In the course of a fortnight, Feodor Ivanitch brought Glafira
Petrovna's little house into order; cleaned up the yard, the garden;
comfortable furniture was brought to him from Lavriki, wine, books,
newspapers from the town; horses made their appearance in the stables; in
a word, Feodor Ivanitch 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 Anton. As a rule, Lavretzky would
seat himself with a pipe of tobacco and a cup of cold tea near the
window; Anton 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 kopeks 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." Anton, also, related many things concerning his
mistress Glafira Petrovna: 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 Feodor Ivanitch
after her death. And, in fact, Lavretzky 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 Lavretzky had counted upon, proved not to exist, with
the exception of one tattered little old book, in which his grandfather,
Piotr Andreitch, had jotted down, now--"Celebration in the city of
Saint Petersburg of the peace concluded with the Turkish Empire by his
Illustriousness Prince Alexander Alexandrovitch Prozorovsky"; now a
recipe for a decoction for the chest, with the comment: "This instruction
was given to Generaless Praskovya Feodorovna Saltykoff, by Feodor
Avksentievitch, 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 Mikhail Petrovitch
Kolytcheff has died. Was not he the son of Piotr Vasilievitch
Kolytcheff?" Lavretzky also found several ancient calendars and
dream-books, and the mystical works of Mr. Ambodik; many memories were
awakened in him by the long-forgotten but familiar "Symbols and Emblems."
In Glafira Petrovna's toilet-table Lavretzky 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. Glafira Petrovna had never permitted her own
portrait to be made.--"Dear little father Feodor Ivanitch,"--Anton was
wont to say to Lavretzky:--"although I did not then have my residence in
the manor-house of the masters, yet I remember your great-grandfather,
Andrei Afanasievitch,--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, Boyarin; 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 vodka from
it. And then your grandfather, Piotr Ivanitch, 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 Glafira Petrovna brought things into order."
"And is it true,"--Lavretzky interrupted him,--"that she was called an
ill-tempered old hag?"
"Why, surely, some did call her that!"--returned Anton, 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 Lavretzky, with an effort:--"please
do not inquire about her."
"I obey, sir,"--replied the old man, sadly.
After the lapse of three weeks, Lavretzky rode into O * * * on
horseback, to the Kalitins', and passed the evening with them. Lemm was
there; Lavretzky 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. Panshin was not at the
Kalitins' 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. Marya
Dmitrievna 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, Lavretzky 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 Lavretzky 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. Lavretzky 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, Lavretzky came for him in a calash;
but Feodor Ivanitch went to him, in his room, and persuaded him. The
circumstance which operated most powerfully of all on Lemm was, that
Lavretzky 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 Kalitins',
and spent the evening, but not so agreeably as on the former occasion.
Panshin 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; Lavretzky 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 Lavretzky 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 Lavretzky.