to be tame, says
an excellent Spanish proverb. Now, you, I suppose, my sage friend,' he
added, turning to the peasant sitting on the box--'you've a wife?'

The peasant showed both the friends his dull blear-eyed face.

'A wife? Yes. Every man has a wife.'

'Do you beat her?'

'My wife? Everything happens sometimes. We don't beat her without good
reason!'

'That's excellent. Well, and does she beat you?'

The peasant gave a tug at the reins. 'That's a strange thing to say,
sir. You like your joke.'... He was obviously offended.

'You hear, Arkady Nikolaevitch! But we have taken a beating ... that's
what comes of being educated people.'

Arkady gave a forced laugh, while Bazarov turned away, and did not open
his mouth again the whole journey.

The twenty miles seemed to Arkady quite forty. But at last, on the
slope of some rising ground, appeared the small hamlet where Bazarov's
parents lived. Beside it, in a young birch copse, could be seen a small
house with a thatched roof.

Two peasants stood with their hats on at the first hut, abusing each
other. 'You're a great sow,' said one; 'and worse than a little sucking
pig.'

'And your wife's a witch,' retorted the other.

'From their unconstrained behaviour,' Bazarov remarked to Arkady, 'and
the playfulness of their retorts, you can guess that my father's
peasants are not too much oppressed. Why, there he is himself coming
out on the steps of his house. They must have heard the bells. It's he;
it's he--I know his figure. Ay, ay! how grey he's grown though, poor
chap!'

CHAPTER XX

Bazarov leaned out of the coach, while Arkady thrust his head out
behind his companion's back, and caught sight on the steps of the
little manor-house of a tall, thinnish man with dishevelled hair, and a
thin hawk nose, dressed in an old military coat not buttoned up. He was
standing, his legs wide apart, smoking a long pipe and screwing up his
eyes to keep the sun out of them.

The horses stopped.

'Arrived at last,' said Bazarov's father, still going on smoking though
the pipe was fairly dancing up and down between his fingers. 'Come, get
out; get out; let me hug you.'

He began embracing his son ... 'Enyusha, Enyusha,' was heard a
trembling woman's voice. The door was flung open, and in the doorway
was seen a plump, short, little old woman in a white cap and a short
striped jacket. She moaned, staggered, and would certainly have fallen,
had not Bazarov supported