Fathers and Sons by Ivan Sergeyevich Turgenev

Author:Ivan Sergeyevich Turgenev [Turgenev, Ivan Sergeyevich]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction
Publisher: Feedbooks
Published: 1862-03-03T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 20

Bazarov leaned out of the tarantass, while Arkady stretched out his head from behind his companion’s back and saw standing on the steps of the little house a tall thinnish man with ruffled hair and a sharp aquiline nose, dressed in an old military coat, not buttoned up. He stood with his legs wide apart, smoking a long pipe and screwing up his eyes to keep the sun out of them.

The horses stopped.

“Arrived at last!” exclaimed Bazarov’s father, still continuing to smoke, though the pipe was fairly jumping up and down between his fingers. “Come, get out, get out, let me hug you.”

He began embracing his son … “Enyusha, Enyusha,” resounded a woman’s quavering voice. The door flew open and on the threshold appeared a plump little old woman in a white cap and short colored jacket. She cried, staggered, and would probably have fallen if Bazarov had not supported her. Her plump little hands were instantly twined round his neck, her head was pressed to his breast, and there followed a complete hush, only interrupted by the sound of her broken sobs.

Old Bazarov breathed hard and screwed up his eyes more than before.

“There, that’s enough, enough, Arisha! leave off!” he said, exchanging a look with Arkady, who remained standing motionless by the tarantass, while even the peasant on the box turned his head away. “That’s quite unnecessary! Please leave off.”

“Ah, Vassily Ivanich,” faltered the old woman, “for what ages, my dear one, my darling, Enyushenka … ,” and without unclasping her hands, she drew back her wrinkled face, wet with tears, and overwhelmed with tenderness, and looked at him with blissful and somehow comic eyes and then again fell on his neck.

“Well, yes of course, that’s all in the nature of things,” remarked Vassily Ivanich. “Only we had better come indoors. Here’s a visitor arrived with Evgeny. You must excuse this,” he added, turning to Arkady and slightly scraping the ground with his foot: “You understand, a woman’s weakness, and well, a mother’s heart.”

His own lips and eyebrows were quivering and his chin shook — but obviously he was trying to master his feelings and to appear almost indifferent. Arkady bowed.

“Let’s go in, mother, really,” said Bazarov, and he led the enfeebled old woman into the house. He put her in a comfortable armchair, once more hurriedly embraced his father, and introduced Arkady to him.

“Heartily glad to make your acquaintance,” said Vassily Ivanich, “but you mustn’t expect anything grand: we live very simply here, like military people. Arina Vlasyevna, pray calm yourself; what faintheartedness! Our guest will think ill of you.”

“My good sir,” said the old woman through her tears, “I haven’t the honor of knowing your name and your father’s.”

“Arkady Nikolayevich,” interposed Vassily Ivanich solemnly, in a low voice.

“Excuse a foolish old woman like me.” She blew her nose, and bending her head from left to right, she carefully wiped one eye after the other. “You must excuse me. I really thought I should die, that I

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