchka gave Bazarov the rose.
'On what grounds are you afraid of Pavel Petrovitch?'
'He always scares me. And I know you don't like him. Do you remember,you always used to quarrel with him? I don't know what your quarrel wasabout, but I can see you turn him about like this and like that.'
Fenitchka showed with her hands how in her opinion Bazarov turned PavelPetrovitch about.
Bazarov smiled. 'But if he gave me a beating,' he asked, 'would youstand up for me?'
'How could I stand up for you? but no, no one will get the better ofyou.'
'Do you think so? But I know a hand which could overcome me if itliked.'
'What hand?'
'Why, don't you know, really? Smell, how delicious this rose smells yougave me.'
Fenitchka stretched her little neck forward, and put her face close tothe flower.... The kerchief slipped from her head on to her shoulders;her soft mass of dark, shining, slightly ruffled hair was visible.
'Wait a minute; I want to smell it with you,' said Bazarov. He bentdown and kissed her vigorously on her parted lips.
She started, pushed him back with both her hands on his breast, butpushed feebly, and he was able to renew and prolong his kiss.
A dry cough was heard behind the lilac bushes. Fenitchka instantlymoved away to the other end of the seat. Pavel Petrovitch showedhimself, made a slight bow, and saying with a sort of maliciousmournfulness, 'You are here,' he retreated. Fenitchka at once gatheredup all her roses and went out of the arbour. 'It was wrong of you,Yevgeny Vassilyevitch,' she whispered as she went. There was a note ofgenuine reproach in her whisper.
Bazarov remembered another recent scene, and he felt both shame andcontemptuous annoyance. But he shook his head directly, ironicallycongratulated himself 'on his final assumption of the part of the gayLothario,' and went off to his own room.
Pavel Petrovitch went out of the garden, and made his way withdeliberate steps to the copse. He stayed there rather a long while; andwhen he returned to lunch, Nikolai Petrovitch inquired anxiouslywhether he were quite well--his face looked so gloomy.
'You know, I sometimes suffer with my liver,' Pavel Petrovitch answeredtranquilly.
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