(1882)
I
In the spring of 1878 there lived in Moscow, in a small wooden house on
Shabólovka Street, a young man five-and-twenty years of age, Yákoff
Arátoff by name. With him lived his aunt, an old maid, over fifty years
of age, his father's sister, Platonída Ivánovna. She managed his
housekeeping and took charge of his expenditures, of which Arátoff was
utterly incapable. He had no other relations. Several years before, his
father, a petty and not wealthy noble of the T---- government, had
removed to Moscow, together with him and Platonída Ivánovna who, by the
way, was always called Platósha; and her nephew called her so too. When
he quitted the country where all of them had constantly dwelt hitherto,
old Arátoff had settled in the capital with the object of placing his
son in the university, for which he had himself prepared him; he
purchased for a trifling sum a small house on one of the remote streets,
and installed himself therein with all his books and "preparations." And
of books and preparations he had many, for he was a man not devoid of
learning ... "a supernatural eccentric," according to the words of his
neighbours. He even bore among them the reputation of a magician: he had
even received the nickname of "the insect-observer." He busied himself
with chemistry, mineralogy, entomology, botany, and medicine; he treated
voluntary patients with herbs and metallic powders of his own
concoction, after the method of Paracelsus. With those same powders he
had sent into the grave his young, pretty, but already too delicate
wife, whom he had passionately loved, and by whom he had had an only
son. With those same metallic powders he had wrought considerable havoc
with the health of his son also, which, on the contrary, he had wished
to reinforce, as he detected in his organisation anæmia and a tendency
to consumption inherited from his mother. The title of "magician" he had
acquired, among other things, from the fact that he considered himself a
great-grandson--not in the direct line, of course--of the famous Bruce,
in whose honour he had named his son Yákoff.[51] He was the sort of man
who is called "very good-natured," but of a melancholy temperament,
fussy, and timid, with a predilection for everything that was mysterious
or mystical.... "Ah!" uttered in a half-whisper was his customary
exclamation; and he died with that exclamation on his lips, two years
after his removal to Moscow.
His son Yákoff did not, in outward appearance, resemble his father, who
had been homely in person, clumsy and awkward; he reminded one rather of
his mother. There were the same delicate, pretty features, the same soft
hair of ashblonde hue, the same plump, childish lips, and large,
languishing, greenish-grey eyes, and feathery eyelashes. On the other
hand in disposition he resembled his father; and his face, which did not
resemble his father's, bore the stamp of his father's expression; and he
had angular arms, and a sunken chest, like old Arátoff, who, by the way,
should hardly be called an old man, since he did not last to the age of
fifty. During the latter's lifetime Yákoff had already entered the
university, in the physico-mathematical faculty; but he did not finish
his course,--not out of idleness, but because, according to his ideas, a
person can learn no more in the university than he can teach himself at
home; and he did not aspire to a diploma, as he was not intending to
enter the government service. He avoided his comrades, made acquaintance
with hardly any one, was especially shy of women, and lived a very
isolated life, immersed in his books. He was shy of women, although he
had a very tender heart, and was captivated by beauty.... He even
acquired the luxury of an English keepsake, and (Oh, for shame!) admired
the portraits of divers, bewitching Gulnares and Medoras which "adorned"
it.... But his inborn modesty constantly restrained him. At home he
occupied his late father's study, which had also been his bedroom; and
his bed was the same on which his father had died.
The great support of his whole existence, his unfailing comrade and
friend, was his aunt, that Platósha, with whom he exchanged barely ten
words a day, but without whom he could not take a step. She was a
long-visaged, long-toothed being, with pale eyes in a pale face, and an
unvarying expression partly of sadness, partly of anxious alarm.
Eternally attired in a grey gown, and a grey shawl which was redolent of
camphor, she wandered about the house like a shadow, with noiseless
footsteps; she sighed, whispered prayers--especially one, her favourite,
which consisted of two words: "Lord, help!"--and managed the
housekeeping very vigorously, hoarding every kopék and buying everything
herself. She worshipped her nephew; she was constantly fretting about
his health, was constantly in a state of alarm, not about herself but
about him, and as soon as she thought there was anything the matter with
him, she would quietly approach and place on his writing-table a cup of
herb-tea, or stroke his back with her hands, which were as soft as
wadding.
This coddling did not annoy Yákoff, but he did not drink the herb-tea,
and only nodded approvingly. But neither could he boast of his health.
He was extremely sensitive, nervous, suspicious; he suffered from
palpitation of the heart, and sometimes from asthma. Like his father, he
believed that there existed in nature and in the soul of man secrets, of
which glimpses may sometimes be caught, though they cannot be
understood; he believed in the presence of certain forces and
influences, sometimes well-disposed but more frequently hostile ... and
he also believed in science,--in its dignity and worth. Of late he had
conceived a passion for photography. The odour of the ingredients used
in that connection greatly disturbed his old aunt,--again not on her own
behalf, but for Yásha's sake, on account of his chest. But with all his
gentleness of disposition he possessed no small portion of stubbornness,
and he diligently pursued his favourite occupation. "Platósha"
submitted, and merely sighed more frequently than ever, and whispered
"Lord, help!" as she gazed at his fingers stained with iodine.
Yákoff, as has already been stated, shunned his comrades; but with one
of them he struck up a rather close friendship, and saw him frequently,
even after that comrade, on leaving the university, entered the
government service, which, however, was not very exacting: to use his
own words, he had "tacked himself on" to the building of the Church of
the Saviour[52] without, of course, knowing anything whatever about
architecture. Strange to say, that solitary friend of Arátoff's, Kupfer
by name, a German who was Russified to the extent of not knowing a
single word of German, and even used the epithet "German"[53] as a term
of opprobrium,--that friend had, to all appearance, nothing in common
with him. He was a jolly, rosy-cheeked young fellow with black, curly
hair, loquacious, and very fond of that feminine society which Arátoff
so shunned. Truth to tell, Kupfer breakfasted and dined with him rather
often, and even--as he was not a rich man--borrowed small sums of money
from him; but it was not that which made the free-and-easy German so
diligently frequent the little house on Shabólovka Street. He had taken
a liking to Yákoff's spiritual purity, his "ideality,"--possibly as a
contrast to what he daily encountered and beheld;--or, perhaps, in that
same attraction toward "ideality" the young man's German blood revealed
itself. And Yákoff liked Kupfer's good-natured frankness; and in
addition to this, his tales of the theatres, concerts, and balls which
he constantly attended--in general of that alien world into which Yákoff
could not bring himself to penetrate--secretly interested and even
excited the young recluse, yet without arousing in him a desire to test
all this in his own experience. And Platósha liked Kupfer; she sometimes
thought him too unceremonious, it is true; but instinctively feeling and
understanding that he was sincerely attached to her beloved Yásha, she
not only tolerated the noisy visitor, but even felt a kindness for him.