Fathers and Children Ivan Turgenev (brene brown rising strong .txt) 📖

herself in excellent Russian. She turned the conversation upon music; but noticing that Bazarov did not appreciate art, she quietly brought it back to botany, even though Arkady was just launching into a discourse upon the significance of national melodies. Madame Odintsov treated him as though he were a younger brother; she seemed to appreciate his good-nature and youthful simplicity⁠—and that was all. For over three hours, a lively conversation was kept up, ranging freely over various subjects.

The friends at last got up and began to take leave. Anna Sergyevna looked cordially at them, held out her beautiful, white hand to both, and, after a moment’s thought, said with a doubtful but delightful smile. “If you are not afraid of being dull, gentlemen, come and see me at Nikolskoe.”

“Oh, Anna Sergyevna,” cried Arkady, “I shall think it the greatness happiness⁠ ⁠…”

“And you, Monsieur Bazarov?”

Bazarov only bowed, and a last surprise was in store for Arkady; he noticed that his friend was blushing.

“Well?” he said to him in the street; “are you still of the same opinion⁠—that she’s⁠ ⁠…”

“Who can tell? See how correct she is!” retorted Bazarov; and after a brief pause he added, “She’s a perfect grand-duchess, a royal personage. She only needs a train on behind, and a crown on her head.”

“Our grand-duchesses don’t talk Russian like that,” remarked Arkady.

“She’s seen ups and downs, my dear boy; she’s known what it is to be hard up!”

“Any way, she’s charming,” observed Arkady.

“What a magnificent body!” pursued Bazarov. “Shouldn’t I like to see it on the dissecting-table.”

“Hush, for mercy’s sake, Yevgeny! that’s beyond everything.”

“Well, don’t get angry, you baby. I meant it’s first-rate. We must go to stay with her.”

“When?”

“Well, why not the day after tomorrow. What is there to do here? Drink champagne with Kukshina. Listen to your cousin, the Liberal dignitary?⁠ ⁠… Let’s be off the day after tomorrow. By the way, too⁠—my father’s little place is not far from there. This Nikolskoe’s on the S⁠⸺ road, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Optime, why hesitate? leave that to fools and prigs! I say, what a splendid body!”

Three days later the two friends were driving along the road to Nikolskoe. The day was bright, and not too hot, and the sleek posting-horses trotted smartly along, switching their tied and plaited tails. Arkady looked at the road, and not knowing why, he smiled.

“Congratulate me,” cried Bazarov suddenly, “today’s the 22nd of June, my guardian angel’s day. Let’s see how he will watch over me. Today they expect me home,” he added, dropping his voice.⁠ ⁠… “Well, they can go on expecting.⁠ ⁠… What does it matter!”

XVI

The country-house in which Anna Sergyevna lived stood on an exposed hill at no great distance from a yellow stone church with a green roof, white columns, and a fresco over the principal entrance representing the “Resurrection of Christ” in the “Italian” style. Sprawling in the foreground of the picture was a swarthy warrior in a helmet, specially conspicuous for his rotund contours. Behind the church a long village stretched in two rows, with chimneys peeping out here and there above the thatched roofs. The manor-house was built in the same style as the church, the style known among us as that of Alexander; the house too was painted yellow, and had a green roof, and white columns, and a pediment with an escutcheon on it. The architect had designed both buildings with the approval of the deceased Odintsov, who could not endure⁠—as he expressed it⁠—idle and arbitrary innovations. The house was enclosed on both sides by the dark trees of an old garden; an avenue of lopped pines led up to the entrance.

Our friends were met in the hall by two tall footmen in livery; one of them at once ran for the steward. The steward, a stout man in a black dress coat, promptly appeared and led the visitors by a staircase covered with rugs to a special room, in which two bedsteads were already prepared for them with all necessaries for the toilet. It was clear that order reigned supreme in the house; everything was clean, everywhere there was a peculiar delicate fragrance, just as there is in the reception rooms of ministers.

“Anna Sergyevna asks you to come to her in half-an-hour,” the steward announced; “will there be orders to give meanwhile?”

“No orders,” answered Bazarov; “perhaps you will be so good as to trouble yourself to bring me a glass of vodka.”

“Yes, sir,” said the steward, looking in some perplexity, and he withdrew, his boots creaking as he walked.

“What grand genre!” remarked Bazarov. “That’s what it’s called in your set, isn’t it? She’s a grand-duchess, and that’s all about it.”

“A nice grand-duchess,” retorted Arkady, “at the very first meeting she invited such great aristocrats as you and me to stay with her.”

“Especially me, a future doctor, and a doctor’s son, and a village sexton’s grandson.⁠ ⁠… You know, I suppose, I’m the grandson of a sexton? Like the great Speransky,” added Bazarov after a brief pause, contracting his lips. “At any rate she likes to be comfortable; oh, doesn’t she, this lady! Oughtn’t we to put on evening dress?”

Arkady only shrugged his shoulders⁠ ⁠… but he too was conscious of a little nervousness.

Half-an-hour later Bazarov and Arkady went together into the drawing-room. It was a large lofty room, furnished rather luxuriously but without particularly good taste. Heavy expensive furniture stood in the ordinary stiff arrangement along the walls, which were covered with cinnamon-coloured paper with gold flowers on it; Odintsov had ordered the furniture from Moscow through a friend and agent of his, a spirit merchant. Over a sofa in the centre of one wall hung a portrait of a faded light-haired man⁠—and it seemed to look with displeasure at the visitors. “It must be the late lamented,” Bazarov whispered to Arkady, and turning up his nose, he added, “Hadn’t we better bolt⁠ ⁠… ?” But at that instant the lady of the house entered. She wore a light barège dress; her hair smoothly combed back behind