Fathers and Sons (24 page)

But Pavel Petrovich left the garden and walked slowly as far as the wood. There he remained quite a long time, and, when he
returned for lunch, Nikolay Petrovich asked him with concern if he was feeling all right, he looked so sombre.

‘You know I sometimes have a bilious attack,’ Pavel Petrovich quietly answered him.

Two hours later he knocked on Bazarov’s door.

‘I must apologize for disturbing your scientific work,’ he began, sitting down on a chair by the window and leaning with both
hands on a beautiful cane with an ivory knob (he usually walked without one), ‘but I must ask you to give me five minutes
of your time… no more.’

‘All of my time is at your disposal,’ Bazarov answered. Something in his face quivered as soon as Pavel Petrovich crossed
the threshold of the door.

‘Five minutes is enough for me. I have come to put a question to you.’

‘A question? About what?’

‘Be so good as to hear me out. At the beginning of your sojourn in my brother’s house, when I still didn’t deny myself the
pleasure of conversing with you, I had the occasion of hearing your views on many subjects. But in so far as I can remember,
neither between us two nor in my presence did the conversation turn to fighting a duel or to duelling in general. May I ask
your opinion on this subject?’

Bazarov, who had got up to meet Pavel Petrovich, sat on the edge of the table and folded his arms.

‘My opinion is this,’ he said. ‘From a theoretical point of view a duel is an absurdity, but from a practical one it’s another
matter.’

‘So you mean, if I have understood you just now, that whatever your theoretical view of duels, in practice you wouldn’t allow
yourself to be insulted without demanding satisfaction.’

‘You have divined my thoughts entirely.’

‘That’s very good. I am very pleased to hear that from you. Your words remove me from uncertainty…’

‘From indecision you mean.’

‘It’s the same thing. I use those phrases to be understood. I… am not a seminarist rat. Your words spare me a sad obligation.
I have decided to fight you.’

Bazarov opened his eyes wide.

‘Fight me?’

‘Yes, fight you.’

‘But why? Please tell me.’

‘I could explain the reason to you,’ Pavel Petrovich began, ‘but I would prefer to say nothing. In my view, you have no place
here. I cannot stand you, I despise you, and if that isn’t enough for you…’

Pavel Petrovich’s eyes lit up. Bazarov’s too flashed.

‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Further explanation is unnecessary. You have had the fantastical idea of trying out on me your spirit
of chivalry. I could deny you the pleasure, but so be it!’

‘I am sincerely obliged to you,’ answered Pavel Petrovich, ‘and I can now hope that you will accept my challenge without making
me resort to violence.’

‘Meaning that cane, speaking bluntly?’ Bazarov said coolly. ‘That’s quite fair. There’s absolutely no need for you to insult
me. That wouldn’t be wholly free of risk. You can remain a gentleman… I accept your challenge too in a gentlemanly spirit.’

‘Excellent,’ Pavel Petrovich pronounced and put his cane in a corner. ‘We will now say a few words about the conditions of
our duel. But first I would like to know if you felt it necessary to resort to the formality of a small quarrel, which could
serve as the pretext for my challenge?’

‘No, better without formalities.’

‘I think so myself. I also consider it inappropriate to go into the real reasons for our conflict. We can’t stand one another.
What more do we need?’

‘What more do we need?’ Bazarov repeated ironically.

‘As far as the conditions of our duel are concerned, since we won’t have seconds – for where would we get them?’

‘Where indeed?’

‘I have the honour of proposing to you the following: we fight tomorrow, early, let’s say at six, beyond the little wood,
with pistols, at a distance of ten paces…’

‘Ten paces? That’s right, that’s the measure of our mutual hatred.’

‘Or else eight,’ said Pavel Petrovich.

‘Yes, why not.’

‘Two shots, and to cover all eventualities each of us puts in his pocket a note putting the blame for his death on himself.’

‘Now I don’t quite agree with that,’ said Bazarov. ‘It’s becoming a bit like a French novel, a bit improbable.’

‘Maybe. However, you will agree that it’s unpleasant to lay oneself open to the suspicion of murder.’

‘I agree. But there is a way of avoiding that depressing accusation. We won’t have seconds, but we could have a witness.’

‘Who exactly, if I may ask?’

‘Pyotr.’

‘Who’s Pyotr?’

‘Your brother’s valet. He’s a man standing at the zenith of modern education and will perform his role with all the
comme il faut
¹
necessary on such occasions.’

‘My dear sir, I think you are joking.’

‘Not at all. Once you have considered my proposal, you will be convinced that it is full of good sense and simplicity. The
truth will come out. But I’ll undertake to prepare Pyotr appropriately and to bring him to the field of combat.’

‘You are continuing to joke,’ said Pavel Petrovich, getting up from his chair. ‘But after the amiable readiness you have shown
I have no right to be offended with you… And so, everything is arranged… By the way, do you have pistols?’

‘Where would I have got pistols, Pavel Petrovich? I am not a warrior.’

‘In that case I offer you mine. You can be assured that I haven’t fired them for five years.’

‘That’s very comforting information.’

Pavel Petrovich got his cane…

‘Now, my dear sir, it only remains for me to thank you and to restore you to your studies. I have the honour to take my leave
of you.’

‘I look forward, my dear sir, to our next meeting,’ said Bazarov, seeing his guest to the door.

Pavel Petrovich went out, and Bazarov stood a while in front of the door and suddenly exclaimed, ‘Hell and damnation, how
noble and how silly! What a comedy we’ve been playing! Like
performing dogs dancing on their back legs. But it was impossible to say no. He’d have been quite likely to hit me, and then…’
(Bazarov went pale at the very thought. All of his pride reared up, as it were.) ‘Then I’d have had to strangle him like a
kitten.’ He went back to his microscope, but his heart was beating hard, and the calm one needs for observation had gone.
‘He saw us today,’ he thought, ‘but was he really standing up for his brother? And what’s so special about a kiss? There’s
something else here. Bah! Is he in love himself? Of course he’s in love. That’s clear as daylight. Just think, what a mess!…
A nasty business!’ he pronounced finally. ‘A nasty business, whichever way you look at it. First, I’ve got to offer him my
head, and in any case I’ve got to leave. Then there’s Arkady… and that wet Nikolay Petrovich. A nasty, nasty business.’

The day went by especially quietly and sluggishly. Fenechka might not have existed on this earth: she sat in her little room
like a mouse in its hole. Nikolay Petrovich had a worried look. He’d been informed rust had appeared on his wheat for which
he had had special hopes. Pavel Petrovich brought everyone down with his frigid politeness, even Prokofyich. Bazarov half
started a letter to his father but tore it up and threw it under the table. ‘If I die,’ he thought, ‘they’ll hear about it.
But I won’t die. No, I’m going to be hanging around this world of ours a long time yet.’ He told Pyotr to come and see him
the next day at crack of dawn on an important matter. Pyotr imagined he wanted to take him with him to St Petersburg. Bazarov
went to bed late and was tormented all night by disordered dreams… Odintsova was spinning round in front of him, she was his
mother, she was followed round by a kitten with black whiskers, and that kitten was Fenechka. And Pavel Petrovich came to
him in the shape of a great forest which he still had to fight. Pyotr woke him at four. He dressed right away and went out
with him.

It was a lovely fresh morning. The pale, clear azure of the sky was dappled with little fleecy clouds. A light dew had fallen
on the leaves and grass and shone silver on the spider webs. The moist, dark earth seemed to hold the rosy traces of sunrise.
The whole sky rang with the song of larks. Bazarov went as far
as the wood, sat down at its edge and only then disclosed to Pyotr the service he required of him. The well-trained servant
was mortally scared, but Bazarov calmed him with the assurance that he had nothing to do but to stand at a distance and watch,
and that he wasn’t exposed to any responsibility. ‘And then,’ he added,’ just think what an important role you’ll have!’ Pyotr
made a gesture with his hands, lowered his eyes and leant against a birch tree, looking green.

The road from Marino skirted the little wood. It was covered with light dust, untouched by wheels or human feet since the
previous day. Bazarov involuntarily looked down the road, picked a blade of grass and chewed it and kept repeating to himself,
‘How silly this is!’ The morning chill made him shiver a couple of times… Pyotr gave him a despairing look, but Bazarov only
grinned; he wasn’t afraid.

The clattering of horse’s hooves came down the road… A muzhik appeared from the trees. He was driving two hobbled horses along
in front of him and, as he went past Bazarov, he gave him a strange sort of look and didn’t remove his cap, which clearly
bothered Pyotr as an unfavourable omen. ‘He too has got up early,’ thought Bazarov, ‘and he at least is working, but what
are we doing?’

‘I think they’re coming,’ Pyotr whispered suddenly.

Bazarov raised his head and saw Pavel Petrovich. Wearing a light checked jacket and trousers that were white as snow, he was
walking quickly down the road. Under his arm he carried a case wrapped in green cloth.

‘Excuse me, I think I have kept you waiting,’ he said, bowing first to Bazarov and then to Pyotr, whom at that moment he treated
with something like respect, as a second. ‘I didn’t want to wake my valet.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Bazarov replied. ‘We’ve only just got here ourselves.’

‘Ah, so much the better!’ Pavel Petrovich looked around. ‘I can’t see anyone, no one is going to interfere… Can we begin?’

‘Let’s.’

‘I imagine you don’t require any further explanation.’

‘No, I don’t.’

‘Would you be so good as to load?’ asked Pavel Petrovich, taking the pistols out of the case.

‘No. You load, and I’ll start measuring out the paces. I have longer legs,’ Bazarov added with an ironic smile. ‘One, two,
three…’

‘Yevgeny Vasilyich,’ Pyotr stammered awkwardly (he was shaking as if he had a fever), ‘with your permission, I’ll move off.’

‘Four… five… You do that, my friend, you move off. You can even go behind a tree and block your ears, only don’t shut your
eyes, and if anyone falls, run and pick them up. Six… seven… eight.’ Bazarov stopped. ‘Is that enough?’ he said, turning to
Pavel Petrovich. ‘Or shall I add a couple of paces?’

‘As you please,’ he said, putting in a second bullet.

‘So, we’ll add two more paces.’ Bazarov marked a line on the ground with the toe of his boot. ‘Here’s the barrier. By the
way how many paces should each of us go back from the barrier? That too is an important question. There was no discussion
of that yesterday.’

‘Ten, I think,’ Pavel Petrovich replied, offering both pistols to Bazarov. ‘Be so kind as to choose.’

‘That I will. But you must agree, Pavel Petrovich, that our duel is comically out of the ordinary. Just look at our second’s
face.’

‘You’re always wanting to make jokes,’ Pavel Petrovich answered. ‘I don’t deny the peculiarity of our duel but I consider
it my duty to warn you that I intend to fight seriously.
À bon entendeur salut!
’
²

‘Oh, I am in no doubt that we have made up our minds to eliminate each other. But why not have a laugh and combine
utile dulci
?
³
There – you said something to me in French and I respond to you in Latin.’

‘I am going to fight seriously,’ Pavel Petrovich repeated and went off to his place.

Bazarov on his side counted off ten paces from the barrier and stopped.

‘Are you ready?’ Pavel Petrovich asked.

‘Yes, quite ready.’

‘We can engage.’

Bazarov quietly moved forward, while Pavel Petrovich walked towards him, putting his left hand into his pocket and gradually
raising the barrel of his pistol… ‘He’s aiming right at my nose,’ Bazarov thought, ‘and he’s trying so hard, with his eyes
all screwed up, the old devil! But it’s a disagreeable sensation. I am going to look at his watch chain…’ Something whizzed
sharply right by Bazarov’s ear and at that moment there came the sound of a shot. ‘I heard it, so I must be all right’ was
the thought that quickly flashed through his head. He took one more step and, without aiming, pressed the trigger.

Pavel Petrovich flinched slightly and grabbed at his thigh with his hand. A stream of blood went down his white trousers.

Bazarov threw the pistol aside and went towards his opponent.

‘Are you wounded?’ he said.

‘You had the right to call me to the barrier,’ said Pavel Petrovich, ‘and this is trivial. By the rules each of us has one
more shot.’

‘Well, forgive me, that can wait till another time,’ Bazarov answered and put his arms round Pavel Petrovich, who was beginning
to go pale. ‘Now I am no longer a duellist but a doctor and first of all I must inspect your wound. Pyotr! Come here, Pyotr!
Where are you hiding?’

‘That’s all nonsense… I don’t need anyone’s help,’ Pavel Petrovich said very slowly, ‘and… we must… again…’ He tried to pull
at his moustache, but his arm was too weak; he rolled up his eyes and lost consciousness.

‘Here’s something new! Fainting! What next!’ Bazarov couldn’t help exclaiming as he lowered Pavel Petrovich on to the grass.
‘Let’s see what the problem is.’ He took out a handkerchief, wiped the blood and felt round the wound… ‘The bone isn’t broken,’
he muttered through his teeth, ‘the bullet has gone right through, not very deep, it’s grazed one muscle,
vastus externus
. He’ll be dancing in three weeks!… But fainting! I’ve had enough of these high-strung types! Look at what delicate skin he
has.’