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Updated: May 22, 2025
This is an exceedingly difficult scene for a novelist, but not too difficult for Turgenev, who has made it beautiful and sweet. Love, which will ruin Bazarov, ennobles and stimulates Insarov; for the strong man has found his mate. She will leave father and mother for his sake, and cleave unto him. And, notwithstanding the anger and disgust of her parents she leaves Russia forever with her husband.
The next day at twelve o'clock, Bersenyev set off in a return coach to Moscow. He had to get some money from the post-office, to buy some books, and he wanted to seize the opportunity to see Insarov and have some conversation with him. The idea had occurred to Bersenyev, in the course of his last conversation with Shubin, to invite Insarov to stay with him at his country lodgings.
Put on your leather apron, workman, and take your place at your workman's bench, in your dark workshop, and let the sun shine on other men! Even our dull life has its own pride, its own happiness!" The next morning Insarov got a brief note by the post. 'Expect me, Elena wrote to him, 'and give orders for no one to see you. A. P. will not come.
But you are very unwell, Nikanor Vassilyevitch, I am tiring you, perhaps, but still I must stay a little longer. And for a long time Lupoyarov still babbled on in the same way, and, as he went away, he promised to come again. Worn out by the unexpected visit, Insarov lay down on the sofa. 'So this, he said, mournfully looking at Elena, 'is your younger generation!
Wake me at once directly Renditch comes. If he says the ship is ready, we will start at once. We ought to pack everything. 'Packing won't take long, answered Elena. 'That fellow babbled something about a battle, about Servia, said Insarov, after a short interval. 'I suppose he made it all up. But we must, we must start. We can't lose time. Be ready.
Insarov waked late with a dull pain in his head, and a feeling, as he expressed it, of disgusting weakness all over. He got up however. 'Renditch has not come? was his first question. 'Not yet, answered Elena, and she handed him the latest number of the Osservatore Triestino, in which there was much upon the war, the Slav Provinces, and the Principalities.
Elena shook her head unseen; the host did not think it necessary to introduce them to one another, and Insarov departed, exchanging one last look with Elena. Shubin pondered and pondered, and threw himself into a fierce argument with Kurnatovsky on a legislative question, about which he had not a single idea.
Your belauded, exceptional man has quite missed fire. That I'll guarantee. And to prove my impartiality, listen here's the sum and substance of Mr. Insarov.
Anna Vassilyevna was dozing; Zoya had poked her head out of window and was staring at the road. It occurred to Elena at last that she had not spoken to Insarov for more than an hour. She turned to him with a trifling question; he at once answered her, delighted.
On the way from Russia, Insarov had lain ill for almost two months at Vienna, and only at the end of March had he been able to come with his wife to Venice; from there he was hoping to make his way through Zara to Servia, to Bulgaria; the other roads were closed.
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