Fathers and Children

by Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev

'You're a dangerous gentleman; you're such a critic. Good God! yes! why, how absurd, I'm talking like some country lady. I really am a country lady, though. I manage my property myself; and only fancy, my bailiff Erofay's a wonderful type, quite like Cooper's Pathfinder; something in him so spontaneous! I've come to settle here finally; it's an intolerable town, isn't it? But what's one to do?'

'The town's like every town,' Bazarov remarked coolly.

'All its interests are so petty, that's what's so awful! I used to spend the winters in Moscow ... but now my lawful spouse, Monsieur Kukshin's residing there. And besides, Moscow nowadays ... there, I don't know—it's not the same as it was. I'm thinking of going abroad; last year I was on the point of setting off.'

'To Paris, I suppose?' queried Bazarov.

'To Paris and to Heidelberg.'

'Why to Heidelberg?'

'How can you ask? Why, Bunsen's there!'

To this Bazarov could find no reply.

'Pierre Sapozhnikov ... do you know him?'

'No, I don't.'