Among the great critics and great artists of every period,
Ivan Sergeyvitch Turgenev occupies a supreme position. He was
born at Oriel in the Government of the same name, on November
9, 1818, and died on September 3, 1883. His father was a
colonel in a cavalry regiment, and an ancestor was a James
Turgenev who was one of Peter the Great's jesters. Educated at
Moscow, St Petersburg, and Berlin, Ivan Turgenev began life in
a government office, but after a year retired into private
life. His early attempts at literature consisted chiefly of
poems and sketches, none of which attracted any degree of
attention; and it was not until about 1847, upon the
appearance of "A Sportsman's Sketches"--a series of stories
depicting with startling realism the condition of the Russian
peasant, that his name became known. About 1860 Ivan Turgenev,
in common with many of the Russian writers of the period,
found himself being carried away towards the study of social
reform. In 1861 he produced "Fathers and Sons" ("Otzi i
Dieti"), a story that stirred up a storm the suddenness of
which is difficult to imagine in the light of recent events.
Yet, curiously enough, Turgenev, ardent Liberal though he was,
had no political motive whatsoever in view in writing his
novel, his purpose simply being the delineation of certain
types which were then, for good or for bad, making themselves
a force in his country. The figure of Bazaroff, in regard to
whom Turgenev gave a new interpretation of the word
"nihilist," possesses few of the revolutionary ideas that are
now generally associated with his kind. Young Russia greatly
objected to the picture, and the author, who so far had been
hailed as a champion of liberty, was now looked on as a
reactionist. To the end, however, Turgenev persisted that
Bazaroff represented a type as he saw it, and the portrait was
neither a caricature nor entirely a product of the
imagination.
_I.--The Old and the New_
Arkady had come home, a full-blown graduate from the University at
Petersburg, and as his father, Nikolai Petrovitch pressed his lips to
his beardless, dusky, sunburnt cheek, he was beside himself with
delight. Even his uncle, Pavel Petrovitch--once a famous figure in
Russian society, and now, in spite of his dandy habits and dandy dress,
living with his brother on the latter's estate in the heart of the
country--showed some emotion. And Arkady, too, though he endeavoured to
stifle his feelings as became a superior young man who had risen above
the prejudices of the older generation, could not conceal the pleasure
he felt.
Arkady had brought back with him his great friend, Bazaroff, a tall man,
long and lean, with a broad forehead, a nose flat at the base and
sharper at the end, large greenish eyes, and drooping whiskers of a
sandy colour--a face which was lighted up by a tranquil smile and showed
self-confidence and intelligence. Bazaroff alone seemed supremely
indifferent to the atmosphere of pleasure which pervaded his friend's
home-coming. As the two young men left the room, Pavel Petrovitch turned
to his brother with a slightly questioning look on his clear-cut,
clean-shaved, refined face.
"Who is he?" he asked.
"A friend of Arkady's; according to him, a very clever fellow."
"Is he going to stay with us?"
"Yes."
"That unkempt creature?"
"Why, yes."
Pavel Petrovitch drummed with his finger-tips on the table. "I fancy
Arkady _s'est dégourdé_," he remarked. "I am glad he has come back."
"Your uncle's a queer fish," Bazaroff remarked to Arkady, in the
seclusion of their room; "only fancy such style in the country! His
nails, his nails--you ought to send them to an exhibition! And as to his
chin, it's shaved simply to perfection. Now, come, Arkady, isn't he
rather ridiculous?"
"Perhaps he is," replied Arkady; "but he's a splendid man, really."
"An antique survival! But your father's a capital fellow. He wastes his
time reading poetry, and doesn't know much about farming, but he's a
good-hearted fellow."
"My father's a man in a thousand."
"Did you notice how shy and nervous he is?"
Arkady shook his head, as though he himself were not shy and nervous.
"It's something astonishing," pursued Bazaroff, "these old idealists,
they develop their nervous systems till they break down... so balance is
lost.... In my room there's an English wash-stand, but the door won't
fasten. Anyway, that ought to be encouraged--an English wash-stand
stands for progress."
The antipathy between Pavel Petrovitch and Bazaroff became more
pronounced as the days went by. There were several passages of arms
between them--the one taking the old-fashioned view of life, the other
dismissing contemptuously his outlook as unprogressive. For himself,
Nikolai Petrovitch was too delighted at having his son with him to feel
any concern about Bazaroff.
"What is this Mr. Bazaroff--your friend?" Pavel asked one day, with a
drawl.
"Would you like me to tell you, uncle?" Arkady replied with a smile. "He
is a Nihilist, a man who accepts nothing, who regards everything from
the critical point of view--who does not take any principle on faith,
whatever reverence that principle may be enshrined in."
"Well, and is that good?"
"That depends, uncle. Some people it would do good to, but some people
would suffer for it."
"Indeed! Well, I see it's not in our line. We are old-fashioned people;
we imagine that without principles, taken as you say on faith, there is
no taking a step, no breathing. _Vous avez changé tout cela_, God give
you good health and the rank of a general, while we will be content to
look on and admire worthy... what was it?"
"Nihilist," Arkady said, speaking very distinctly.
So great was the silent, unvoiced antipathy between the two men that
Nikolai Petrovitch, even, breathed more freely when Arkady and Bazaroff
at the end of a fortnight announced their intention of visiting the
neighbouring town of X------.
At X------, the two friends made the acquaintance of Madame Odintsov, a
wealthy widow, who lived alone in her large, well-ordered establishment,
with her one daughter, Katya Sergyevna. Bazaroff was contemptuously
amused at the luxury and peace that pervaded the house. The excellent
arrangements of the establishment he made a subject for laughter, but,
none the less, he gladly prolonged his stay for a fortnight. The reason
was not far to seek. In spite of his avowed disbelief in love and
romance, the gracious charm, the refined intelligence and the beauty of
Madame Odintsov had won his heart. And Arkady, too, willingly accepted
his hostess's urgent invitation that they should stay for as long as
they pleased, because of his passion for Katya. Circumstances, however,
brought their visit to an abrupt conclusion.
One morning Madame Odintsov, when she was alone with Bazaroff, commented
upon his reticence and constraint. As she made this remark, Bazaroff got
up and went to the window.
"And would you like to know the reason for this reticence?" he queried.
"Would you like to know what is passing within me?"
"Yes," rejoined Madame Odintsov, with a sort of dread she did not at the
time understand.
"And you will not be angry?"
"No."
"No?" Bazaroff was standing with his back to her. "Let me tell you,
then, that I love you like a fool, like a madman.... There, you forced
it out of me."
He turned quickly, flung a searching look upon her, and, snatching both
her hands, he drew her suddenly to his breast.
She did not at once free herself from his embrace, but an instant later
she was in the seclusion of her own room, standing, her cheeks scarlet,
meditating on what had occurred.
"I am to blame," she decided, aloud, "that I could not have foreseen
this.... No, no.... God knows what it would lead to; he couldn't be
played with. Peace is, anyway, the best thing in the world."
She had come to a definite decision before she saw Bazaroff again. He
found an opportunity of speaking to her alone and hoarsely apologised
for what had taken place.
"I am sufficiently punished," he said, without raising his eyes to hers.
"My position, you will certainly agree, is most foolish. To-morrow I
shall be gone. There is no recalling the past, consequently I must go. I
can only conceive of one condition upon which I could remain; that
condition will never be. Excuse my impertinence, but you don't love me
and you never will love me, I suppose?"
Bazaroff's eyes glittered for an instant under their dark brows. Madame
Odintsov did not answer him. "I am afraid of this man," flashed through
her brain.
"Good-bye, then," said Bazaroff, as though he guessed her thought, and
he went back into the house.
_II--Bazaroff's Home-Coming_
From the scene of his discomfiture Bazaroff fled to his own house,
taking Arkady with him. Vassily Ivanovitch, his father, an old retired
army doctor, who had not seen his son for three years, was standing on
the steps of the little manor house as the coach in which they travelled
rolled up. He was a tall, thinnish man, with, dishevelled hair and a
thin hawk nose, dressed in an old military coat not buttoned up. He was
smoking a long pipe and screwing up his eyes to keep the sun out of
them. The horses stopped.
"Arrived at last," said Bazaroff's father, still going on smoking,
though the pipe was fairly dancing up and down between his fingers.
"Enyusha, Enyusha," was heard a trembling woman's voice. The door was
flung open and in the doorway was seen a plump, short little woman, in a
white cap and a short, striped jacket. She moaned, staggered, and would
certainly have fallen had not Bazaroff supported her. Her plump little
hands were instantly twined round his neck. "For what ages, my dear one,
my darling Enyusha!" she cried, her wrinkled face wet with tears. Old
Bazaroff breathed hard and screwed his eyes up more than ever.
"There, that's enough, that's enough, Arina; give over--please give
over."
His lips and eyebrows were twitching and his beard was quivering... but
he was obviously trying to control himself and appear almost
indifferent. But, like his wife, the old man was deeply moved at the
coming of his son. Only with difficulty could he keep his eyes off him.
The whole little house was turned upside down to provide him proper
entertainment. Arisha produced the most tempting dainties she could cook
and old Bazaroff brought out a bottle of wine, told some of the best of
his old stories, and, regardless of the snubs uttered occasionally by
Bazaroff, seemed to be filled with an ecstatic joy as long as he could
be near him. He took an early opportunity of questioning Arkady, and
when he heard the words of praise that fell from the latter's lips and
the expectation that was current at the University of the great future
for his son, he could stand it no longer. He bent down to Arkady and
kissed him on his shoulder.
"You have made me perfectly happy," he said, never ceasing to smile. "I
ought to tell you, I... idolise my son; my old wife I won't speak of--we
all know what mothers are!--but I dare not show my feelings before him,
because he doesn't like it. He is averse to every kind of demonstration
of feeling; many people even find fault with him for such firmness of
character, and regard it as a proof of pride or lack of feeling, but men
like him ought not to be judged by the common standard, ought they?"
One thing troubled old Bazaroff. How long was his son going to stay? He
dared not ask him, but he centred his hopes on three weeks, at least.
Bazaroff, however, was restless and unsatisfied. He had not succeeded in
effacing the memory of Madame Odintsov. On the third day he told Arkady
that he could stand it no longer.
"I am bored; I want to work, but I can't work here. I will come to your
place again; I have left all my apparatus there, too. In your house one
can, at any rate, shut oneself up; while here my father repeats to me,
'My study is at your disposal--nobody shall interfere with you,' and all
the time he himself is never a yard away. It's the same thing, too, with
mother. I hear her sighing the other side of the wall, and if one goes
in to her, one's nothing to say to her."
Vassily Ivanovitch was dumbfounded when he broke the news to him.
"Very good..." he faltered, "very good.... I had thought you were to be
with us... a little longer. Three days.... After three years, it's
rather little; rather little, Yevgeny!"
"But I tell you I'm coming back directly. It's necessary for me to go."
"Necessary.... Very good. Arina and I, of course, did not anticipate
this. She has just begged some flowers from a neighbour; she meant to
decorate the room for you. Liberty... is the great thing; that's my
rule.... I don't want to hamper you... not..."
He suddenly ceased and rushed from the room. He had to tell his old
wife; that was the trying task that lay before him. She was utterly
crushed, and only a two-hour exhortation from her husband enabled her to
control herself until her son's departure. When at last he was gone she
broke down. Vassily Ivanovitch bent his grey head against her grey head.
"There's no hope for it," she moaned. "Only I am left you, unchanged for
ever, as you for me."
_III.--The Duel_
The two friends journeyed as far as X---- together. There Arkady left
his companion in order to see Katya. Bazaroff, determined to cure
himself of his passion for Madame Odintsov, made the rest of the journey
alone, and took up his quarters once more in the house of Nicolai
Petrovitch.
The fact of Arkady's absence did not tend to improve matters between
Pavel Petrovitch and Bazaroff. After a week the aristocrat's antipathy
passed all bounds. That night he knocked at Bazaroff's door, and,
gaining admittance, begged in his most delicate manner for five minutes'
conversation.
"I want to hear your views on the subject of duelling," he said.
Bazaroff, for once, was taken by surprise.
"My view is," he said at last, "that I should not, in practice, allow
myself to be insulted without demanding satisfaction."
"Your words save me from rather a deplorable necessity. I have made up
my mind to fight you."