The next morning, over their tea, Lemm asked Lavretsky to let him have
the horses to return to town. “It’s time for me to set to work, that is,
to my lessons,” observed the old man. “Besides, I am only wasting time
here.” Lavretsky did not reply at once; he seemed abstracted. “Very
good,” he said at last; “I will come with you myself.” Unaided by the
servants, Lemm, groaning and wrathful, packed his small box and tore up
and burnt a few sheets of music-paper. The horses were harnessed. As he
came out of his own room, Lavretsky put the paper he had read last night
in his pocket. During the whole course of the journey both Lemm and
Lavretsky spoke little to one another; each was occupied with his own
thoughts, and each was glad not to be disturbed by the other; and they
parted rather coolly; which is often the way, however, with friends in
Russia. Lavretsky conducted the old man to his little house; the latter
got out, took his trunk and without holding out his hand to his friend
(he was holding his trunk in both arms before his breast), without
even looking at him, he said to him in Russian, “good-bye!” “Good-bye,”
repeated Lavretsky, and bade the coachman drive to his lodging. He had
taken rooms in the town of O-----... After writing a few letters and
hastily dining, Lavretsky went to the Kalitins’. In their drawing-room
he found only Panshin, who informed him that Marya Dmitrievna would
be in directly, and at once, with charming cordiality, entered into
conversation with him. Until that day, Panshin had always treated
Lavretsky, not exactly haughtily, but at least condescendingly; but
Lisa, in describing her expedition of the previous day to Panshin, had
spoken of Lavretsky as an excellent and clever man, that was enough; he
felt bound to make a conquest of an “excellent man.” Panshin began with
compliments to Lavretsky, with a description of the rapture in which,
according to him, the whole family of Marya Dmitrievna spoke of
Vassilyevskoe; and then, according to his custom, passing neatly to
himself, began to talk about his pursuits, and his views on life, the
world and government service; uttered a sentence or two upon the
future of Russia, and the duty of rulers to keep a strict hand over the
country; and at this point laughed light-heartedly at his own expense,
and added that among other things he had been intrusted in Petersburg
with the duty de poplariser l’idée du cadastre. He spoke somewhat at
length, passing over all difficulties with careless self-confidence, and
playing with the weightiest administrative and political questions, as a
juggler plays with balls. The expressions: “That’s what I would do if I
were in the government;” “you as a man of intelligence, will agree with
me at once,” were constantly on his lips. Lavretsky listened coldly to
Panshin’s chatter; he did not like this handsome, clever, easily-elegant
young man, with his bright smile, affable voice, and inquisitive eyes.
Panshin, with the quick insight into the feelings of others, which was
peculiar to him, soon guessed that he was not giving his companion any
special satisfaction, and made a plausible excuse to go away, inwardly
deciding that Lavretsky might be an “excellent man,” but he was
unattractive, aigri, and, en somme, rather absurd. Marya Dmitrievna made
her appearance escorted by Gedeonovsky, then Marfa Timofyevna and Lisa
came in; and after them the other members of the household; and then the
musical amateur, Madame Byelenitsin, arrived, a little thinnish lady,
with a languid, pretty, almost childish little face, wearing a rusting
dress, a striped fan, and heavy gold bracelets. Her husband was with
her, a fat red-faced man, with large hands and feet, white eye-lashes,
and an immovable smile on his thick lips; his wife never spoke to him in
company, but at home, in moments of tenderness, she used to call him her
little sucking-pig. Panshin returned; the rooms were very full of
people and noise. Such a crowd was not to Lavretsky’s taste; and he was
particularly irritated by Madame Byelenitsin, who kept staring at him
through her eye-glasses. He would have gone away at once but for Lisa;
he wanted to say a few words to her alone, but for a long time he
could not get a favourable opportunity, and had to content himself with
following her in secret delight with his eyes; never had her face seemed
sweeter and more noble to him. She gained much from being near Madame
Byelenitsin. The latter was for ever fidgeting in her chair, shrugging
her narrow shoulders, giving little girlish giggles, and screwing up her
eyes and then opening them wide; Lisa sat quietly, looked directly at
every one and did not laugh at all. Madame Kalitin sat down to a game
of cards with Marfa Timofyevna, Madame Byelenitsin, and Gedeonovsky, who
played very slowly, and constantly made mistakes, frowning and wiping
his face with his handkerchief. Panshin assumed a melancholy air, and
expressed himself in brief, pregnant, and gloomy phrases, played
the part, in fact, of the unappreciated genius, but in spite of the
entreaties of Madame Byelenitsin, who was very coquettish with him,
he would not consent to sing his song; he felt Lavretsky’s presence a
constraint. Fedor Ivanitch also spoke little; the peculiar expression of
his face struck Lisa directly he came into the room; she felt at once
that he had something to tell her, and though she could not herself have
said why, she was afraid to question him. At last, as she was going into
the next room to pour out tea, she involuntarily turned her head in his
direction. He at once went after her.
“What is the matter?” she said, setting the teapot on the samovar.
“Why, have you noticed anything?” he asked.
“You are not the same to-day as I have always seen you before.”
Lavretsky bent over the table.
“I wanted,” he began, “to tell you a piece of news, but now it is
impossible. However, you can read what is marked with pencil in that
article,” he added, handing her the paper he had brought with him. “Let
me ask you to keep it a secret; I will come to-morrow morning.”
Lisa was greatly bewildered. Panshin appeared in the doorway. She put
the newspaper in her pocket.
“Have you read Obermann, Lisaveta Mihalovna?” Panshin asked her
pensively.
Lisa made him a reply in passing, and went out of the room and
up-stairs. Lavretsky went back to the drawing-room and drew near the
card-table. Marfa Timofyevna, flinging back the ribbons of her cap and
flushing with annoyance, began to complain of her partner, Gedeonovsky,
who in her words, could not play a bit.
“Card-playing, you see,” she said, “is not so easy as talking scandal.”
The latter continued to blink and wipe his face. Lisa came into the
drawing-room and sat down in a corner; Lavretsky looked at her, she
looked at him, and both felt the position insufferable. He read
perplexity and a kind of secret reproachfulness in her face. He could
not talk to her as he would have liked to do; to remain in the same room
with her, a guest among other guests, was too painful; he decided to go
away. As he took leave of her, he managed to repeat that he would come
to-morrow, and added that he trusted in her friendship.
“Come,” she answered with the same perplexity on her face.
Panshin brightened up at Lavretsky’s departure: he began to give advice
to Gedeonovsky, paid ironical attentions to Madame Byelenitsin, and at
last sang his song. But with Lisa he still spoke and looked as before,
impressively and rather mournfully.
Again Lavretsky did not sleep all night. He was not sad, he was not
agitated, he was quite clam; but he could not sleep. He did not even
remember the past; he simply looked at his life; his heart beat slowly
and evenly; the hours glided by; he did not even think of sleep. Only at
times the thought flashed through his brain: “But it is not true, it
is all nonsense,” and he stood still, bowed his head and again began to
ponder on the life before him.