Chapter 13 eleven

Half an hour later Nikolai Petrovich went into the garden and came to his favorite arbor.He was preoccupied, and it was the first time that he was so clearly aware of the differences between father and son, and this difference would become bigger and bigger in the future.Yes, he went to Petersburg every winter, sat there all day reading the latest articles, listened to the young people's arguments, and was glad to be able to insert a few words in the heated discussions, all for nothing.He's thinking, "Brother says we're right, self-respect and self-love aside, they're further from the truth than we are, but at the same time they have something that we don't ...Youth? No, not just youth.

Does the advantage lie in being less aristocratic than we are? " Nikolai Petrovich bent his head and passed his hand over his face. "But should poetry also be discarded?" He thought again, "Should art, nature... also be rejected?" He looked around, as if trying to figure out how it was possible to reject nature.It was evening, and the sun was hidden in a small aspen grove half a mile away from the garden. The long shadows of the aspen forest lay across the silent field.A farmer straddled a white horse, passing leisurely along a dark forest path. The figure was so distinct that even the patches on his shoulders could be clearly seen, and the white horse walked happily with small steps.The sun shines in the forest, and the aspen trees are warmly illuminated, as if they have become pine trunks, and even the leaves have become verdant.And above the aspens are pale blue skies and pink sunsets.Swallows fly high, the wind dies down, late bees buzz lazily among the lilac bushes, and a swarm of gnats flies around a tall solitary branch. "Oh, how beautiful, my God!" thought Nikolai Petrovich, and was about to blurt out the lines, but suddenly remembered Arkady and the Stoffundkraft, and fell silent again, and continued to sit and let him Lonely thoughts mixed with joy and sorrow run wild.He liked to have a little fantasy, and country life had cultivated this habit.But ah, not long since he was waiting for his son to return at the carriage station, the situation has changed. At that time, he had vague fantasies about the relationship between father and son, and now they are vague and clear...and so clear !He thought of his late beloved wife again, but it was not the image he had been with day and night for many years, not the kind housewife who took care of the housework, but a lady with a willow waist and her innocent, inquiring eyes, hanging on her pink neck tightly braided hair.He remembered the incident of meeting and acquaintance.He was a college student at that time, and he accidentally touched her on the escalator of the building where he was staying, and hurriedly turned his head to apologize, and used the wrong word in a panic: "Pardon, monsieur①." She looked up and smiled, as if afraid He ran away as if, but he glanced at him again at the turn of the stairs, his face covered with red clouds showed a solemn look.Then timid visits, hesitant conversations, veiled smiles, doubts, sorrows and passions, and joy that fills the whole body and mind... Where did all these go?In the end she became his wife, and he was very happy, a rare happiness in the world... "But why didn't that sweet, first love last forever?" he thought.

-------- ①French: Sorry, sir. He has no intention of sorting out his thoughts, he just wants to have a power stronger than memory to stop the passage of time, to be with Maria again, to feel her warm breath, just when he sees her as if he hears her Just then... Fedosya's voice came from close by: "Nikolai Petrovich, where are you?" He allowed himself to compare his wife with Fedosya, but he felt sorry for it: why did she think of coming to him?Her voice suddenly reminded him of his gorgeous hair, his old age, his reality... The wondrous world launched by the waves of nostalgia had just taken its place when it crumbled and disappeared.

"I'm here, I'll be back later, you go first." He replied and then remembered: "Nostalgia-this is also a trace of the aristocratic class." Fedosia poked her head into the gazebo and walked away.He was surprised to find that when he was deep in thought, night had come quietly, everything around him was dim and silent, and the face of Feodosia, who was right in front of him, was only a flash of white shadow.He got up to go back to the house, but the sad heart in his chest could not be calmed, so he walked along the garden path, sometimes looking at his toes in meditation, sometimes looking up at the sky, at the twinkling stars in the sky.He walked for a long, long time, he was too tired to walk, and he kept walking, but the endless worries that floated like gossamer lingered in his heart.Oh, if Bazarov had seen him now and known his troubled heart, he would have laughed at him, and Arkady would have been condemned!He, a forty-three-year-old man, an agronomist, and the head of a family, was weeping unnamed tears, which were a hundred times worse than playing the cello!

Nikolai Petrovich kept walking, walking, never wanting to go back to his house, to his peaceful and comfortable nest, although all the windows were brightly lit.He was powerless to leave the darkness, the garden, the cool night air and... a little sadness. At a bend in the path he met Pavel Petrovich. "What is the matter with you?" asked the latter, "pale as a ghost. Are you sick? Why don't you go to sleep?" Nikolai Petrovich left after expressing his inner feelings in a few words.Pavel Petrovich went to the end of the garden.He was also meditating, and he was looking up at the sky, but there was nothing but starlight reflected in his dark and beautiful eyes. He was not a romantic by nature, and his eyes were as hard as iron and as cold as ice. The soul of French misanthropy is not fond of illusions.

"Do you know?" Bazarov said to Arkady that same evening, "your father said he was invited by a rich relative of your family, and your father did not intend to go. I think we will go to XXX at once." It's very interesting, that gentleman also invited you. We might as well spend five or six days, taking advantage of this fine weather, to get to know that city." "Are you coming back here after playing?" "After that I went to visit my father. My house is only thirty versts away from XXX. I haven't seen him and my mother for a long time. I should go back and comfort the old man. Two good old people, especially my father, are ridiculous. I am theirs only son."

"How long will it be?" "No, it will get boring after a long stay." "Then come to my house as a guest on the way back." "I can't tell...we'll decide at that time. What do you think? Let's go, shall we?" "Very well," replied Arkady lazily.Delighted from the bottom of his heart at his friend's suggestion, but feels he should hide his feelings because he's a nihilist! The next day he and Bazarov set off to ×××.The young people of Marino lamented their departure, Dunyasha even cried...but the old people were relieved.