Chapter I
"Well, Peter? Cannot you see them yet?" asked a barin of about forty who, hatless, and clad in a dusty jacket over a pair of tweed breeches, stepped on to the verandah of a posting-house on the 20th day of May, 1859. The person addressed was the barin's servant—a round-cheeked young fellow with small, dull eyes and a chin adorned with a tuft of pale-coloured down.
Glancing along the high road in a supercilious manner, the servant (in whom everything, from the turquoise ear-ring to the dyed, pomaded hair and the mincing gait, revealed the modern, the rising generation) replied: "No, barin, I cannot."
"Is that so?" queried the barin.
"Yes," the servant affirmed.
The barin sighed, and seated himself upon a bench. While he is sitting there with his knees drawn under him and his eyes moodily glancing to right and left, the reader may care to become better acquainted with his personality.
His name was Nikolai Petrovitch Kirsanov, and he owned (some fifteen versts from the posting-house) a respectable little property of about two hundred souls (or, as, after that he had apportioned his peasantry allotments, and set up a "farm," he himself expressed it, a property "of two thousand desiatini"). His father, one of the generals of 1812, had spent his life exclusively in military service as the commander, first of a brigade, and then of a division; and always he had been quartered in the provinces, where his rank had enabled him to cut a not inconspicuous figure. As for Nikolai Petrovitch himself, he was born in Southern Russia (as also was his elder brother, Paul—of whom presently), and, until his fourteenth year, received his education amid a circle of hard-up governors, free-and-easy aides-de-camp, and sundry staff and regimental officers. His mother came of the family of the Koliazins, and, known in maidenhood as Agathe, and subsequently as Agathoklea Kuzminishna Kirsanov, belonged to the type of "officer's lady." That is to say, she wore pompous mobcaps and rustling silk dresses, was always the first to approach the cross in church, talked volubly and in a loud tone, of set practice admitted her sons to kiss her hand in the morning, and never failed to bless them before retiring to rest at night. In short, she lived the life which suited her. As the son of a general, Nikolai Petrovitch was bound—though he evinced no particular bravery, and might even have seemed a coward—to follow his brother Paul's example by entering the army; but unfortunately, owing to the fact that, on the very day when there arrived the news of his commission, he happened to break his leg, it befell that, after two months in bed, he rose to his feet a permanently lamed man. When his father had finished wringing his hands over the mischance, he sent his son to acquire a civilian education; whence it came about that Nikolai, at eighteen, found himself a student at the University of St. Petersburg. At the same period his brother obtained a commission in one of the regiments of Guards; and, that being so, their father apportioned the two young men a joint establishment, and placed it under the more or less detached supervision of Ilya Koliazin, their maternal uncle and a leading tchinovnik. That done, the father returned to his division and his wife, and only at rare intervals sent his sons sheets of grey foolscap (scrawled and re-scrawled in flamboyant calligraphy) to which there was appended, amid a bower of laborious flourishes, the signature "Piotr Kirsanov, Major-General." In the year 1835 Nikolai Petrovitch obtained his university degree; and in the same year General Kirsanov was retired for incompetence at a review, and decided to transfer his quarters to St. Petersburg. Unfortunately, just as he was on the point both of renting a house near the Tavritchesky Gardens and of being enrolled as a member of the English Club, a stroke put an end to his career, and Agathoklea Kuzminishna followed him soon afterwards, since never had she succeeded in taking to the dull life of the capital, but always had hankered after the old provincial existence. Already during his parents' lifetime, and to their no small vexation, Nikolai Petrovitch had contrived to fall in love with the daughter of a certain tchinovnik named Prepolovensky, the landlord of his flat; and since the maiden was not only comely, but one of the type known as "advanced" (that is to say, she perused an occasional "Science" article in one newspaper or another), he married her out of hand as soon as the term of mourning was ended, and, abandoning the Ministry of Provincial Affairs to which, through his father's influence, he had been posted, embarked upon connubial felicity in a villa adjoining the Institute of Forestry. Thence, after a while, the couple removed to a diminutive, but in every way respectable, flat which could boast of a spotless vestibule and an icy-cold drawing-room; and thence, again, they migrated to the country, where they settled for good, and where, in due time, they had born to them a son Arkady. The existence of husband and wife was one of perfect comfort and tranquillity. Almost never were they parted from one another, they read together, they played the piano together, and they sang duets. Also, she would garden or superintend the poultry-yard, and he would set forth a-hunting, or see to the management of the estate. Meanwhile Arkady led an existence of equal calm and comfort, and grew, and waxed fat; until, in 1847, when ten years had been passed in this idyllic fashion, Kirsanov's wife breathed her last. The blow proved almost more than the husband could bear—so much so that his head turned grey in a few weeks. Yet, though he sought distraction for his thoughts by going abroad, he felt constrained, in the following year, to return home, where, after a prolonged period of inaction, he took up the subject of Industrial Reform. Next, in 1855, he sent his son to the University of St. Petersburg, and, for the same reason, spent the following three winters in the capital, where he seldom went out, but spent the greater part of his time in endeavouring to fraternise with his son's youthful acquaintances. The fourth winter, however, he was prevented by various circumstances from spending in St. Petersburg; and thus in the May of 1859 we see him—grey-headed, dusty, a trifle bent, and wholly middle-aged—awaiting his son's home-coming after the elevation of the latter (in Nikolai's own footsteps) to the dignity of a graduate.
Presently either a sense of decency or (more probably) a certain disinclination to remain immediately under his master's eye led the servant to withdraw to the entrance gates, and there to light a pipe. Nikolai Petrovitch, however, continued sitting with head bent, and his eyes contemplating the ancient steps of the verandah, up which a stout speckled hen was tap-tapping its way on a pair of splayed yellow legs, and thereby causing an untidy, but fastidious-looking, cat to regard it from the balustrade with marked disapproval. Meanwhile the sun beat fiercely down, and from the darkened interior of a neighbouring granary came a smell as of hot rye straw. Nikolai Petrovitch sank into a reverie. "My son Arkady a graduate!"—the words kept passing and repassing through his mind. Again and again he tried to think of something else, but always the same thought returned to him. Until eventually he reverted to the memory of his dead wife. "Would that she were still with me!" was his yearning reflection. Presently a fat blue pigeon alighted upon the roadway, and fell to taking a hasty drink from a pool beside the well. And almost at the instant that the spectacle of the bird caught Nikolai Petrovitch's eye, his ear caught the sound of approaching wheels.
"They are coming, I think," hazarded the servant as he stepped forward through the gates.
Nikolai Petrovitch sprang to his feet, and strained his eyes along the road. Yes, coming into view there was a tarantass, drawn by three stagehorses; and in the tarantass there could be seen the band of a student's cap and the outlines of a familiar, well-beloved face.
"Arkasha, Arkasha!" was Kirsanov's cry as, running forward, he waved his arms. A few moments later he was pressing his lips to the sun-tanned, dusty, hairless cheek of the newly-fledged graduate.
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— Wesley, Owl Eyes Editor
The Russian language affords many different forms of names, and each style takes on various qualities depending on the suffix attached. In this case, taking “Arkady” and changing it to “Arkasha” softens the name and makes it more endearing, much in the same way that “Daniel” can become “Danny.” This also provides further evidence for the closeness of the relationship between father and son.
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— Wesley, Owl Eyes Editor
There are several different makes and styles of carriages throughout this story. The tarantass is one of the more common ones that the characters use. This is a four-wheeled Russian traveling-carriage that has a long flexible wooden chassis positioned on top of the wheels without springs.
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— Wesley, Owl Eyes Editor
While at the end of the preceding paragraph Hogarth included the pronoun "we," here he chose to omit it from the original. Turgenev's use of these inclusive pronouns add to a particular style of storytelling; it's as if the narrator were directly sharing these events to us over a meal or around a fire. The original line here says "Our Nikolai Petrovich started musing" (Замечтался наш Николай Петрович). This not only pulls us deeper into the story, but it ascribes a caring quality to this character and endears him to us even more.
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— Wesley, Owl Eyes Editor
This expression means that Arkady followed the same path as his father. So, we learn that not only did Arkady go to the same university as his father, but he also took up the same studies. This further reinforces the closeness between father and son prior to their meeting in the current time.
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— Wesley, Owl Eyes Editor
We see here at Nikolai Petrovich not only stayed in St. Petersburg to educate himself but also spent the majority of his time in the company of his son and his son’s friends. This shows the closeness between father and son, and it also sets up the tension between them since his son is returning from his last year in the capital—which he didn’t spend with his father. They haven’t seen each other in quite some time and much may have changed.
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— Wesley, Owl Eyes Editor
Referring to this as “Industrial Reform” is not a completely accurate translation. The original Russian says that Nikolai busied himself with economic reforms (занялся хозяйственными преобразованиями). Recall that this story is set a few years before Tsar Alexander II emancipated the serfs. These reforms then refer to the progressive agenda of redesigning work on Russian estates, business, and the economy in general. So, Nikolai Petrovich is actually portrayed as being far more forward thinking than readers might have initially assumed because he has implemented many of these changes.
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— Wesley, Owl Eyes Editor
While Hogarth's translation maintains the essence of this passage, the original Russian directly translates to "Ten years passed like a dream" (Десять лет прошло как сон). This information is important for understanding Nikolai Petrovich's, and even Arkady's, attachment to their estate in the country. Note too that Hogarth uses the word "idyllic," which has romantic connotations country life. The overall effect is to paint an image of a kind of a unique, almost timeless, place in the country, removed from the concerns of the world. When Arkady arrives at Marino, pay attention to the description of the estate and see how it compares with this initial image.
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— Wesley, Owl Eyes Editor
Hogarth (and Garnett in her translation) used “villa” as a translation for the Russian word “dacha” (дача), or a small country house used during the summer. The word "dacha" has since entered many English dictionaries, including the OED, and is often left untranslated due to the culturally specific meanings it contains.
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— Wesley, Owl Eyes Editor
Hogarth’s translation here had to get a little creative since the verb Turgenev chose (блаженствовал/blashenstvoval) translates to something like “to luxuriate” or “to be blissfully happy.” It’s often used with recently married couples, and so the choice of “embarked on connubial felicity” applies: the adjective “connubial” describes something as relating to a marriage—in this case “felicity,” or “happiness.”
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— Wesley, Owl Eyes Editor
The adjective "comely" (миловидный/milovidniy in Russian) means that someone is pleasant to look at. Turgenev also tells us that Nikolai's wife is "advanced," using the Russian word развитой (razvitoy) which directly translates to "developed" and means something like "educated."
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— Wesley, Owl Eyes Editor
These famous gardens (Таврический сад), now known as the Tauride Gardens in English, were created and named after a successful campaign to conquer Crimea, which is known as Tauris in ancient Greek. The gardens have many walking paths and are located on the grounds of a palace by the same name.
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— Wesley, Owl Eyes Editor
When the Russian Tsar Peter the Great built St. Petersburg, he modelled much of the city on London, and many of the foreigners that settled in St. Petersburg in the 18th century were English. On March 1, 1770, Francis Gardner opened the English club. Initially, the club was open only to Englishmen, but shortly thereafter Russian aristocrats were able to join.
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— Wesley, Owl Eyes Editor
The original Russian says that their father sent them large sheets of grey paper (присылал сыновьям большие четвертушки серой бумаги). So, in this context, a “foolscap” is a large folio of writing paper.
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— Wesley, Owl Eyes Editor
A “tchinovnik” (чиновник) is a general term for any government official in the Russian Empire who acted as a kind of civil servant, minor functionary, or clerk.
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— Wesley, Owl Eyes Editor
Calling this place the "University of St. Petersburg" is misleading because that is not the actual name of the institution. The original Russian simply says that Nikolai was sent to St. Petersburg to go to the university. This can only refer to the Saint Petersburg State University, which was established in 1724 and is one of the oldest and largest universities in Russia.
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— Wesley, Owl Eyes Editor
Worn by many women in the 18th and 19th centuries, mobcaps are a large soft hat that has a frill around its edges and typically covers all of the hair. For Agathoklea Kuzminishna’s to have been “pompous” means that they likely had lace or more intricate designs.
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— Wesley, Owl Eyes Editor
The Russian word гувернер (guverner) shares a phonetic similarity to the English word “governor.” However, for many English speakers, this word most readily carries political connotations. A more accurate translation would be “tutor.” Additionally, the original Russian word "дешевые" which Hogarth has translated as "hard-up" also means "cheap" or "inexpensive." So, Nikolai Kirsanov was educated by “cheap tutors.”
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— Wesley, Owl Eyes Editor
While Paul hasn’t come into the story yet, it’s important to note that this translator, Charles Hogarth, has anglicized the Russian name. In Turgenev’s original, Nikolai’s brother is named Pavel Petrovitch Kirsanov (Павл Петрович Кирсанов). It is unclear why a name like “Pavel” has been transliterated to “Paul” when a name like “Nikolai” has not; however, we can speculate that this name was more accessible to English readers at the time of translation.
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— Wesley, Owl Eyes Editor
In 1812, the French General Napoleon invaded Russia. This invasion is known in Russia as the Patriotic War of 1812 (Отечественная война 1812 года [Otechestvennaya Voyna 1812 Goda]). The Russian General Kutuzov met the French forces several times on the battlefield, only to retreat and draw the French deeper into Russian territory. Eventually, due to a lack of preparation for the Russian winter, Napoleon’s forces became overextended and were forced to retreat back to France.
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— Wesley, Owl Eyes Editor
Another unit of measurement formally used in the Russian Empire, the desyatin is a Russian superficial measure of 2400 sq. sazhens, in which one sagene (sazhen) equals seven English feet. So, Nikolai Petrovitch has about 2.86 acres to his name. It’s possible that Turgenev has him say "two thousand" because it sounds more impressive.
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— Wesley, Owl Eyes Editor
A “verst” (верста) is a Russian unit for measuring length. It is equal to approximately 3500 feet, or about two-thirds of an English mile, and was in common usage until the communist revolution.
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— Wesley, Owl Eyes Editor
A quick note on Russian names: What we call a “middle name” in English, the Russians call a “patronymic.” This name is derived from the name of the man or woman’s father. In this case, Nikolai’s father’s name is Пётр (Pyotr) and so his patronymic is “Petrovitch.” Additionally, last names slightly change their spelling depending on the person's gender, with Russian last names typically taking an additional "-a" to indicate femininity.
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— Wesley, Owl Eyes Editor
Turgenev, as the narrator, inserts his own voice into this passage. This creates a less formal, almost storytelling aspect to the tale by showing readers that important information will be given at appropriate times to maintain interest and fully flesh out characters.
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— Wesley, Owl Eyes Editor
The way the servant looks down the road reveals part of his character. The original Russian word is снисходительно (sniskhoditel’no) which translates to “condescendingly.” The adjective “supercilious” is synonymous in meaning, so we learn that this servant considers himself superior to the task at hand, and he won’t make more effort than is necessary.
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— Wesley, Owl Eyes Editor
“Down” refers to the soft feathers from birds that is often used to stuff pillows, coats, or other materials. The original Russian word in this passage is пух (puxh), which is similar but also means something akin to “fuzz.” In English, we sometimes refer to the beard of a young man as “peach fuzz” to indicate youth. Turgenev is doing the same thing with this character.
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— Wesley, Owl Eyes Editor
Turgenev published Fathers and Sons in 1862, a year after Tsar Alexander II instituted the emancipation reform which liberated the Russian serfs. By situating his story several years prior, Turgenev explores the attitudes related to class and social position in the wake of the various reforms that led to the eventual emancipation. This tension between the classes further plays into the social differences the older and younger generations are experiencing.
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— Wesley, Owl Eyes Editor
This is a translation of постоялый двор (postal’niy dvor). Since industrialization was slow to start in the Russian Empire compared to Western Europe, transportation by horse and carriage remained popular into the 20th century. Posting-houses served as a kind of inn where travelers could get fresh horses, food, and shelter.
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— Wesley, Owl Eyes Editor
Many translations consider “barin” a synonym for “gentleman” or a “squire”; however, this term also has an association with the Russian aristocracy, the landowners who controlled the lives of the serfs. To call someone барин (barin) is to also call them “lord” or “master.” This distinction is important throughout the story as it acknowledges landowning, privileged, or politically influential citizens.
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— Wesley, Owl Eyes Editor
While many translations, such as Garnett’s, tend to keep the orthographic spelling of the original Russian names, Hogarth’s translation instead anglicized a few names that have English counterparts. For instance, this Russian name is spelled Пётр (Pyotr).