第三章 第二章
第二章
“让我先抖抖身上的尘土吧，爸爸，”阿尔卡季说道。他一路旅行，声音里带着疲惫，但听起来依然像铃铛一样清脆悦耳，充满少年气。他快活地回应着父亲的拥抱，“我弄得您满身都是灰了。”
“不要紧，不要紧，”尼古拉·彼得罗维奇温柔地笑着重复道，用手在儿子外套的领子上和自己大衣上拍了两下。“让我好好看看你，让我好好看看你，”他一边说着，一边往后退了一步，但又立刻迈着急促的步子朝驿站的院子走去，喊道：“这边，这边；马上备马。”
尼古拉·彼得罗维奇看上去比他的儿子激动得多；他显得有些慌乱，有些胆怯。阿尔卡季叫住了他。
“爸爸，”他说，“让我给您介绍一下我的好朋友巴扎罗夫，我常给您写信提到的那位。他太好了，答应到我们家住一阵。”
尼古拉·彼得罗维奇赶快转身回来，走到一个高个子面前。那人穿着一件带穗子的宽大粗布长外套，刚从马车上下来。尼古拉·彼得罗维奇热情地握了握那只没有戴手套的红润的手，虽然对方起初并没有立刻伸出手来。
“我由衷地高兴，”他开口道，“也非常感谢您肯赏光到我们这儿来……请问您贵姓，令尊的大名是？”
“叶夫根尼·瓦西里耶夫，”巴扎罗夫懒洋洋地但声音浑厚地答道；说着翻下粗布外套的领子，让尼古拉·彼得罗维奇看清了他的整张脸。那张脸又长又瘦，额头宽阔，鼻子上面扁平、下面稍尖，大大的发绿的眼睛，还有一头沙褐色的下垂的连鬓胡子；平静的微笑使他神采奕奕，透露出自信和智慧。
“亲爱的叶夫根尼·瓦西里伊奇，我希望您在我们这儿不会觉得无聊，”尼古拉·彼得罗维奇接着说。
巴扎罗夫薄薄的嘴唇几乎看不出来地动了动，但没有回答，只是摘下了帽子。他浓密的长发遮不住头顶上隆起的部分。
“那么，阿尔卡季，”尼古拉·彼得罗维奇又转向儿子说，“是马上套车呢，还是你们想先歇一歇？”
“我们回家再歇吧，爸爸；让人去套车吧。”
“马上，马上，”父亲应声道。“喂，彼得，听见没有？快把东西准备好，好孩子，手脚麻利些。”
彼得作为一个已经新式化的仆人，没有吻少爷的手，只是远远地鞠了一躬，又消失在门洞后面了。
“我是坐四轮马车来的，不过也给你的马车备了三匹马，”尼古拉·彼得罗维奇忙忙叨叨地说，这时阿尔卡季正在喝驿站女管事递来的铁舀子里的水，巴扎罗夫则点起了烟斗，走到正在卸马的赶车人跟前，“四轮马车里只有两个座位，我不知道你的那位朋友……”
“他坐那辆马车去，”阿尔卡季低声插嘴道。“请您不要跟他客气。他是个挺好的小伙子，非常朴实——您会看到的。”
尼古拉·彼得罗维奇的车夫把马牵了过来。
“喂，快点儿，大胡子！”巴扎罗夫冲着赶车人说。
“听见了吗，米秋哈，”另一个站在旁边、双手插在羊皮袄后襟开口里的赶车人插嘴说，“那位老爷怎么称呼你来着？你确实是个大胡子。”
米秋哈只是把帽子歪了歪，从汗淋淋的辕马身上卸下缰绳。
“快点儿，快点儿，伙计们，搭把手，”尼古拉·彼得罗维奇喊道，“回头有酒给你们喝！”
几分钟后，马备好了；父与子坐进了四轮马车；彼得爬上了驭者座；巴扎罗夫跳进那辆马车，把头靠在皮坐垫上；两辆车便辘辘地驶走了。
'Let me shake myself first, daddy,' said Arkady, in a voice tired from
travelling, but boyish and clear as a bell, as he gaily responded to
his father's caresses; 'I am covering you with dust.'
'Never mind, never mind,' repeated Nikolai Petrovitch, smiling
tenderly, and twice he struck the collar of his son's cloak and his own
greatcoat with his hand. 'Let me have a look at you; let me have a look
at you,' he added, moving back from him, but immediately he went with
hurried steps towards the yard of the station, calling, 'This way, this
way; and horses at once.'
Nikolai Petrovitch seemed far more excited than his son; he seemed a
little confused, a little timid. Arkady stopped him.
'Daddy,' he said, 'let me introduce you to my great friend, Bazarov,
about whom I have so often written to you. He has been so good as to
promise to stay with us.'
Nikolai Petrovitch went back quickly, and going up to a tall man in a
long, loose, rough coat with tassels, who had only just got out of the
carriage, he warmly pressed the ungloved red hand, which the latter did
not at once hold out to him.
'I am heartily glad,' he began, 'and very grateful for your kind
intention of visiting us.... Let me know your name, and your father's.'
'Yevgeny Vassilyev,' answered Bazarov, in a lazy but manly voice; and
turning back the collar of his rough coat, he showed Nikolai Petrovitch
his whole face. It was long and lean, with a broad forehead, a nose
flat at the base and sharper at the end, large greenish eyes, and
drooping whiskers of a sandy colour; it was lighted up by a tranquil
smile, and showed self-confidence and intelligence.
'I hope, dear Yevgeny Vassilyitch, you won't be dull with us,'
continued Nikolai Petrovitch.
Bazarov's thin lips moved just perceptibly, though he made no reply,
but merely took off his cap. His long, thick hair did not hide the
prominent bumps on his head.
'Then, Arkady,' Nikolai Petrovitch began again, turning to his son,
'shall the horses be put to at once? or would you like to rest?'
'We will rest at home, daddy; tell them to harness the horses.'
'At once, at once,' his father assented. 'Hey, Piotr, do you hear? Get
things ready, my good boy; look sharp.'
Piotr, who as a modernised servant had not kissed the young master's
hand, but only bowed to him from a distance, again vanished through the
gateway.
'I came here with the carriage, but there are three horses for your
coach too,' said Nikolai Petrovitch fussily, while Arkady drank some
water from an iron dipper brought him by the woman in charge of the
station, and Bazarov began smoking a pipe and went up to the driver,
who was taking out the horses; 'there are only two seats in the
carriage, and I don't know how your friend' ...
'He will go in the coach,' interposed Arkady in an undertone. 'You must
not stand on ceremony with him, please. He's a splendid fellow, so
simple--you will see.'
Nikolai Petrovitch's coachman brought the horses round.
'Come, hurry up, bushy beard!' said Bazarov, addressing the driver.
'Do you hear, Mityuha,' put in another driver, standing by with his
hands thrust behind him into the opening of his sheepskin coat, 'what
the gentleman called you? It's a bushy beard you are too.'
Mityuha only gave a jog to his hat and pulled the reins off the heated
shaft-horse.
'Look sharp, look sharp, lads, lend a hand,' cried Nikolai Petrovitch;
'there'll be something to drink our health with!'
In a few minutes the horses were harnessed; the father and son were
installed in the carriage; Piotr climbed up on to the box; Bazarov
jumped into the coach, and nestled his head down into the leather
cushion; and both the vehicles rolled away.
