Bab Bab 1 · 第1章

"Well, Peter? Cannot you see them yet?" asked a _barin_[1] of about

forty who, hatless, and clad in a dusty jacket over a pair of tweed

breeches, stepped on to the verandah of a posting-house on the 20th

day of May, 1859. The person addressed was the _barin's_ servant--a

round-cheeked young fellow with small, dull eyes and a chin adorned

with a tuft of pale-coloured down.

Glancing along the high road in a supercilious manner, the servant

(in whom everything, from the turquoise ear-ring to the dyed, pomaded

hair and the mincing gait, revealed the modern, the rising generation)

replied: "No, _barin_, I cannot."

"Is that so?" queried the _barin_.

"Yes," the servant affirmed.

The _barin_ sighed, and seated himself upon a bench. While he is

sitting there with his knees drawn under him and his eyes moodily

glancing to right and left, the reader may care to become better

acquainted with his personality.

His name was Nikolai Petrovitch Kirsanov, and he owned (some fifteen

versts from the posting-house) a respectable little property of about

two hundred souls (or, as, after that he had apportioned his peasantry

allotments, and set up a "farm," he himself expressed it, a property

"of two thousand _desiatini_"[2]). His father, one of the generals

of 1812, had spent his life exclusively in military service as the

commander, first of a brigade, and then of a division; and always he

had been quartered in the provinces, where his rank had enabled him to

cut a not inconspicuous figure. As for Nikolai Petrovitch himself, he

was born in Southern Russia (as also was his elder brother, Paul--of

whom presently), and, until his fourteenth year, received his education

amid a circle of hard-up governors, free-and-easy aides-de-camp, and

sundry staff and regimental officers. His mother came of the family of

the Koliazins, and, known in maidenhood as Agathe, and subsequently as

Agathoklea Kuzminishna Kirsanov, belonged to the type of "officer's

lady." That is to say, she wore pompous mobcaps and rustling silk

dresses, was always the first to approach the cross in church, talked

volubly and in a loud tone, of set practice admitted her sons to kiss

her hand in the morning, and never failed to bless them before retiring

to rest at night. In short, she lived the life which suited her. As

the son of a general, Nikolai Petrovitch was bound--though he evinced

no particular bravery, and might even have seemed a coward--to follow

his brother Paul's example by entering the army; but unfortunately,

owing to the fact that, on the very day when there arrived the news of

his commission, he happened to break his leg, it befell that, after

two months in bed, he rose to his feet a permanently lamed man. When

his father had finished wringing his hands over the mischance, he sent

his son to acquire a civilian education; whence it came about that

Nikolai, at eighteen, found himself a student at the University of

St. Petersburg. At the same period his brother obtained a commission

in one of the regiments of Guards; and, that being so, their father

apportioned the two young men a joint establishment, and placed it

under the more or less detached supervision of Ilya Koliazin, their

maternal uncle and a leading _tchinovnik_.[3] That done, the father

returned to his division and his wife, and only at rare intervals

sent his sons sheets of grey foolscap (scrawled and re-scrawled in

flamboyant calligraphy) to which there was appended, amid a bower of

laborious flourishes, the signature "Piotr Kirsanov, Major-General."

In the year 1835 Nikolai Petrovitch obtained his university degree;

and in the same year General Kirsanov was retired for incompetence

at a review, and decided to transfer his quarters to St. Petersburg.

Unfortunately, just as he was on the point both of renting a house

near the Tavritchesky Gardens and of being enrolled as a member of

the English Club, a stroke put an end to his career, and Agathoklea

Kuzminishna followed him soon afterwards, since never had she succeeded

in taking to the dull life of the capital, but always had hankered

after the old provincial existence. Already during his parents'

lifetime, and to their no small vexation, Nikolai Petrovitch had

contrived to fall in love with the daughter of a certain _tchinovnik_

named Prepolovensky, the landlord of his flat; and since the maiden was

not only comely, but one of the type known as "advanced" (that is to

say, she perused an occasional "Science" article in one newspaper or

another), he married her out of hand as soon as the term of mourning

was ended, and, abandoning the Ministry of Provincial Affairs to which,

through his father's influence, he had been posted, embarked upon

connubial felicity in a villa adjoining the Institute of Forestry.

Thence, after a while, the couple removed to a diminutive, but in

every way respectable, flat which could boast of a spotless vestibule

and an icy-cold drawing-room; and thence, again, they migrated to the

country, where they settled for good, and where, in due time, they

had born to them a son Arkady. The existence of husband and wife

was one of perfect comfort and tranquillity. Almost never were they

parted from one another, they read together, they played the piano

together, and they sang duets. Also, she would garden or superintend

the poultry-yard, and he would set forth a-hunting, or see to the

management of the estate. Meanwhile Arkady led an existence of equal

calm and comfort, and grew, and waxed fat; until, in 1847, when ten

years had been passed in this idyllic fashion, Kirsanov's wife breathed

her last. The blow proved almost more than the husband could bear--so

much so that his head turned grey in a few weeks. Yet, though he sought

distraction for his thoughts by going abroad, he felt constrained, in

the following year, to return home, where, after a prolonged period of

inaction, he took up the subject of Industrial Reform. Next, in 1855,

he sent his son to the University of St. Petersburg, and, for the same

reason, spent the following three winters in the capital, where he

seldom went out, but spent the greater part of his time in endeavouring

to fraternise with his son's youthful acquaintances. The fourth winter,

however, he was prevented by various circumstances from spending in St.

Petersburg; and thus in the May of 1859 we see him--grey-headed, dusty,

a trifle bent, and wholly middle-aged--awaiting his son's home-coming

after the elevation of the latter (in Nikolai's own footsteps) to the

dignity of a graduate.

Presently either a sense of decency or (more probably) a certain

disinclination to remain immediately under his master's eye led the

servant to withdraw to the entrance gates, and there to light a pipe.

Nikolai Petrovitch, however, continued sitting with head bent, and his

eyes contemplating the ancient steps of the verandah, up which a stout

speckled hen was tap-tapping its way on a pair of splayed yellow legs,

and thereby causing an untidy, but fastidious-looking, cat to regard

it from the balustrade with marked disapproval. Meanwhile the sun

beat fiercely down, and from the darkened interior of a neighbouring

granary came a smell as of hot rye straw. Nikolai Petrovitch sank

into a reverie. "My son Arkady a graduate!"--the words kept passing

and repassing through his mind. Again and again he tried to think of

something else, but always the same thought returned to him. Until

eventually he reverted to the memory of his dead wife. "Would that she

were still with me!" was his yearning reflection. Presently a fat blue

pigeon alighted upon the roadway, and fell to taking a hasty drink from

a pool beside the well. And almost at the instant that the spectacle of

the bird caught Nikolai Petrovitch's eye, his ear caught the sound of

approaching wheels.

"They are coming, I think," hazarded the servant as he stepped forward

through the gates.

Nikolai Petrovitch sprang to his feet, and strained his eyes along the

road. Yes, coming into view there was a _tarantass_,[4] drawn by three

stagehorses; and in the _tarantass_ there could be seen the band of a

student's cap and the outlines of a familiar, well-beloved face.

"Arkasha, Arkasha!" was Kirsanov's cry as, running forward, he

waved his arms. A few moments later he was pressing his lips to the

sun-tanned, dusty, hairless cheek of the newly-fledged graduate.

[1] Gentleman or squire.

[2] The _desiatin_ = 2.86 acres.

[3] Civil servant.

[4] A species of four-wheeled carriage.