A few days later the ball at the Governor's took place. Matvy Ilyitch
was the real 'hero of the occasion.' The marshal of nobility declared
to all and each that he had come simply out of respect for him; while
the Governor, even at the ball, even while he remained perfectly
motionless, was still 'making arrangements.' The affability of Matvy
Ilyitch's demeanour could only be equalled by its dignity. He was
gracious to all, to some with a shade of disgust, to others with a
shade of respect; he was all bows and smiles '_en vrai chevalier
français_' before the ladies, and was continually giving vent to a
hearty, sonorous, unshared laugh, such as befits a high official. He
slapped Arkady on the back, and called him loudly 'nephew'; vouchsafed
Bazarov--who was attired in a rather old evening coat--a sidelong
glance in passing--absent but condescending--and an indistinct but
affable grunt, in which nothing could be distinguished but 'I ...' and
'very much'; gave Sitnikov a finger and a smile, though with his head
already averted; even to Madame Kukshin, who made her appearance at the
ball with dirty gloves, no crinoline, and a bird of Paradise in her
hair, he said '_enchanté_.' There were crowds of people, and no lack of
dancing men; the civilians were for the most part standing close along
the walls, but the officers danced assiduously, especially one of them
who had spent six weeks in Paris, where he had mastered various daring
interjections of the kind of--'_zut_,' '_Ah, fichtr-re_,' '_pst, pst,
mon bibi_,' and such. He pronounced them to perfection with genuine
Parisian _chic_, and at the same time he said '_si j'aurais_' for '_si
j'avais_,' '_absolument_' in the sense of 'absolutely,' expressed
himself, in fact, in that Great Russo-French jargon which the French
ridicule so when they have no reason for assuring us that we speak
French like angels, '_comme des anges_.'
Arkady, as we are aware, danced badly, while Bazarov did not dance at
all; they both took up their position in a corner; Sitnikov joined
himself on to them, with an expression of contemptuous scorn on his
face, and giving vent to spiteful comments, he looked insolently about
him, and seemed to be really enjoying himself. Suddenly his face
changed, and turning to Arkady, he said, with some show of
embarrassment it seemed, 'Odintsova is here!'
Arkady looked round, and saw a tall woman in a black dress standing at
the door of the room. He was struck by the dignity of her carriage. Her
bare arms lay gracefully beside her slender waist; gracefully some
light sprays of fuchsia drooped from her shining hair on to her sloping
shoulders; her clear eyes looked out from under a rather overhanging
white brow, with a tranquil and intelligent expression--tranquil it was
precisely, not pensive--and on her lips was a scarcely perceptible
smile. There was a kind of gracious and gentle force about her face.
'Do you know her?' Arkady asked Sitnikov.
'Intimately. Would you like me to introduce you?'
'Please ... after this quadrille.'
Bazarov's attention, too, was directed to Madame Odintsov.
'That's a striking figure,' he remarked. 'Not like the other females.'
After waiting till the end of the quadrille, Sitnikov led Arkady up to
Madame Odintsov; but he hardly seemed to be intimately acquainted with
her; he was embarrassed in his sentences, while she looked at him in
some surprise. But her face assumed an expression of pleasure when she
heard Arkady's surname. She asked him whether he was not the son of
Nikolai Petrovitch.
'Yes.'
'I have seen your father twice, and have heard a great deal about him,'
she went on; 'I am glad to make your acquaintance.'
At that instant some adjutant flew up to her and begged for a
quadrille. She consented.
'Do you dance then?' asked Arkady respectfully.
'Yes, I dance. Why do you suppose I don't dance? Do you think I am too
old?'
'Really, how could I possibly.... But in that case, let me ask you for
a mazurka.'
Madame Odintsov smiled graciously. 'Certainly,' she said, and she
looked at Arkady not exactly with an air of superiority, but as married
sisters look at very young brothers. Madame Odintsov was a little older
than Arkady--she was twenty-nine--but in her presence he felt himself a
schoolboy, a little student, so that the difference in age between them
seemed of more consequence. Matvy Ilyitch approached her with a
majestic air and ingratiating speeches. Arkady moved away, but he still
watched her; he could not take his eyes off her even during the
quadrille. She talked with equal ease to her partner and to the grand
official, softly turned her head and eyes, and twice laughed softly.
Her nose--like almost all Russian noses--was a little thick; and her
complexion was not perfectly clear; Arkady made up his mind, for all
that, that he had never before met such an attractive woman. He could
not get the sound of her voice out of his ears; the very folds of her
dress seemed to hang upon her differently from all the rest--more
gracefully and amply--and her movements were distinguished by a
peculiar smoothness and naturalness.
Arkady felt some timidity in his heart when at the first sounds of the
mazurka he began to sit it out beside his partner; he had prepared to
enter into a conversation with her, but he only passed his hand through
his hair, and could not find a single word to say. But his timidity and
agitation did not last long; Madame Odintsov's tranquillity gained upon
him too; before a quarter of an hour had passed he was telling her
freely about his father, his uncle, his life in Petersburg and in the
country. Madame Odintsov listened to him with courteous sympathy,
slightly opening and closing her fan; his talk was broken off when
partners came for her; Sitnikov, among others, twice asked her. She
came back, sat down again, took up her fan, and her bosom did not even
heave more rapidly, while Arkady fell to chattering again, filled
through and through by the happiness of being near her, talking to her,
looking at her eyes, her lovely brow, all her sweet, dignified, clever
face. She said little, but her words showed a knowledge of life; from
some of her observations Arkady gathered that this young woman had
already felt and thought much....
'Who is that you were standing with?' she asked him, 'when Mr. Sitnikov
brought you to me?'
'Did you notice him?' Arkady asked in his turn. 'He has a splendid
face, hasn't he? That's Bazarov, my friend.'
Arkady fell to discussing 'his friend.' He spoke of him in such detail,
and with such enthusiasm, that Madame Odintsov turned towards him and
looked attentively at him. Meanwhile, the mazurka was drawing to a
close. Arkady felt sorry to part from his partner; he had spent nearly
an hour so happily with her! He had, it is true, during the whole time
continually felt as though she were condescending to him, as though he
ought to be grateful to her ... but young hearts are not weighed down
by that feeling.
The music stopped. '_Merci_,' said Madame Odintsov, getting up. 'You
promised to come and see me; bring your friend with you. I shall be
very curious to see the man who has the courage to believe in nothing.'
The Governor came up to Madame Odintsov, announced that supper was
ready, and, with a careworn face, offered her his arm. As she went
away, she turned to give a last smile and bow to Arkady. He bowed low,
looked after her (how graceful her figure seemed to him, draped in the
greyish lustre of the black silk!), and thinking, 'This minute she has
forgotten my existence,' was conscious of an exquisite humility in his
soul.
'Well?' Bazarov questioned him, directly he had gone back to him in the
corner. 'Did you have a good time? A gentleman has just been talking to
me about that lady; he said, "She's--oh, fie! fie!" but I fancy the
fellow was a fool. What do you think, what is she?--oh, fie! fie!'
'I don't quite understand that definition,' answered Arkady.
'Oh, my! What innocence!'
'In that case, I don't understand the gentleman you quote. Madame
Odintsov is very sweet, no doubt, but she behaves so coldly and
severely, that....'
'Still waters ... you know!' put in Bazarov. 'That's just what gives it
piquancy. You like ices, I expect?'
'Perhaps,' muttered Arkady. 'I can't give an opinion about that. She
wishes to make your acquaintance, and has asked me to bring you to see
her.'
'I can imagine how you've described me! But you did very well. Take me.
Whatever she may be--whether she's simply a provincial lioness, or
"advanced" after Kukshina's fashion--any way she's got a pair of
shoulders such as I've not set eyes on for a long while.'
Arkady was wounded by Bazarov's cynicism, but--as often happens--he
reproached his friend not precisely for what he did not like in him ...
'Why are you unwilling to allow freethinking in women?' he said in a
low voice.
'Because, my boy, as far as my observations go, the only freethinkers
among women are frights.'
The conversation was cut short at this point. Both the young men went
away immediately after supper. They were pursued by a nervously
malicious, but somewhat faint-hearted laugh from Madame Kukshin; her
vanity had been deeply wounded by neither of them having paid any
attention to her. She stayed later than any one at the ball, and at
four o'clock in the morning she was dancing a polka-mazurka with
Sitnikov in the Parisian style. This edifying spectacle was the final
event of the Governor's ball.