Chapter 15 Thirteen

Yevdokya Kukshenna lived in a small Moscow-style mansion, located on a road in the city of ××× where a fire had recently broken out.As you all know, fires break out in our cities in other provinces every five years.A business card was pinned crookedly on the gate of the mansion, and there was a bell handle on the top of the business card.The women who greeted the guests in the hall wore a hair-wrapped hat, neither like a maid nor like an escort. Obviously, the master who used this kind of person had advanced ideas.Sitnikov asked Yevdoksia Kuksinna if she was at home. "Victor①, is that you?" came a high-pitched voice from the next room.

"Come in, please." The woman in the hair cap disappeared immediately. "I'm not here alone," said Sitnikov, swiftly taking off his overcoat, modeled on the uniform of the Hungarian hussars, revealing a blouse that looked like nothing else, and looked with sparkling eyes at Arkady and Bazaar. Rove blinked. "Anyway," said the man in the next room, "Entrez." -------- ①Victor, the French name of Sitnikov. ②French: Please come in. The room into which the young man entered was more an office than a living room.Waste paper, letters, and half-uncut thick Russian magazines were scattered on the dusty tables, and white cigarette butts were scattered everywhere.Half lying on the leather sofa was a young lady with disheveled temples, a crumpled silk skirt, a string of thick bracelets on her short wrists, and a lace scarf.She stood up, straightened the old yellow ermine velvet coat on her shoulders, and said lazily:

"Hello, Victor," then shook Sitnikov's hand. "Bazarov, Kirsanov," he introduced briefly, apparently imitating Bazarov. "Please," Kuksina replied.A pair of round eyes stared at Bazarov, and between the two round eyes was a small red upturned nose."I know you," she added, shaking his hand too. Bazarov frowned.There was nothing offensive about the appearance of this small, sexless celibate woman, but the expression on her face was so uncomfortable that one could not help but ask her: "Why, are you hungry? Or bored?" Or what are you afraid of? Why do you look so uneasy?" She was as distraught as Sitnikov, speaking, raising her hands, and throwing her feet very casually, but she still showed a cramped look.Probably she thinks she is a kind and simple person, but no matter what she does, she always seems unwilling. Everything she says and does is just like the child said, "pretending", in other words, not out of nature.

"Yes, yes, I know you, Bazarov," she repeated.She was like many ladies in the provinces or in Moscow.On the first day I met a man, I called him by his last name. "Would you like a cigar?" "Cigars to cigars," Sitnikov added.By this time he had sat down in the armchair, with one thigh raised. "Get us something to eat, we're starving! Order another bottle of champagne, please." "Pleasure lovers!" Yevdoksia laughed, showing her upper gums. "Isn't that so, Bazarov? He's a man of pleasure." "I'm greedy for pleasure," Sitnikov said squarely, "but that doesn't stop me from being a liberal."

"No, it's just a hindrance, just a hindrance!" Yevdokia said loudly.However, she ordered the maid to arrange breakfast and prepare champagne. "What do you think?" she turned to Bazarov. "I'm sure you agree with me." "Oh, no," objected Bazarov, "a piece of meat is better than a piece of bread, even from a chemical point of view." "You study chemistry? That's exactly what I love. I even invented an adhesive." "Adhesive? You?" "Yes, me. You know what it's for? A glue doll, a glue doll's head, to make it less breakable. I'm a practical guy, too. It's a work in progress, though, and I should take a look at Leigh. By the way, have you read Kislyakov's article on women's work in the "Moscow News"? You may wish to read it, I believe, you must be interested in women's issues. Are you interested in the school Interested too? What does your friend do? What do you call him?"

Ms. Kukshenna sprinkled a barrage of questions like a celestial maiden, regardless of whether anyone else had time to answer them.That's what pampered children usually ask their nurses. "My name is Arkady Nikolaitch Kirsanov," said Arkady, "and I don't work." Yevdokia laughed when she heard this. "That's easy! Why, you don't smoke? Victor, I'm mad at you!" "why?" "I hear you're praising George Sand again. She's out of date, what good! How can she be compared to Emerson? She doesn't know anything--neither pedagogy nor physiology. I'm sure she's never heard of embryology, but can we do without it in our time? (Evdoksya spreads her hands at this point.) Oh, Yenisievich's article How wonderful! This is a very talented gentleman! (Evdoksya often uses "sir" instead of "person".) Bazarov, sit on the sofa and come closer to me! You probably don't know , I am quite afraid of you."

"Why? Forgive my curiosity." -------- ① George Sand (George Sand, 18041-1876), a French writer. ② Emerson (R.W.Emerson, 1803-1882,) American writer. "You're a terrible gentleman, and you're so harsh on your criticism. Oh, God, I'm so ridiculous, talking like a country landowner. But I'm a landowner, and I manage my estate myself. Imagine me Ye Luofei, the manager, is so weird, he looks like the pioneer described by Cooper, he was born from the pioneer. I finally settled here. This is an unbearable city, isn't it? But what can I do?" "This city is no different from other cities," Bazarov said flatly.

"The short-sightedness of everything is the most frightening thing! I used to spend the winter in Moscow... but now there lives my husband, Michel Kukshin. Moscow, now... I don't know what to say — not like before. I want to go abroad, and last year I almost got everything ready." "To Paris, of course?" asked Bazarov. "Paris and Heidelberg." "Why go to Heidelberg?" "Because there are friends and grandchildren there." This time Bazarov had nothing to say. "Pierre Sapozhnikov . . . do you know?" -------- ① Cooper (J.F. Cooper, 1789-1851), an American novelist, "The Pioneer" is a novel written by him, and it is also an alias for the protagonist of the novel.

②French: Mr. ③ Peng Sun (Robert Bunson, 1811-1899), a German chemist. ④French: Pierre, that is, Peter. "No, I don't know." "It's a pity. Pierre Sapozhnikov is also a frequent guest at Lidia Hostatova's." "I don't know her either." "He's the one who's going to accompany me abroad. Thank God! I'm free and free from the burden of children... Oh, what did I say: thank God? But it doesn't matter." Evdokya rolled a cigarette with her yellowed fingers, dipped the corner of the paper in saliva, tried it, and lit it.The maid came in with a tray of breakfast and wine.

"Come early, do you want to eat something? Victor, uncork the bottle, this is your job." "Mine, mine," replied Sitnikov hastily, laughing strangely again. "Are there any beautiful women here?" Bazarov asked after the third glass of wine. "Yes," replied Evdoksia, "but they are simple-minded.Monamie Odintsova, for example, is quite pretty, but unfortunately, she has a bit of a reputation... which is fine, but she lacks any free thought and point of view, no breadth, no... knowledge of that kind.The educational system should be completely reformed. I have thought a lot about this.Our women's education sucks. "

-------- ① French: my girlfriend. "You can't do anything with them," echoed Sitnikov, "they deserve to be despised, and that's why I despise them, absolutely, utterly! delighted, especially when the subject was about women, whom he did not expect a few months later to fall under the skirts of his wife, whose maiden name was Prince Durdoreosov.) None of them One who understands our conversation, none worthy of us serious men mentioning her!" "However, they don't have to understand our conversation," Bazarov said. "Who are you referring to?" Evdokia asked. "It refers to a beautiful woman." "Why, do you agree with Proudhon?" Bazarov puffed out his chest arrogantly: "I don't want to hear anyone's opinion. I have my own opinion." "Down with authority!" Sitnikov almost shouted.He is very happy to show his skills in front of those he worships. "But Marco himself..." Kukshenna wanted to defend herself. -------- ①Marco (T, B, Macaulay, 1800-1859), a British historian. "Down with Marco!" Sitnikov's voice was earth-shattering, "You want to protect those women?" "Not to protect women, but to protect women's rights. I swore to shed the last drop of blood for this." "Down..." Sitnikov suddenly stopped halfway up. "I'm not denying women's rights," he said. "No! I can see that you are a Slavophile." "No, I'm not a Slavophile, it's true . . . though . . . " "No, no, no! You are a Slavophile, a follower of the Household Maxims, and like to carry a whip in your hand." "Well, the whip is a nice thing," said Bazarov, "but we're at the last drop..." "A drop of what?" Yevdoksia asked hastily. "Champagne, dear Evdoksia Nikitishna, the last drop of champagne, not your blood." "I can't be calm when people attack women," continued Evdoksia, "it's terrible, terrible! Instead of attacking women, it's better to read Michele's "De I Amour". It's an excellent book. Let's talk about love, gentlemen." She rested one hand lazily on the crumpled sofa cushions. Suddenly everyone fell silent. "No, why talk about love?" Bazarov began. "Just now you mentioned Odintsova . . . that's what you called her? Who is that lady?" "A generation of beauties! A generation of beauties!" Sitnikov raised his broken voice again. "Let me introduce you: smart, rich, and a widow, but not progressive enough, she should learn from our Evdokia. Good health, Eudoxie! Let's toast! Ettoc, ettoc, ettin— tin-tin! Ettoc, ettoc, ettin-tin-tin!!②..." -------- ① Michlet (J. Michlet, 1798-1874).French historian, "Love" (De I amour) is written by him. ②This is the French accent to imitate the sound of clinking glasses. "Victor, you are a naughty ghost." Breakfast lasted for a long time, after drinking champagne bottle after bottle, even the third bottle, the fourth bottle... Yevdokya babbled, and Sitnikov sang with her, talking about marriage —Is it a prejudice, or a crime?Are people born the same or different?Where does personality come down to?At the end of the row, Yevdokya, flushed from drinking, tapped the keys of the out-of-tuned piano with her bald fingers and sang in her hoarse voice, first singing the folk songs of the Gypsies, and then singing the Seymour. "Bleary-eyed Granada Sleeps Again" by Moore-Schiff.When singing: you and my lips make up a passionate kiss Sitnikov tied his head with a scarf and pretended to be an intoxicated lover. At last Arkady could bear it no longer, and said aloud: "Gentlemen, this is like a London madhouse!" Until now Bazarov was still absorbed in drinking his champagne, only occasionally interjecting a few sarcastic remarks.Then he yawned, got up, and went out with Arkady without taking leave of his mistress.When Sitnikov saw it, he rushed out and followed them. "Not bad? Not bad?" He swerved to the left, then to the right, flatteringly said, "As I said earlier, she is a very nice wife! It would be great if there were more women like this. She embodies a noble sentiment." "Then your father's shop is also a manifestation of sentiment?" Bazarov said, pointing to a hotel just passing by. Sitnikov laughed sharply again. He was often ashamed of his humble origins. He didn't know whether he felt honored or wronged by Bazarov's point.