Chapter 25 twenty-three

When Bazarov saw off Arkady with sympathy and sneer, he wanted to let him know that the real purpose of this trip could not be hidden from him.After Arkady's departure he shut himself up, absorbed himself in his work, and refrained from arguing with Pavel Petrovitch.And Pavel Petrovich, in his presence, assumed the air of an inviolable aristocrat, only grunted without expressing his opinion in words.Only once, he had a dispute with the nihilists when talking about the most frequently discussed issue of the Russian Germanic nobles on the Baltic Sea coast, but he also stopped the dispute in time, and only said something coldly and politely:

"Of course it's hard for us to understand each other, at least I don't understand your fate." "Naturally!" Bazarov retorted, "a man can understand everything: how the ether is restless, how the sun is, but he cannot understand how other people blow their noses differently from their own." "What, is that a wisecrack?" Pavel Petrovich muttered, half-questioningly, and walked away. In the evening, he sometimes asked Bazarov to allow him to watch the experiment, and once he put his cleansed and perfumed face close to the microscope to observe how the transparent flagellates devoured the green dust particles and how they used the throat Fist-shaped cilia deftly digest dust particles.Nikolai Petrovitch came much more frequently than his brother, and would have been there every day if he had not been busy with business.According to him, to "learn".He did not displease the young natural science experimenter. He sat in a corner of the room, watching intently, occasionally asking a question or two discreetly.At the lunch and dinner tables he tried to bring the conversation to physics, geology, or chemistry, because other aspects, even land management issues, let alone political issues, would make both sides unhappy if they did not lead to conflict.Nikolai Petrovich guessed that his brother's hostility towards Bazarov had never abated.Among all the signs, there was the fact that at that time the cholera gradually spread to the neighboring areas, and even "taken away" two people from Marino.One night Pavel Petrovich suffered from a high fever until dawn, but he refused to seek medical advice from Bazarov.When asked the next day why no one was sent for him, Pavel Petrovich, pale but clean-shaven and with neatly combed hair, replied: "As far as I can remember, you Didn't you say that you don't believe in medicine?" The days passed, Bazarov worked hard and depressed... At this time, another figure in Nikolai Petrovich's family could not make Bazarov spit out. Depressed, but also willing to talk to... This person is Feodosia.

He probably met her early in the morning in the garden or in the yard.He never entered her bedroom, and she went up to his door only once to ask if she could give Mitya a bath.Not only did she trust him and not be afraid of him, but she felt more free and less restrained in his presence than in Nikolai Petrovitch's.Why?It's hard to say, maybe subconsciously she sensed that Bazarov lacked the aristocratic air, that kind of upper-class power that makes people both yearn for and fear.In her eyes, he is an excellent doctor and a simple and good man.She could play with the child without any scruples in front of him, and even once she suddenly became dizzy and drank the potion he fed with a spoon by himself.She avoided Bazarov in Nikolai Petrovich's presence—not out of prudence, but out of decorum.Now she was most afraid of Pavel Petrovitch.I don’t know when it started, he often watched her, sometimes he appeared beside her as if he suddenly appeared from the ground: a pair of British clothes, a proud face, piercing eyes, hands in his trouser pockets inside. "It was as if a basin of ice water had been poured over my head," Feodosya told Dunyasha.Dunyasha just answered her with a sigh, thinking of another "people without feelings".Bazarov didn't know that he had become a "cruel tyrant" in Dunyasha's heart.

Feodosia liked Bazarov, and Bazarov liked her, too, and when she talked to her her face became brighter, kinder, casual, and concerned in his jokes.Feodosia became more beautiful every day.There are times in a young woman's life when she, like a summer rose, suddenly bursts into bloom.Feodosya also came to such a time, when everything, even the July heat, made her more beautiful.She was wearing a thin white dress, which made herself feel much lighter.She could hide from the sun, but she couldn't hide from the heat. The heat added a blush to her face and ears, a sleepy laziness to her body, and a drowsy look to her beautiful eyes. sleepy.She could hardly pick up work, her hands would involuntarily slip to her knees, and she would walk weakly.She sighed and complained about her lackluster absurdity.

"You'd better take a bath," Nikolai Petrovich told her.He put a sackcloth tent on a pond that had not yet dried up, and turned the pond into a bathhouse. "Ah, Nikolai Petrovitch, you're going to die if you don't get to the pond, let alone return from it. There's not a shade to be found on the way." "That's right, there's no shade," said Nikolai Petrovich, stroking his eyebrows. Once, just after six o'clock in the morning, Bazarov came back from a walk and found Fedosya sitting alone in the arbor covered with lilac branches.The lilacs have faded, but the green shade remains.She was sitting on a bench, wearing her usual white kerchief, and beside her was a large bouquet of red and white roses, fresh from the morning dew.He said good morning to her.

"Ah, Yevgeny Vasilyitch!" she said, slightly raising the corner of her kerchief to see him.The sleeves slipped over the elbows. "What are you doing?" Bazarov asked, sitting beside her. "Are you making flowers?" "Yes, put it in a bouquet on the breakfast table. Nikolai Petrovich likes it." "But it's still early for breakfast. So many flowers!" "I just picked it. When it gets hot, I won't be able to go out, but now I can catch my breath. The heat makes me lose any energy. Could it be that I'm sick?" "What nonsense! Let me feel your pulse." Bazarov took her hand and felt her veins beating evenly, and he couldn't even count how many times a minute. "You can live to be a hundred years old," she said, letting go of her hand.

"Oh, God bless!" she said. "Why, you don't want to live a long life?" "One hundred years old! My grandma lived to be eighty-five years old, which is enough to torment people! She is like a dried jujube, she can't hear, her waist can't stand up straight, she keeps coughing all day long, and she herself feels that life is boring .What kind of a day has it been!" "So it's better to be young?" "Why not!" "What's so good about being young? Please tell me." "What's so good about being young? For example, I'm young now, and I can do everything. I can go when I want, come when I want, and take whatever I want. I don't need to ask for help... What's better than this?"

"But I think it's the same whether you're young or old." "How can it be the same anyway? Impossible." "Think about it, Fedosya Nikolaevna, what use is my youth? I'm just alone..." "It's all up to you." "Just because it's not up to me! It would be nice if someone had pity on me." Fedosia cast a sidelong glance at Bazarov, but said nothing. "What book are you holding?" She asked after a while. "This? It's an academic book, well written." "You're still learning? Don't you feel monotonous? I think you already know everything."

"You don't know everything yet. Try reading a few lines of it." "I can't understand it. Is this a Russian book?" She held up the big thick book with both hands, and said, "How thick!" "Russian book." "Anyway, I don't understand." "I don't want you to understand, I want to watch you read. When you read, your little nose flutters cutely." Fedosya, who was about to read in a low voice the chapter "On Creosote" which she had found by chance, laughed, and threw the book away...it fell from the bench to the floor.

"I also like your smile," said Bazarov. "Come on!" "I also like your talk, which murmurs like a stream." Fedosia turned her head away. "See what you say!" she said, arranging the bouquet with her fingers. "What's the point of my words? You've heard those wise ladies talk." "Alas, Feodosia Nikolaevna, believe me, all the clever ladies in the world are inferior to your beautiful elbows." "What are you thinking?" whispered Fedosya, taking her hands together. Bazarov picked up the book from the ground. "This is a medical book, why did you throw it away?"

"Medical books?" Fedosia turned her head to him again. "Do you remember the time when the water was given? Mitya slept soundly after taking it! I can't think of anything to reward you for being so kind." "Yes, I deserve a good reward." Bazarov said with a smile, "You know that doctors are greedy." Fedosya looked up at Bazarov, and the milky light hit the upper part of her face, making her eyes even darker.She didn't know if he was joking or meant it. "If you don't refuse, of course I'd like to...let me ask Nikolai Petrovich first..." "You think I want money?" Bazarov interrupted her. "No, I don't want your money." "What do you want?" "What do you want?" said Bazarov, "guess!" "How can I guess!" "Let me tell you, I want . . . a rose in here." Feodosya clapped her hands and began to laugh; she found Bazarov's wish so ridiculous. She smiled, feeling sweet in her heart because of being favored.Bazarov looked at her closely. "As you order," she said, and stooped to choose a rose from a chair. "What color do you want: red or white?" "I want a red one, not too big." She straightened up. "Take this one," she said, but suddenly withdrew her outstretched hand, pursed her lips, looked towards the entrance of the arbor, and then listened again. "What's the matter?" asked Bazarov, "is it Nikolai Petrovich?" "No... he's gone to the fields... I'm not afraid of him... but Pavel Petrovich... I seem to hear..." "What did you hear?" "I seem to hear him passing somewhere nearby. No...no one, please take it." Fedosia handed a rose in her hand to Bazarov. "Why are you afraid of Pavel Petrovich?" "He's always looking at you so blankly. Talk to me. If he doesn't talk, it makes me nervous. Don't you also like him? You're still arguing with him. I don't understand what you're arguing about, but Seeing that you toss him horizontally, neither vertically..." At the same time Feodosya helped with gestures, showing how Bazarov was tormenting Pavel Petrovich. Bazarov smiled slightly. "If he wins me," he asked, "you will certainly defend me?" "How can I defend? Oh, no, no one can beat you." "Is that what you think? But I know there's a man who can knock me down with just a snap of a finger." "who is it?" "Don't you know? Smell the rose you gave me!" Feodosia stretched her neck and leaned her head towards the flowers... The headscarf fell to her shoulders, revealing her glossy black and slightly messy hair. "Wait, I want to smell it with you." Bazarov leaned forward and kissed her parted lips tightly.She shivered and covered his chest with her hands, but she was so tired that he took another long kiss. A dry cough came from behind the lilac bush, and Fedosya quickly moved to the other end of the bench.Pavel Petrovich appeared, bowed slightly, frowned, said "Oh, you are here," and walked away again.Feodosia immediately gathered up all the roses and went out of the arbor. "It's your fault, Yevgeny Vasilyitch," she added before leaving.This is her sincere reproach, said in a low voice. Bazarov remembered another scene not long ago, and couldn't help feeling a little ashamed and frustrated, but he shook his head immediately, laughed at himself as "playing the role of the romantic boy Seladon", and then returned to his own room. Pavel Petrovich came out of the garden, walked slowly up and down to the edge of the wood, stood there a long time, and when he came back to breakfast he looked so terribly sullen that Nikolai Petrovich Asked with concern if he was unwell. -------- ①Celadon is the romantic and suave hero in the novel "Astria" written by the French writer Urfe (1568-1625). "You know, I get very angry sometimes, and get into a bad mood," replied Pavel Petrovitch calmly.