And so his offer was accepted, but on certain conditions. In the first
place, Lavretsky was at once to leave the university; who would
be married to a student, and what a strange idea too--how could a
landowner, a rich man, at twenty-six, take lessons and be at school?
Secondly, Varvara Pavlovna took upon herself the labour of ordering
and purchasing her trousseau and even choosing her present from the
bridegroom. She had much practical sense, a great deal of taste, and a
very great love of comfort, together with a great faculty for obtaining
it for herself. Lavretsky was especially struck by this faculty when,
immediately after their wedding, he traveled alone with his wife in
the comfortable carriage, bought by her, to Lavriky. How carefully
everything with which he was surrounded had been thought of, devised
and provided beforehand by Varvara Pavlovna! What charming knick-knacks
appeared from various snug corners, what fascinating toilet-cases and
coffee-pots, and how delightfully Varvara Pavlovna herself made the
coffee in the morning! Lavretsky, however, was not at that time disposed
to be observant; he was blissful, drunk with happiness; he gave himself
up to it like a child. Indeed he was as innocent as a child, this
young Hercules. Not in vain was the whole personality of his young wife
breathing with fascination; not in vain was her promise to the senses of
a mysterious luxury of untold bliss; her fulfillment was richer than her
promise. When she reached Lavriky in the very height of the summer, she
found the house dark and dirty, the servants absurd and old-fashioned,
but she did not think it necessary even to hint at this to her husband.
If she had proposed to establish herself at Lavriky, she would have
changed everything in it, beginning of course with the house; but the
idea of staying in that out-of-the-way corner of the steppes never
entered her head for an instant; she lived as in a tent, good-temperedly
putting up with all its inconveniences, and indulgently making merry
over them. Marfa Timofyevna came to pay a visit to her former charge;
Varvara Pavlovna liked her very much, but she did not like Varvara
Pavlovna. The new mistress did not get on with Glafira Petrovna either;
she would have left her in peace, but old Korobyin wanted to have a
hand in the management of his son-in-law’s affairs; to superintend the
property of such a near relative, he said, was not beneath the dignity
of even a general. One must add that Pavel Petrovitch would not have
been above managing the property even of a total stranger. Varvara
Pavlovna conducted her attack very skillfully, without taking any
step in advance, apparently completely absorbed in the bliss of the
honeymoon, in the peaceful life of the country, in music and reading,
she gradually worked Glafira up to such a point that she rushed one
morning, like one possessed, into Lavretsky’s study, and throwing a
bunch of keys on the table, she declared that she was not equal to
undertaking the management any longer, and did not want to stop in the
place. Lavretsky, having been suitably prepared beforehand, at once
agreed to her departure. This Glafira Petrovna had not anticipated.
“Very well,” she said, and her face darkened, “I see that I am not
wanted here! I know who is driving me out of the home of my fathers.
Only you mark my words, nephew; you will never make a home anywhere, you
will come to be a wanderer for ever. That is my last word to you.” The
same day she went away to her own little property, and in a week General
Korobyin was there, and with a pleasant melancholy in his looks and
movements he took the superintendence of the whole property into his
hands.
In the month of September, Varvara Pavlovna carried her husband off to
Petersburg. She passed two winters in Petersburg (for the summer
she went to stay at Tsarskoe Selo), in a splendid, light,
artistically-furnished flat; they made many acquaintances among the
middle and even higher ranks of society; went out and entertained a
great deal, and gave the most charming dances and musical evenings.
Varvara Pavlovna attracted guests as a fire attracts moths. Fedor
Ivanitch did not altogether like such a frivolous life. His wife advised
him to take some office under government; but from old association with
his father, and also through his own ideas, he was unwilling to
enter government service, still he remained in Petersburg for Varvara
Pavlovna’s pleasure. He soon discovered, however, that no one hindered
him from being alone; that it was not for nothing that he had the
quietest and most comfortable study in all Petersburg; that his tender
wife was even ready to aid him to be alone; and from that time forth
all went well. He again applied himself to his own, as he considered,
unfinished education; he began again to read, and even began to learn
English. It was a strange sight to see his powerful, broad-shouldered
figure for ever bent over his writing table, his full-bearded ruddy face
half buried in the pages of a dictionary or note-book. Every morning he
set to work, then had a capital dinner (Varvara Pavlovna was unrivaled
as a housekeeper), and in the evenings he entered an enchanted world of
light and perfume, peopled by gay young faces, and the centre of this
world was also the careful housekeeper, his wife. She rejoiced his heart
by the birth of a son, but the poor child did not live long; it died in
the spring, and in the summer, by the advice of the doctors, Lavretsky
took his wife abroad to a watering-place. Distraction was essential for
her after such a trouble, and her health, too, required a warm climate.
The summer and autumn they spent in Germany and Switzerland, and for
the winter, as one would naturally expect, they went to Paris. In Paris,
Varvara Pavlovna bloomed like a rose, and was able to make herself a
little nest as quickly and cleverly as in Petersburg. She found very
pretty apartments in one of the quiet but fashionable streets in Paris;
she embroidered her husband such a dressing-gown as he had never worn
before; engaged a coquettish waiting maid, an excellent cook, and a
smart footman, procured a fascinating carriage, and an exquisite piano.
Before a week had passed, she crossed the street, wore her shawl,
opened her parasol, and put on her gloves in a manner equal to the most
true-born Parisian. And she soon drew round herself acquaintances.
At first, only Russians visited her, afterwards Frenchmen too,
very agreeable, polite, and unmarried, with excellent manners and
well-sounding names; they all talked a great deal and very fast, bowed
easily, grimaced agreeably; their white teeth flashed under their rosy
lips--and how they could smile! All of them brought their friends, and
la belle Madame de Lavretsky was soon known from Chausée d’Antin to Rue
de Lille. In those days--it was in 1836--there had not yet arisen the
tribe of journalists and reporters who now swarm on all sides like ants
in an ant-hill; but even then there was seen in Varvara Pavlovna’s salon
a certain M. Jules, a gentleman of unprepossessing exterior, with a
scandalous reputation, insolent and mean, like all duelists and men
who have been beaten. Varvara Pavlovna felt a great aversion to this M.
Jules, but she received him because he wrote for various journals,
and was incessantly mentioning her, calling her at one time Madame
de L-----tski, at another Madame de -----, cette grande dame russe si
distinguée, qui demeure rue de P----- and telling all the world, that
is, some hundreds of readers who had nothing to do with Madame
de L-----tski, how charming and delightful this lady was; a
true Frenchwoman in intelligence (une vraie française par
l’esprit)--Frenchmen have no higher praise than this--what an
extraordinary musician she was, and how marvelously she waltzed (Varvara
Pavlovna did in fact waltz so that she drew all her hearts to the hem
of her light flying skirts)--in a word, he spread her fame through the
world, and, whatever one may say, that is pleasant. Mademoiselle Mars
had already left the stage, and Mademoiselle Rachel had not yet made her
appearance; nevertheless, Varvara Pavlovna was assiduous in visiting the
theatres. She went into raptures over Italian music, yawned decorously
at the Comédie Française, and wept at the acting of Madame Dorval in
some ultra romantic melodrama; and a great thing--Liszt played twice
in her salon, and was so kind, so simple--it was charming! In such
agreeable sensations was spent the winter, at the end of which Varvara
Pavlovna was even presented at court. Fedor Ivanitch, for his part,
was not bored, though his life, at times, weighed rather heavily on
him--because it was empty. He read the papers, listened to the lectures
at the Sorbonne and the College de France, followed the debates in the
Chambers, and set to work on a translation of a well-known scientific
treatise on irrigation. “I am not wasting my time,” he thought, “it is
all of use; but next winter I must, without fail, return to Russia and
set to work.” It is difficult to say whether he had any clear idea
of precisely what this work would consist of; and there is no telling
whether he would have succeeded in going to Russia in the winter; in the
meantime, he was going with his wife to Baden.. An unexpected incident
broke up all his plans.