It was long before old LavrÉtzky could forgive his son for his marriage; if, after the lapse of half a year, IvÁn PetrÓvitch had presented himself in contrition, and had flung himself at his feet, he would, probably, have pardoned him, after first scolding him roundly, and administering a few taps with his crutch, by way of inspiring awe; but IvÁn PetrÓvitch was living abroad, and, evidently, cared not a rap.—"Hold your tongue! Don't dare!" PiÓtr AndrÉitch kept repeating to his wife, as soon as she tried to incline him to mercy: "He ought to pray to God for me forever, the pup, for not having laid my curse upon him; my late father would have slain him with his own hands, the good-for-nothing, and he would have done right." At such terrible speeches, Anna PÁvlovna merely crossed herself furtively. As for IvÁn PetrÓvitch's wife, PiÓtr AndrÉitch, at first, would not allow her to be mentioned, and even in reply to a letter of PÉstoff, wherein the latter alluded to his daughter-in-law, he gave orders to say to him, that he knew nothing whatever about any daughter-in-law of his, and that it was prohibited by the laws to harbour runaway maids, on which point he regarded it as his duty to warn him; but later on, when he learned of the birth of a grandson, he softened, gave orders that inquiries should be made on the sly concerning the health of the young mother, and sent her, also as though it did not come from him, a little money. FÉdya had not reached his first birthday, when Anna PÁvlovna was seized with a fatal illness. A few days before her end, when she could no longer leave her bed, she declared to her husband, in the presence of the priest, that she wished to see and bid farewell to her daughter-in-law, and to bestow her blessing on her grandchild. The afflicted old man soothed her, and immediately sent his own equipage for his daughter-in-law, for the first time calling her MalÁnya SergyÉevna.[3] She came with her son and with MÁrfa TimofÉevna, who would not let her go alone on any terms, and would not have allowed her to be affronted. Half dead with terror, MalÁnya entered PiÓtr AndrÉitch's study. The nurse carried FÉdya after her. PiÓtr AndrÉitch gazed at her in silence; she approached to kiss his hand; her quivering lips hardly met in a noiseless kiss.

"Well, new-ground, undried noblewoman,"—he said at last:—"how do you do; let us go to the mistress."

He rose and bent over FÉdya; the baby smiled, and stretched out his little, white arms. The old man was completely upset.

"Okh," he said,—"thou orphan! Thou hast plead thy father's cause with me; I will not abandon thee, my birdling!"

As soon as MalÁnya SergyÉevna entered the bedchamber of Anna PÁvlovna, she knelt down near the door. Anna PÁvlovna beckoned her to the bed, embraced her, blessed her son; then, turning her countenance, ravaged by disease, to her husband, she tried to speak....

"I know, I know what entreaty thou desirest to make,"—said PiÓtr AndrÉitch:—"do not worry: she shall stay with us, and I will pardon VÁnka for her sake."

Anna PÁvlovna, with an effort, grasped her husband's hand, and pressed it to her lips. On that same evening she died.

PiÓtr AndrÉitch kept his word. He informed his son, that, for the sake of his mother's dying hour, for the sake of baby FeÓdor, he restored to him his blessing, and would keep MalÁnya SergyÉevna in his own house. Two rooms were set apart for her use in the entresol, he introduced her to his most respected visitor, one-eyed Brigadier SkuryÓkhin, and to his wife; he presented her with two maids and a page-boy for errands. MÁrfa TimofÉevna bade her farewell; she detested GlafÍra, and quarrelled with her thrice in the course of one day.

At first the poor woman found her situation painful and awkward; but afterward, she learned to bear things patiently, and became accustomed to her father-in-law. He, also, became accustomed to her, he even grew to love her, although he almost never spoke to her, although in his caresses a certain involuntary disdain toward her was perceptible. MalÁnya SergyÉevna had most of all to endure from her sister-in-law. GlafÍra, already during her mother's lifetime, had succeeded in getting gradually the entire house into her hands: every one, beginning with her father, was subject to her; not a lump of sugar was given out without her permission; she would have consented to die, rather than to share the power with any other mistress of the house! Her brother's marriage had angered her even more than it had PiÓtr AndrÉitch: she took it upon herself to teach the upstart a lesson, and from the very first hour MalÁnya SergyÉevna became her slave.

And how could she contend with the self-willed, arrogant GlafÍra, she who was mild, constantly agitated, and terrified, and also weak in health? Not a day passed, that GlafÍra did not remind her of her former position, did not praise her for not forgetting her place. MalÁnya SergyÉevna would gladly have reconciled herself to these reminders and praises, however bitter they might be ... but they took FÉdya away from her: that was what broke her heart. Under the pretext that she was not competent to take charge of his education, she was hardly permitted to see him; GlafÍra took this matter upon herself; the child passed under her full control. MalÁnya SergyÉevna began, out of grief, to entreat IvÁn PetrÓvitch, in her letters, to come home as speedily as possible; PiÓtr AndrÉitch himself wished to see his son; but he merely wrote in reply, thanking his father about his wife, and for the money sent, and promising to come soon,—and did not come. The year '12 recalled him, at last, to his fatherland from abroad.

On meeting again, for the first time, after their six years' separation, the father and son exchanged embraces, and did not allude, by so much as a word, to their former dissensions; they were not in the mood for it then: all Russia had risen against the enemy, and both of them felt that Russian blood was flowing in their veins. PiÓtr AndrÉitch, at his own expense, clothed an entire regiment of soldiers. But the war came to an end, the danger passed; again IvÁn PetrÓvitch began to feel bored, again he longed for far-away places, for the world to which he had grown fast, and where he felt himself at home. MalÁnya SergyÉevna could not hold him back; she counted for too little with him. Even her hopes had not been realised: her husband, also, deemed it much more fitting that FÉdya's education should be entrusted to GlafÍra. IvÁn PetrÓvitch's poor wife could not withstand this blow, could not endure this second parting: without a murmur, in a few days she expired. During the whole course of her life, she had never been able to offer resistance, and she did not combat her malady. She could no longer speak, the shadows of the tomb had already descended upon her face, but her features, as of old, expressed patient perplexity, and the steadfast gentleness of submission; with the same dumb humility she gazed at GlafÍra, and, like Anna PÁvlovna on her deathbed, she kissed the hand of PiÓtr AndrÉitch, and pressed her lips to GlafÍra's hand also, entrusting to her, GlafÍra, her only son. Thus ended its earthly career a kind and gentle being, torn, God alone knows why, from its native soil and immediately flung aside, like an uprooted sapling, with its roots to the sun; it faded away, it vanished, without a trace, that being, and no one mentioned it. Those who grieved for MalÁnya SergyÉevna were her maid and PiÓtr AndrÉitch. The old man missed her silent presence. "Forgive—farewell, my patient one!" he whispered, as he made her the parting reverence in church. He wept as he threw a handful of earth into the grave.

He did not long survive her—not more than five years. In the winter of 1819, he died peacefully in Moscow, whither he had removed with GlafÍra and his grandson, and left orders in his will, that he should be buried by the side of Anna PÁvlovna and "MalÁsha." IvÁn PetrÓvitch was in Paris at the time, for his pleasure; he had resigned from the service soon after 1815. On hearing of his father's death, he decided to return to Russia. It was necessary to consider the organisation of the estate ... and FÉdya, according to GlafÍra's letter, had reached the age of twelve years, and the time had arrived for occupying himself seriously with the boy's education.

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