“喂，彼得，还看不见吗？”一八五九年五月二十日，一位四十开外的绅士，穿着落满尘土的上衣和方格裤子，没戴帽子，走到S——驿站的低矮台阶上，这样问道。他是在对自己的仆人说话，那是个胖乎乎的年轻小伙子，下巴上长着白色绒毛，一双小小的、黯淡无光的眼睛。
这仆人身上的一切——耳朵上的绿松石耳环，抹了油的条纹头发，以及一举一动的恭顺——都表明他是个新派的、受过新风气熏陶的人。他带着一种宽容的神情朝大路望了一眼，回答说：
“还没有，老爷。”
“还看不见？”主人又问。
“是的，老爷。”那人再次回答。
主人叹了口气，在一张小长凳上坐下来。趁他坐在那儿，双脚蜷在身下，若有所思地环顾四周的时候，我们来向读者介绍一下他。
他名叫尼古拉·彼得罗维奇·基尔萨诺夫。他在离驿站十二俄里的地方，有一份不错的产业，有二百个农奴，或者照他自己的说法——因为他已经和农民划分了土地，并且办起了一个“农场”——有将近五千俄亩。他的父亲是位陆军将军，一八一二年服过役，一个粗鲁、半通文墨但心地不坏的人，一个典型的俄罗斯人，一辈子都在服役，先是指挥一个旅，后来指挥一个师，经常住在外省，在那儿凭着他的官阶，扮演着相当重要的角色。尼古拉·彼得罗维奇和他哥哥帕维尔一样，出生在俄国南方，关于帕维尔，后文还要提到。他在家里受教育，一直到十四岁，身边是一些廉价的家庭教师、不拘礼节的阿谀奉承的副官，以及通常那些兵团和参谋部的人物。他的母亲出身于科里亚津家族，少女时叫阿加特，做了将军夫人后叫阿加索克利娅·库兹米尼什娜·基尔萨诺娃，是那种军界太太，完全把丈夫官职上的职责和尊严当作自己的一份。她戴着华丽的帽子，穿着窸窣作响的绸衣；在教堂里总是第一个上前吻十字架；她大声地操着高嗓门讲许多话，早晨让孩子们吻她的手，晚上给他们祝福——总之，她从生活中得到了所能得到的一切。尼古拉·彼得罗维奇作为将军的儿子——尽管他远不以勇敢著称，甚至可以说是个“胆小鬼”——本来和他哥哥帕维尔一样，要进军界；但是在他得到委任状的消息传来的那一天，他把腿摔断了，在床上躺了两个月，从此落下了轻微的跛足，直到晚年。他父亲对他不抱希望，便让他去当文官。他刚满十八岁，父亲就把他带到彼得堡，送他进了大学。差不多与此同时，他哥哥恰好被任命为禁卫军军官。两个年轻人开始住在一起，合住一套房间，由母亲方面的表亲——一位高级官员伊利亚·科里亚津——从远处监护着他们。他们的父亲回到自己的师部和妻子身边，只是偶尔给儿子们寄来大张的灰色信纸，上面用一种粗大的文书笔迹写满了字。在这些纸的末尾，用精心勾画的花体字写着：“彼得·基尔萨诺夫，少将。”
一八三五年，尼古拉·彼得罗维奇大学毕业，成为毕业生；同一年，基尔萨诺夫将军在一次不成功的检阅之后被列入退役名单，带着妻子来彼得堡居住。他正要在塔夫里切斯基花园附近租一所房子，并且已经加入了英国俱乐部，却突然中风死了。阿加索克利娅·库兹米尼什娜不久也跟随他去了；她过不惯首都的沉闷生活；离开了团队，她被生活的无聊折磨得憔悴不堪。与此同时，尼古拉·彼得罗维奇在父母还活着的时候，就已经爱上了房东——一个小官员普列波洛文斯基的女儿，叫父母十分懊恼。她是个漂亮的、所谓的“新派”姑娘；她常常阅读杂志“科学”栏里的严肃文章。丧期一过，他就和她结了婚；他辞去了父亲靠情面为他谋到的文官职务，和玛莎过起了十分幸福的生活。起初住在林学院附近的一所乡间别墅里，后来住在城里一套漂亮的小住宅里，那里有干净的楼梯和通风的客厅，然后又住到乡下，在那里最终定居下来，不久就生了一个儿子——阿尔卡季。这对年轻夫妇生活得非常幸福安宁；他们几乎从不分开；一起读书，一起唱歌，在钢琴上弹二重奏；她照料花草，照管家禽场；他有时去打猎，经营着田产，而阿尔卡季也在同样幸福安宁的气氛中渐渐长大。十年光阴像梦一样过去了。一八四七年，基尔萨诺夫的妻子去世。他几乎被这次打击压倒；几个星期之内，头发就白了；他准备出国，也许可以借此排遣心中的悲痛……可是接着就到了一八四八年。他不情愿地回到乡下，在相当长一段无所事事之后，开始对改进田产管理产生了兴趣。一八五五年，他把儿子送进大学；他和儿子在彼得堡度过了三个冬天，几乎什么地方也不去，努力结识阿尔卡季的年轻同伴。最后一个冬天他没能够去，于是，一八五九年五月，我们看到他已是满头白发了，身体发胖，背也微微驼了，正在等待儿子——儿子刚得了学位，就像当年他自己一样。
仆人出于礼貌，也许也是不愿意老待在主人的眼皮底下，已经走到大门口，抽起烟斗来。尼古拉·彼得罗维奇低下头，开始望着那座剥蚀的台阶；一只大花鸡大模大样地向他走来，用黄色的大脚稳稳地踏着步子；一只满身是泥的猫不友好地看了他一眼，羞答答地绕着栏杆扭来扭去。太阳晒得火热；从驿站半明半暗的过道里，飘来热裸麦面包的气味。尼古拉·彼得罗维奇沉浸在幻想中。“我的儿子……一个大学毕业生……阿尔卡沙……”这些念头不断地在他脑海里萦绕；他想想想些别的，可同一个念头又回来了。他想起了死去的妻子……“她没有活到这一天！”他悲伤地低声说。一只胖胖的深蓝色鸽子飞到路上，匆匆忙忙地去喝井边水坑里的水。尼古拉·彼得罗维奇望着它，可是耳朵已经听到了车轮走近的声音。
“好像是他们来了，老爷。”仆人从门口探出头来报告说。
尼古拉·彼得罗维奇跳起来，眼睛盯着大路。一辆三匹驿马并排拉着的马车出现了；在马车里，他瞥见学生制帽的蓝色帽箍，一张亲爱的、熟悉的脸庞的轮廓。
“阿尔卡沙！阿尔卡沙！”基尔萨诺夫喊道，他挥动着双手跑过去……过了片刻，他的嘴唇已经贴在了那位年轻毕业生没有胡须、沾满尘土、晒得黑黑的脸颊上。
'Well, Piotr, not in sight yet?' was the question asked on May the
20th, 1859, by a gentleman of a little over forty, in a dusty coat and
checked trousers, who came out without his hat on to the low steps of
the posting station at S----. He was addressing his servant, a chubby
young fellow, with whitish down on his chin, and little, lack-lustre
eyes.
The servant, in whom everything--the turquoise ring in his ear, the
streaky hair plastered with grease, and the civility of his
movements--indicated a man of the new, improved generation, glanced
with an air of indulgence along the road, and made answer:
'No, sir; not in sight.'
'Not in sight?' repeated his master.
'No, sir,' responded the man a second time.
His master sighed, and sat down on a little bench. We will introduce
him to the reader while he sits, his feet tucked under him, gazing
thoughtfully round.
His name was Nikolai Petrovitch Kirsanov. He had, twelve miles from the
posting station, a fine property of two hundred souls, or, as he
expressed it--since he had arranged the division of his land with the
peasants, and started 'a farm'--of nearly five thousand acres. His
father, a general in the army, who served in 1812, a coarse,
half-educated, but not ill-natured man, a typical Russian, had been in
harness all his life, first in command of a brigade, and then of a
division, and lived constantly in the provinces, where, by virtue of
his rank, he played a fairly important part. Nikolai Petrovitch was
born in the south of Russia like his elder brother, Pavel, of whom more
hereafter. He was educated at home till he was fourteen, surrounded by
cheap tutors, free-and-easy but toadying adjutants, and all the usual
regimental and staff set. His mother, one of the Kolyazin family, as a
girl called Agathe, but as a general's wife Agathokleya Kuzminishna
Kirsanov, was one of those military ladies who take their full share of
the duties and dignities of office. She wore gorgeous caps and rustling
silk dresses; in church she was the first to advance to the cross; she
talked a great deal in a loud voice, let her children kiss her hand in
the morning, and gave them her blessing at night--in fact, she got
everything out of life she could. Nikolai Petrovitch, as a general's
son--though so far from being distinguished by courage that he even
deserved to be called 'a funk'--was intended, like his brother Pavel,
to enter the army; but he broke his leg on the very day when the news
of his commission came, and, after being two months in bed, retained a
slight limp to the end of his days. His father gave him up as a bad
job, and let him go into the civil service. He took him to Petersburg
directly he was eighteen, and placed him in the university. His brother
happened about the same time to be made an officer in the Guards. The
young men started living together in one set of rooms, under the remote
supervision of a cousin on their mother's side, Ilya Kolyazin, an
official of high rank. Their father returned to his division and his
wife, and only rarely sent his sons large sheets of grey paper,
scrawled over in a bold clerkly hand. At the bottom of these sheets
stood in letters, enclosed carefully in scroll-work, the words, 'Piotr
Kirsanov, General-Major.' In 1835 Nikolai Petrovitch left the
university, a graduate, and in the same year General Kirsanov was put
on to the retired list after an unsuccessful review, and came to
Petersburg with his wife to live. He was about to take a house in the
Tavrichesky Gardens, and had joined the English club, but he died
suddenly of an apoplectic fit. Agathokleya Kuzminishna soon followed
him; she could not accustom herself to a dull life in the capital; she
was consumed by the ennui of existence away from the regiment.
Meanwhile Nikolai Petrovitch had already, in his parents' lifetime and
to their no slight chagrin, had time to fall in love with the daughter
of his landlord, a petty official, Prepolovensky. She was a pretty and,
as it is called, 'advanced' girl; she used to read the serious articles
in the 'Science' column of the journals. He married her directly the
term of mourning was over; and leaving the civil service in which his
father had by favour procured him a post, was perfectly blissful with
his Masha, first in a country villa near the Lyesny Institute,
afterwards in town in a pretty little flat with a clean staircase and a
draughty drawing-room, and then in the country, where he settled
finally, and where in a short time a son, Arkady, was born to him. The
young couple lived very happily and peacefully; they were scarcely ever
apart; they read together, sang and played duets together on the piano;
she tended her flowers and looked after the poultry-yard; he sometimes
went hunting, and busied himself with the estate, while Arkady grew and
grew in the same happy and peaceful way. Ten years passed like a dream.
In 1847 Kirsanov's wife died. He almost succumbed to this blow; in a
few weeks his hair was grey; he was getting ready to go abroad, if
possible to distract his mind ... but then came the year 1848. He
returned unwillingly to the country, and, after a rather prolonged
period of inactivity, began to take an interest in improvements in the
management of his land. In 1855 he brought his son to the university;
he spent three winters with him in Petersburg, hardly going out
anywhere, and trying to make acquaintance with Arkady's young
companions. The last winter he had not been able to go, and here we
have him in the May of 1859, already quite grey, stoutish, and rather
bent, waiting for his son, who had just taken his degree, as once he
had taken it himself.
The servant, from a feeling of propriety, and perhaps, too, not anxious
to remain under the master's eye, had gone to the gate, and was smoking
a pipe. Nikolai Petrovitch bent his head, and began staring at the
crumbling steps; a big mottled fowl walked sedately towards him,
treading firmly with its great yellow legs; a muddy cat gave him an
unfriendly look, twisting herself coyly round the railing. The sun was
scorching; from the half-dark passage of the posting station came an
odour of hot rye-bread. Nikolai Petrovitch fell to dreaming. 'My son
... a graduate ... Arkasha ...' were the ideas that continually came
round again and again in his head; he tried to think of something else,
and again the same thoughts returned. He remembered his dead wife....
'She did not live to see it!' he murmured sadly. A plump, dark-blue
pigeon flew into the road, and hurriedly went to drink in a puddle near
the well. Nikolai Petrovitch began looking at it, but his ear had
already caught the sound of approaching wheels.
'It sounds as if they're coming sir,' announced the servant, popping in
from the gateway.
Nikolai Petrovitch jumped up, and bent his eyes on the road. A carriage
appeared with three posting-horses harnessed abreast; in the carriage
he caught a glimpse of the blue band of a student's cap, the familiar
outline of a dear face.
'Arkasha! Arkasha!' cried Kirsanov, and he ran waving his hands.... A
few instants later, his lips were pressed to the beardless, dusty,
sunburnt-cheek of the youthful graduate.
