“He is a nihilist,” repeated Arkady.
“A nihilist,” said Nikolai Petrovich. “That comes from the Latin nihil, nothing,as far as I can judge; the word must mean a man who . . . who recognizes nothing?”
“Say — who respects nothing,” interposed Pavel Petrovich and lowered his knife with the butter on it.
“Who regards everything from the critical point of view,” said Arkady.
“Isn’t that exactly the same thing?” asked Pavel Petrovich.
“No, it’s not the same thing.
A nihilist is a person who does not bow down to any authority, who does not accept any principle on faith, however much that principle may be revered.”
“Well, and is that good?” asked Pavel Petrovich.
“That depends, uncle dear.
For some it is good, for others very bad.”
“Indeed.
Well, I see that’s not in our line.
We old-fashioned people think that without principles, taken as you say on faith, one can’t take a step or even breathe.
Vous avez change tout cela; may God grant you health and a general’s rank, and we shall be content to look on and admire your . . . what was the name?”
“Nihilists,” said Arkady, pronouncing very distinctly.
“Yes, there used to be Hegelists and now there are nihilists.
We shall see how you will manage to exist in the empty airless void; and now ring, please, brother Nikolai, it’s time for me to drink my cocoa.”
Nikolai Petrovich rang the bell and called,
“Dunyasha!”
But instead of Dunyasha, Fenichka herself appeared on the terrace.
She was a young woman of about twenty-three with a soft white skin, dark hair and eyes, childishly pouting lips and plump little hands.
She wore a neat cotton dress; a new blue kerchief lay lightly over her soft shoulders.
She carried a large cup of cocoa and setting it down in front of Pavel Petrovich, she was overcome with confusion; the hot blood rushed in a wave of crimson under the delicate skin of her charming face.
She lowered her eyes and stood by the table slightly pressing it with her finger tips.
She looked as if she were ashamed of having come in and somehow felt at the same time that she had a right to come.
Pavel Petrovich frowned and Nikolai Petrovich looked embarrassed.
“Good morning, Fenichka,” he muttered through his teeth.
“Good morning,” she replied in a voice not loud but resonant, and casting a quick glance at Arkady, who gave her a friendly smile, she went quietly away.
She had a slightly swaying walk, but that also suited her.
For some minutes silence reigned on the terrace.
Pavel Petrovich was sipping his cocoa; suddenly he raised his head.
“Here is Mr. Nihilist coming over to visit us,” he murmured.
Bazarov was in fact approaching through the garden, striding over the flower beds.
His linen coat and trousers were bespattered with mud; a clinging marsh plant was twined round the crown of his old round hat, in his right hand he held a small bag in which something alive was wriggling.
He walked quickly up to the terrace and said with a nod,
“Good morning, gentlemen; sorry I was late for tea; I’ll join you in a moment. I just have to put these prisoners away.”
“What have you there, leeches?” asked Pavel Petrovich.
“No, frogs.”
“Do you eat them or keep them for breeding?”
“For experiments,” answered Bazarov indifferently, and went into the house.
“So he’s going to cut them up,” observed Pavel Petrovich; “he has no faith in principles, but he has faith in frogs.”
Arkady looked sadly at his uncle; Nikolai Petrovich almost imperceptibly shrugged his shoulders.
Pavel Petrovich himself felt that his epigram had misfired and he began to talk about farming and the new bailiff who had come to him the evening before to complain that a laborer, Foma, was “debauched,” and had become unmanageable.
“He’s such an Esop,” he remarked. “He announces to everyone that he’s a worthless fellow; he wants to have a good time and then he’ll suddenly leave his job on account of some stupidity.”
Chapter 6
Bazarov came back, sat down at the table and began to drink tea hurriedly.
Both brothers watched him in silence, and Arkady glanced furtively from one to the other.
“Did you walk far this morning?” asked Nikolai Petrovich at last.
“To where you’ve got a little marsh near an aspen wood.
I scared away five snipe. You might shoot them, Arkady.”