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

think more often of him. In such youthful, fresh feeling there is a special charm⁠ ⁠…”

“The word fascination is most usual in such cases,” Bazarov interrupted; the effervescence of his spleen could be heard in his choked though steady voice. “Arkady was mysterious over something with me yesterday, and didn’t talk either of you or your sister.⁠ ⁠… That’s a serious symptom.”

“He is just like a brother with Katya,” commented Anna Sergyevna, “and I like that in him, though, perhaps, I ought not to have allowed such intimacy between them.”

“That idea is prompted by⁠ ⁠… your feelings as a sister?” Bazarov brought out, drawling.

“Of course⁠ ⁠… but why are we standing still? Let us go on. What a strange talk we are having, aren’t we? I could never have believed I should talk to you like this. You know, I am afraid of you⁠ ⁠… and at the same time I trust you, because in reality you are so good.”

“In the first place, I am not in the least good; and in the second place, I have lost all significance for you, and you tell me I am good.⁠ ⁠… It’s like a laying a wreath of flowers on the head of a corpse.”

“Yevgeny Vassilyitch, we are not responsible⁠ ⁠…” Anna Sergyevna began; but a gust of wind blew across, set the leaves rustling, and carried away her words. “Of course, you are free⁠ ⁠…” Bazarov declared after a brief pause. Nothing more could be distinguished; the steps retreated⁠ ⁠… everything was still.

Arkady turned to Katya. She was sitting in the same position, but her head was bent still lower. “Katerina Sergyevna,” he said with a shaking voice, and clasping his hands tightly together, “I love you forever and irrevocably, and I love no one but you. I wanted to tell you this, to find out your opinion of me, and to ask for your hand, since I am not rich, and I feel ready for any sacrifice.⁠ ⁠… You don’t answer me? You don’t believe me? Do you think I speak lightly? But remember these last days! Surely for a long time past you must have known that everything⁠—understand me⁠—everything else has vanished long ago and left no trace? Look at me, say one word to me⁠ ⁠… I love⁠ ⁠… I love you⁠ ⁠… believe me!”

Katya glanced at Arkady with a bright and serious look, and after long hesitation, with the faintest smile, she said, “Yes.”

Arkady leapt up from the stone seat. “Yes! You said Yes, Katerina Sergyevna! What does that word mean? Only that I do love you, that you believe me⁠ ⁠… or⁠ ⁠… or⁠ ⁠… I daren’t go on⁠ ⁠…”

“Yes,” repeated Katya, and this time he understood her. He snatched her large beautiful hands, and, breathless with rapture, pressed them to his heart. He could scarcely stand on his feet, and could only repeat, “Katya, Katya⁠ ⁠…” while she began weeping in a guileless way, smiling gently at her own tears. No one who has not seen those tears in the eyes of the beloved, knows yet to what a point, faint with shame and gratitude, a man may be happy on earth.

The next day, early in the morning, Anna Sergyevna sent to summon Bazarov to her boudoir, and with a forced laugh handed him a folded sheet of notepaper. It was a letter from Arkady; in it he asked for her sister’s hand.

Bazarov quickly scanned the letter, and made an effort to control himself, that he might not show the malignant feeling which was instantaneously aflame in his breast.

“So that’s how it is,” he commented; “and you, I fancy, only yesterday imagined he loved Katerina Sergyevna as a brother. What are you intending to do now?”

“What do you advise me?” asked Anna Sergyevna, still laughing.

“Well, I suppose,” answered Bazarov, also with a laugh, though he felt anything but cheerful, and had no more inclination to laugh than she had; “I suppose you ought to give the young people your blessing. It’s a good match in every respect; Kirsanov’s position is passable, he’s the only son, and his father’s a good-natured fellow, he won’t try to thwart him.”

Madame Odintsov walked up and down the room. By turns her face flushed and grew pale. “You think so,” she said. “Well, I see no obstacles⁠ ⁠… I am glad for Katya⁠ ⁠… and for Arkady Nikolaevitch too. Of course, I will wait for his father’s answer. I will send him in person to him. But it turns out, you see, that I was right yesterday when I told you we were both old people.⁠ ⁠… How was it I saw nothing? That’s what amazes me!” Anna Sergyevna laughed again, and quickly turned her head away.

“The younger generation have grown awfully sly,” remarked Bazarov, and he too laughed. “Goodbye,” he began again after a short silence. “I hope you will bring the matter to the most satisfactory conclusion; and I will rejoice from a distance.”

Madame Odintsov turned quickly to him. “You are not going away? Why should you not stay now? Stay⁠ ⁠… it’s exciting talking to you⁠ ⁠… one seems walking on the edge of a precipice. At first one feels timid, but one gains courage as one goes on. Do stay.”

“Thanks for the suggestion, Anna Sergyevna, and for your flattering opinion of my conversational talents. But I think I have already been moving too long in a sphere which is not my own. Flying fishes can hold out for a time in the air; but soon they must splash back into the water; allow me, too, to paddle in my own element.”

Madame Odintsov looked at Bazarov. His pale face was twitching with a bitter smile. “This man did love me!” she thought, and she felt pity for him, and held out her hand to him with sympathy.

But he too understood her. “No!” he said, stepping back a pace. “I’m a poor man, but I’ve never taken charity so far. Goodbye, and good luck to you.”

“I am certain we are not seeing each other for the last time,” Anna Sergyevna declared with an unconscious gesture.

“Anything may happen!” answered Bazarov, and