In the course of a fortnight, FeÓdor IvÁnitch brought GlafÍra PetrÓvna's little house into order; cleaned up the yard, the garden; comfortable furniture was brought to him from LavrÍki, wine, books, newspapers from the town; horses made their appearance in the stables; in a word, FeÓdor IvÁnitch provided himself with everything that was necessary and began to live—not exactly like a country squire, nor yet exactly like a recluse. His days passed monotonously, but he was not bored, although he saw no one; he occupied himself diligently and attentively with the farming operations, he rode about the neighbourhood on horseback, he read. He read but little, however: it was more agreeable for him to listen to the tales of old AntÓn. As a rule, LavrÉtzky would seat himself with a pipe of tobacco and a cup of cold tea near the window; AntÓn would stand near the door, with his hands clasped behind him, and begin his leisurely stories of olden times,—of those fabulous times—when the oats and barley were sold not by measures but by huge sacks, at two or three kopÉks the sack; when in all directions, even close to the town, stretched impenetrable forests, untouched steppes. "And now," wailed the old man, who was already over eighty years of age:—"they have felled and ploughed up everything until there is no place to drive through." AntÓn, also, related many things concerning his mistress GlafÍra PetrÓvna: how sagacious and economical she had been; how a certain gentleman, a youthful neighbour, had attempted to gain her good-will, had taken to calling frequently,—and how she had been pleased, for his benefit, even to don her cap with rose-purple ribbons, and her yellow gown of tru-tru levantine; but how, later on, having flown into a rage with her neighbour, on account of the unseemly question: "What might your capital amount to, madam?" she had given orders that he should not be admitted, and how she had then commanded, that everything, down to the very smallest scrap, should be given to FeÓdor IvÁnitch after her death. And, in fact, LavrÉtzky found all his aunt's effects intact, not excepting the festival cap, with the rose-purple ribbons, and the gown of yellow tru-tru levantine. The ancient papers and curious documents, which LavrÉtzky had counted upon, proved not to exist, with the exception of one tattered little old book, in which his grandfather, PiÓtr AndrÉitch, had jotted down, now—"Celebration in the city of Saint Petersburg of the peace concluded with the Turkish Empire by his Illustriousness Prince AlexÁnder AlexÁndrovitch ProzorÓvsky"; now a recipe for a decoction for the chest, with the comment: "This instruction was given to Generaless PraskÓvya FeÓdorovna SaltykÓff, by FeÓdor AvksÉntievitch, Archpriest of the Church of the Life-giving Trinity"; again, some item of political news, like the following: "In the 'Moscow News,' it is announced that Premier-Major MikhaÍl PetrÓvitch KolÝtcheff has died. Was not he the son of PiÓtr VasÍlievitch KolÝtcheff?" LavrÉtzky also found several ancient calendars and dream-books, and the mystical works of Mr. AmbÓdik; many memories were awakened in him by the long-forgotten but familiar "Symbols and Emblems." In GlafÍra PetrÓvna's toilet-table LavrÉtzky found a small packet, tied with black ribbon, and sealed with black wax, thrust into the remotest recesses of the drawer. In the packet, face to face, lay a pastel portrait of his father in his youth, with soft curls tumbling over his brow, with long, languid eyes, and mouth half opened,—and the almost effaced portrait of a pale woman in a white gown, with a white rose in her hand,—his mother. GlafÍra PetrÓvna had never permitted her own portrait to be made.—"Dear little father FeÓdor IvÁnitch,"—AntÓn was wont to say to LavrÉtzky:—"although I did not then have my residence in the manor-house of the masters, yet I remember your great-grandfather, AndrÉi AfanÁsievitch,—that I do; I was eighteen years of age when he died. Once I met him in the garden,—my very hamstrings shook; but he did nothing, only inquired my name,—and sent me to his chamber for a pocket-handkerchief. He was a real gentleman, there's no gainsaying that,—and he recognised no superior over him. For I must inform you, that your great-grandfather had a wonderful amulet,—a monk from Mount Athos gave him that amulet. And that monk said to him: 'I give thee this for thine affability, BoyÁrin; wear it—and fear not fate.' Well, and of course, dear little father, you know, what sort of times those were; what the master took a notion to do, that he did. Once in a while, some one, even one of the gentry, would take it into his head to thwart him; but no sooner did he look at him, than he would say: 'You're sailing in shoal water'—that was his favourite expression. And he lived, your great-grandfather of blessed memory, in a tiny wooden mansion; but what property he left behind him, what silver, and all sorts of supplies,—all the cellars were filled to the brim! He was a master. That little carafe, which you were pleased to praise,—belonged to him: he drank vÓdka from it. And then your grandfather, PiÓtr IvÁnitch, built himself a stone mansion; but he acquired no property; with him everything went at sixes and sevens; and he lived worse than his papa, and got no pleasure for himself,—but wasted all the money, and there was none to pay for requiems for his soul; he left not even a silver spoon behind him, so it was lucky that GlafÍra PetrÓvna brought things into order."

"And is it true,"—LavrÉtzky interrupted him,—"that she was called an ill-tempered old hag?"

"Why, surely, some did call her that!"—returned AntÓn, in displeasure.

"Well, little father,"—the old man one day summoned the courage to ask;—"and how about our young mistress; where is she pleased to have her residence?"

"I have separated from my wife,"—said LavrÉtzky, with an effort:—"please do not inquire about her."

"I obey, sir,"—replied the old man, sadly.

After the lapse of three weeks, LavrÉtzky rode into O*** on horseback, to the KalÍtins', and passed the evening with them. Lemm was there; LavrÉtzky conceived a great liking for him. Although, thanks to his father, he did not play on any instrument, yet he was passionately fond of music,—intelligent, classical music. PÁnshin was not at the KalÍtins' that evening. The Governor had sent him off somewhere, out of town. Liza played alone, and with great precision; Lemm grew animated, excited, rolled a piece of paper into a baton, and beat time. MÁrya DmÍtrievna laughed, at first, as she watched him, and then went off to bed; as she said, Beethoven was too agitating for her nerves. At midnight, LavrÉtzky escorted Lemm to his lodgings, and sat with him until three o'clock in the morning. Lemm talked a great deal; his bent shoulders straightened up, his eyes opened widely and sparkled; his very hair stood upright above his brow. It was such a very long time since any one had taken an interest in him, but LavrÉtzky evidently did take an interest, and interrogated him solicitously and attentively. This touched the old man; he ended by showing his visitor his music, he even played and sang to him, with his ghost of a voice, several selections from his compositions,—among others, the whole of Schiller's ballad "Fridolin," which he had set to music. LavrÉtzky lauded it, made him repeat portions of it, and invited him to visit him for a few days. Lemm, who was escorting him to the street, immediately accepted, and shook his hand warmly; but when he was left alone, in the cool, damp air of the day which was just beginning to dawn, he glanced around him, screwed up his eyes, writhed, and went softly to his tiny chamber, like a guilty creature: "Ich bin wohl nicht klug" (I'm not in my right mind),—he muttered, as he lay down on his hard, short bed. He tried to assert that he was ill when, a few days later, LavrÉtzky came for him in a calash; but FeÓdor IvÁnitch went to him, in his room, and persuaded him. The circumstance which operated most powerfully of all on Lemm was, that LavrÉtzky had ordered a piano to be sent to his country-house from the town: a piano for his—Lemm's—use. Together they went to the KalÍtins', and spent the evening, but not so agreeably as on the former occasion. PÁnshin was there, had a great deal to narrate about his journey, and very amusingly mimicked and illustrated in action the country squires he had seen; LavrÉtzky laughed, but Lemm did not emerge from his corner, maintained silence, quietly quivered all over like a spider, looked glum and dull, and grew animated only when LavrÉtzky began to take his leave. Even when he was seated in the calash, the old man continued to be shy and to fidget; but the quiet, warm air, the light breeze, the delicate shadows, the perfume of the grass, of the birch buds, the peaceful gleam of the starry, moonless heaven, the energetic hoof-beats and snorting of the horses, all the charms of the road, of spring, of night,—descended into the heart of the poor German, and he himself was the first to address LavrÉtzky.