on his, and his head would start spinning, and for an instant he would forget himself, until indignation flared up in him again. He caught himself in all sorts of 'shameful' thoughts, as though some fiend were mocking him. Sometimes it seemed to him that a change was taking place in Anna as well; that a certain something was emerging in the expression of her face; that perhaps—But at that very point he would stamp his foot or gnash his teeth and shake his fist in his own face.' (I have never cared much for that gnashing and fist-shaking.) He decides to leave, and 'she paled.'
A pathetic note is introduced with the appearance of the Bazarovs' old steward whom they have sent to see if Eugene is coming at last. This is the beginning of the Bazarov family theme, which is the most successful one in the whole novel.
We are now ready for conversation number two. The summer night scene is indoors, with a window playing a well-known romanticist role:
' 'Why leave?' asked Anna, dropping her voice.
'He glanced at her. She had thrown back her head on the back of her easy chair, and had crossed her arms, bare to the elbows, on her breast. She seemed paler in the light of the single lamp covered with a perforated paper shade. An ample white gown hid her completely in its soft folds; the tips of her feet, also crossed, were hardly visible.
' 'And why stay?' Bazarov countered.
'Anna turned her head slightly.
' 'You ask why? Haven't you enjoyed yourself here? Or do you think you won't be missed?'
' 'I'm sure of it.'
'Anna was silent a while. 'You're wrong in thinking so. However, I don't believe you. You couldn't have said that seriously.'
Bazarov still sat immovable. 'Eugene Vasilyich, why don't you say something?'
'Why, what am I to say to you? It isn't worth while missing people, as a general thing—and surely not me.'
...' 'Open that window—I feel half stifled somehow.'
'Bazarov got up and gave the window a push. It flew open noisily and suddenly. He had not expected it to open so easily; besides, his hands were shaking. The dark soft night peered into the room with its almost black sky, its faintly rustling leaves, and the fresh fragrance of the pure open air. . . .
' 'We've become such friends—' Bazarov uttered in a stifled voice. 'Yes! For I'd forgotten that you wish to leave.'
'Bazarov got up. The lamp burnt dimly in the middle of the dark, fragrant, isolated room; from time to time the blind shook, and the insidious freshness of the night flowed in; one could hear the mysterious whisperings of that night. Anna did not stir a single limb; a secret emotion was overcoming her little by little. It was communicated to Bazarov. He suddenly became aware that he was alone with a young and lovely woman.
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'Where are you going?' she asked slowly.
'He made no answer and sank into a chair. . . . 'Wait a little,' whispered Anna. Her eyes rested on Bazarov; it seemed as though she were examining him intently.
'He strode across the room, then suddenly went up to her, hurriedly said 'Good-by !,' squeezed her hand so that she almost cried out, and left the room. She raised her crushed fingers to her lips, breathed on them, and suddenly, impulsively getting up from her low chair, she went with rapid steps toward the door, as though she wished to bring Bazarov back. . . . Her braid came loose and like a dark snake slithered down on her shoulder. The lamp burned long in Anna's room, and for long did she sit without moving, only running her hands from time to time over her arms, nipped at by the chill of the night.
'Bazarov went back to his bedroom two hours later, his boots wet with dew; he was all muffled up and glum.'
In chapter 18 we have the third conversation, with a passionate outburst at the end, and again the window:
'Anna held both her hands out before her, but Bazarov was leaning with his forehead pressed against the window pane. He was gasping; his whole body was visibly trembling. But it was not the tremor of youthful timidity, it was not the delectable dread of a first declaration of love that possessed him; it was passion struggling in him, strong and painful—passion not unlike rancor, and perhaps akin to it. Anna became both afraid of him and sorry for him.
'Eugene Vasilyich!' she said, and involuntarily there was the ring of tenderness in her voice.
'He turned quickly, devoured her with his eyes, and snatching both her hands, he drew her suddenly to his breast.
'She did not free herself from his embrace at once, but within an instant she was standing in a distant corner and watching Bazarov from there. He rushed toward her.
'You have misunderstood me,' she whispered hurriedly, in alarm. It seemed that were he to make another step she would scream. Bazarov bit his lips and left the room.'
In chapter 19 Bazarov and Kirsanov leave Nikolskoe. (The arrival of Sit-nikov is for comic relief, and artistically is too pat and not satisfying.) We will spend now three days—three days after three years of separation—with Bazarov's old people:
'Bazarov leaned out of the coach, while Arkadi craned his head over his companion's shoulder and caught sight on the steps of the little manor house of a tall, gaunt man with rumpled hair and a thin aquiline nose; his military coat was unbuttoned. He was standing, his legs wide apart, smoking a long pipe, and his eyes were puckered up from the sun.
'The horses stopped.
''So you've favored us at last,' said Bazarov's father, still going on smoking, though his student pipe was fairly dancing up and down in his fingers. 'Come, get out, get out; let me kiss you.'
'He put his arms around his son. ''Gene, Gene,' they heard a woman's trembling voice. The door was flung open, and a roly-poly, short little old woman in a white cap and a short striped jacket appeared on the threshold. She 'oh'd,' swayed, and would certainly have fallen if Bazarov had not held her up. Her plump little arms were instantly twined round his neck, her head was pressed to his breast, and there was a complete hush. The only sound to be heard was her broken sobs.'
It is a small estate; the Bazarovs have only twenty-two serfs. Old Bazarov, who had served in General Kirsanov's regiment, is an old-fashioned provincial doctor, hopelessly behind the times. In their first conversation he indulges in a pathetic monologue which bores his emancipated, nonchalant son. The mother wonders how long Eugene will stay—after three 59
years. Turgenev closes the chapter with a description of Madame Bazarov's origins and mentality, a device we now know well: the biographical pause.
A second conversation takes place, this time between old Bazarov and Arkadi (Eugene having got up early and gone for a ramble—one wonders if he collected anything). The conversation is permeated on old Bazarov's part by Arkadi's being Eugene's friend and admirer: it is this admiration of his son that the old man touchingly basks in. A third conversation takes place between Eugene and Arkadi in the shade of a haystack, in which we learn a few biographical details concerning Eugene. He had lived there two years on end and from time to time elsewhere; his father being an army doctor, he had led a roving life. The conversation turns philosophical but ends in a slight quarrel.
The real drama begins when Eugene suddenly decides to leave, even though he promises to return in a month's time.
Old Bazarov, 'after a few more moments of bravely waving his handkerchief on the steps, sank into a chair and let his head drop on his breast.
' 'He's forsaken us, he's forsaken us!' he babbled. 'He's forsaken us; he became bored here. I'm all alone now, all alone like this!' And each time he said this he thrust out his hand, with the index finger sticking up.
