FeÓdor IvÁnovitch LavrÉtzky (we must ask the reader's permission to break the thread of our narrative for a time) was descended from an ancient family of the nobility. The ancestral founder of the LavrÉtzkys had come out of Prussia during the princely reign of VasÍly the Blind, and had been granted two hundred quarters AndrÉi's son, PiÓtr, FeÓdor's grandfather, did not resemble his father: he was a simple squire of the steppes, decidedly hare-brained, a swashbuckler and dawdler, rough but not malicious, hospitable, and fond of dogs. He was more than thirty years old when he inherited from his father two thousand souls in capital order; but he speedily dispersed them, sold a part of his estate, and spoiled his house-servants. Petty little people, acquaintances and non-acquaintances, crawled from all sides, like black-beetles, to his spacious, warm, and slovenly mansion; all these ate whatever came to hand, but ate their fill, drank themselves drunk, and carried off what they could, lauding and magnifying the amiable host; and the host, when he was not in a good humour, also magnified his guests—as drones and blackguards—but he was bored without them. PiÓtr AndrÉitch's wife was a meek person: he took her from a neighbouring family, at his father's choice and command; her name was Anna IvÁn was not brought up at home, but at the house of a wealthy old aunt, Princess KubenskÓy; she had designated him as her heir (had it not been for that, his father would not have let him go); she dressed him like a doll, hired every sort of teacher for him, provided him with a governor, a Frenchman, a former abbÉ, a disciple of Jean-Jacques Rousseau, a certain M. Courtin de Vaucelles, an adroit and subtle intriguer,—the most fine fleur of the emigration, as she expressed it,—and ended by marrying this IvÁn was only in his twentieth year when this blow (we are speaking of the Princess's marriage, not of her death) descended upon him; he did not wish to remain in his aunt's house, where from a wealthy heir he had suddenly been converted into a parasite; in Petersburg, the society in which he had been reared, was closed to him; to service, beginning with the lowest ranks, difficult and dark, he felt repugnance (all this took place at the very beginning of the reign of the Emperor Alexander). He was compelled, perforce, to return to the country, to his father. Dirty, poor, tattered did his native nest appear to him: the dulness and soot of existence on the steppes offended him at every step; he was tormented with boredom; on the other hand, every one in the house, with the exception of his mother, looked upon him with unfriendly eyes. His father did not like his habits of the capital; his dress-suits, frilled shirts, books, his flute, his cleanliness, in which, The old man cherished a particular dislike for Voltaire, and for the "fanatic" Diderot, although he had never read a single line of their writings: reading was not in his line. PiÓtr AndrÉitch was not mistaken: Diderot and Voltaire really were sticking in his son's head, and not they only,—but Rousseau and Raynal and Helvetius, and many other writers of the same sort, were sticking in his head,—but only in his head. IvÁn PetrÓvitch's former tutor, the retired abbÉ and encyclopedist, had contented himself with pouring the whole philosophy of the XVIII century into his pupil in a mass, and the latter went about brimful of it; it gained lodgment within him, without mingling with his blood, without penetrating into his soul, without making itself felt as a firm conviction.... And could convictions be demanded of a young fellow of fifty years ago, when we have not even yet grown up to them? This GlafÍra was a strange being; homely, hunchbacked, gaunt, with stern, staring eyes and thin, tightly compressed lips; in face, voice, and quick, angular movements, she recalled her grandmother, the gipsy, the wife of AndrÉi. Persistent, fond of power, she would not even hear of marriage. The return of IvÁn PetrÓvitch did not please her; so long as the Princess KubenskÓy had kept him with her, she had cherished the hope of receiving at least half of the parental estate: she resembled her grandmother in her avarice. Moreover, GlafÍra was envious of her brother: he was so cultivated, he spoke French so well, with a Parisian accent, while she was scarcely able to say: "bon jour," and "comment vous portez vous?" To tell the truth, her parents did not understand any French at all,—but that did not render it any the more pleasant for her. IvÁn PetrÓvitch did not know what to do with himself for tedium and melancholy; he spent nearly a year in the country, and it seemed to him like ten years.—Only with his mother did he relieve his heart, and he was wont to sit, by the hour, in her low-ceiled rooms, listening to the simple prattle of the good woman, and gorging himself with preserves. It so happened, that among In the country manor-house of a landed proprietor, no secret can be kept long: every one soon knew of the bond between the young master and MalÁnya; the tidings of this connection at last reached PiÓtr AndrÉitch himself. At any other time, he would, in all probability, have paid no heed to such an insignificant matter; but he had long been in a rage with his son, and rejoiced at the opportunity to put to shame the Petersburg philosopher and dandy. Tumult, shrieks, and uproar arose: MalÁnya was locked up in the lumber-room; IvÁn PetrÓvitch was summoned to his parent. Anna PÁvlovna also hastened up at the outcry. She made an effort to pacify her husband, but PiÓtr AndrÉitch no longer listened to anything. Like a vulture he pounced upon his son, upbraided him with immorality, with impiety, with hypocrisy; incidentally, he vented on him all his accumulated wrath against the Thereupon, in a quiet voice, although trembling in every limb, IvÁn PetrÓvitch announced to his father, that there was no necessity for upbraiding him with immorality, that, although he did not intend to justify his fault, yet he was ready to rectify it, and that the more willingly because he felt himself superior to all prejudices—in short, he was ready to marry MalÁnya. By uttering these words, IvÁn PetrÓvitch did, undoubtedly, attain his object: he astounded PiÓtr AndrÉitch to such a degree, that the latter stared with all his eyes, and was rendered dumb for a moment; but he immediately recovered himself, and just as he was, clad in a short coat lined with squirrel-skin, and with slippers on his bare feet, he flung himself with clenched fists upon IvÁn PetrÓvitch, who that day, as though expressly, had his hair dressed À la Titus, and had donned a new blue English dress-coat, boots with tassels, and dandified chamois trousers, skin-tight. Anna PÁvlovna shrieked at the top of her voice, and covered her face with her hands, but her son ran IvÁn PetrÓvitch hid himself in the house of a neighbouring peasant proprietor, while PiÓtr AndrÉitch returned home utterly exhausted and perspiring, and announcing almost before he had recovered his breath, that he would deprive his son of his blessing and his heritage, ordered all his idiotic books to be burned, and the maid MalÁnya to be sent forthwith to a distant village. Kind people turned up, who sought out IvÁn PetrÓvitch and informed him of all. Mortified, enraged, he vowed that he would take revenge on his father; and that very night, lying in wait for the peasant cart in which MalÁnya was being carried off, he rescued her by force, galloped off with her to the nearest town, and married her. He was supplied with money by a neighbour, an eternally intoxicated and extremely good-natured retired naval officer, a passionate lover of every sort of noble adventure, as he expressed it. On the following day, IvÁn PetrÓvitch wrote a caustically-cold and courteous letter to PiÓtr AndrÉitch, and betook himself to an estate where dwelt his second And IvÁn PetrÓvitch set off for Petersburg with a light heart. The unknown future awaited him; poverty, perhaps, menaced him, but he had bidden farewell to the life in the country which he detested, and, most important of all, he had not betrayed his teachers, he really had "put in action" and justified in fact Rousseau, Diderot, and la dÉclaration des droits de l'homme. A sense of duty accomplished, of triumph, of pride, filled his soul; and his separation from his wife did not greatly alarm him; the necessity of living uninterruptedly with his wife would have perturbed him more. That affair was ended; he must take up other affairs. In Petersburg, contrary to his own expectation, fortune smiled on him: Princess KubenskÓy—whom Monsieur Courtin had already succeeded in abandoning, but who had not yet succeeded in dying,—by way, in some measure, of repairing the injury which she had done to her nephew, recommended him to the good graces of all her friends, and gave him five thousand rubles,—almost her last farthing,—and a LepÍkovsky watch with his coat of arms An ancient land-measure, varying in different localities; the average "quarter" being about thirty by forty fathoms.—Translator. That is to say, she sent her maternal blessing.—Translator. |