Difficult days arrived for Feodor Ivanitch. He found himself in a
constant fever. Every morning he went to the post-office, with excitement
broke the seals of his letters and newspapers,--and nowhere did he find
anything which might have confirmed or refuted the fateful rumour.
Sometimes he became repulsive even to himself: "Why am I thus
waiting,"--he said to himself, "like a crow for blood, for the sure news
of my wife's death?" He went to the Kalitins' every day; but even there
he was no more at his ease: the mistress of the house openly sulked at
him, received him with condescension; Panshin treated him with
exaggerated courtesy; Lemm had become misanthropic, and hardly even bowed
to him,--and, chief of all, Liza seemed to avoid him. But when she
chanced to be left alone with him, in place of her previous trustfulness,
confusion manifested itself in her: she did not know what to say to him,
and he himself felt agitation. In the course of a few days, Liza had
become quite different from herself as he had previously known her: in
her movements, her voice, in her very laugh, a secret trepidation was
perceptible, an unevenness which had not heretofore existed. Marya
Dmitrievna, like the genuine egoist she was, suspected nothing; but
Marfa Timofeevna began to watch her favourite. Lavretzky more than
once reproached himself with having shown to Liza the copy of the
newspaper which he had received: he could not fail to recognise the fact,
that in his spiritual condition there was an element which was perturbing
to pure feeling. He also assumed that the change in Liza had been brought
about by her conflict with herself, by her doubts: what answer should she
give to Panshin? One day she brought him a book, one of Walter Scott's
novels, which she herself had asked of him.
"Have you read this book?"--he asked.
"No; I do not feel in a mood for books now,"--she replied, and turned to
go.
"Wait a minute: I have not been alone with you for a long time. You seem
to be afraid of me."
"Yes."
"Why so, pray?"
"I do not know."
Lavretzky said nothing for a while.
"Tell me,"--he began:--"you have not yet made up your mind?"
"What do you mean by that?"--she said, without raising her eyes.
"You understand me...."
Liza suddenly flushed up.
"Ask me no questions about anything,"--she ejaculated, with vivacity:--"I
know nothing, I do not even know myself...." And she immediately beat a
retreat.
On the following day, Lavretzky arrived at the Kalitins' after dinner,
and found all preparations made to have the All-Night Vigil service held
there. In one corner of the dining-room, on a square table, covered with
a clean cloth, small holy pictures in gold settings, with tiny, dull
brilliants in their halos, were already placed, leaning against the wall.
An old man-servant, in a grey frock-coat and slippers, walked the whole
length of the room in a deliberate manner, and without making any noise
with his heels, and placed two wax tapers in slender candlesticks in
front of the holy images, crossed himself, made a reverence, and softly
withdrew. The unlighted drawing-room was deserted. Lavretzky walked down
the dining-room, and inquired--was it not some one's Name-day? He was
answered, in a whisper, that it was not, but that the Vigil service had
been ordered at the desire of Lizaveta Mikhailovna and Marfa
Timofeevna; that the intention had been to bring thither the
wonder-working _ikona_, but it had gone to a sick person, thirty versts
distant. There soon arrived, also, in company with the chanters, the
priest, a man no longer young, with a small bald spot, who coughed loudly
in the anteroom; the ladies all immediately trooped in single file from
the boudoir, and approached to receive his blessing; Lavretzky saluted
him in silence; and he returned the salute in silence. The priest stood
still for a short time, then cleared his throat again, and asked in a low
tone, with a bass voice:
"Do you command me to proceed?"
"Proceed, batiushka,"--replied Marya Dmitrievna.
He began to vest himself; the chanter obsequiously asked for a live coal;
the incense began to diffuse its fragrance. The maids and lackeys emerged
from the anteroom and halted in a dense throng close to the door. Roska,
who never came down-stairs, suddenly made his appearance in the
dining-room: they began to drive him out, and he became confused, turned
around and sat down; a footman picked him up and carried him away. The
Vigil service began. Lavretzky pressed himself into a corner; his
sensations were strange, almost melancholy; he himself was not able
clearly to make out what he felt. Marya Dmitrievna stood in front of
them all, before an arm-chair; she crossed herself with enervated
carelessness, in regular lordly fashion,--now glancing around her, again
suddenly casting her eyes upward: she was bored. Marfa Timofeevna
seemed troubled; Nastasya Karpovna kept prostrating herself, and rising
with a sort of modest, soft rustle; Liza took up her stand, and never
stirred from her place, never moved; from the concentrated expression of
her countenance, it was possible to divine that she was praying
assiduously and fervently. When she kissed the cross, at the end of the
service, she also kissed the priest's large, red hand. Marya Dmitrievna
invited him to drink tea; he took off his stole, assumed a rather secular
air, and passed into the drawing-room with the ladies. A not over
animated conversation began. The priest drank four cups of tea,
incessantly mopping his bald spot with his handkerchief, and narrated,
among other things, that merchant Avoshnikoff had contributed seven
hundred rubles to gild the "cupola" of the church, and he also imparted a
sure cure for freckles. Lavretzky tried to seat himself beside Liza, but
she maintained a severe, almost harsh demeanour, and never once glanced
at him; she appeared to be deliberately refraining from noticing him; a
certain cold, dignified rapture had descended upon her. For some reason
or other, Lavretzky felt inclined to smile uninterruptedly, and say
something amusing; but there was confusion in his heart, and he went away
at last, secretly perplexed.... He felt that there was something in Liza
into which he could not penetrate.
On another occasion, Lavretzky, as he sat in the drawing-room, and
listened to the insinuating but heavy chatter of Gedeonovsky, suddenly
turned round, without himself knowing why he did so, and caught a deep,
attentive, questioning gaze in Liza's eyes.... It was riveted on him,
that puzzling gaze, afterward. Lavretzky thought about it all night
long. He had not fallen in love in boyish fashion, it did not suit him to
sigh and languish, neither did Liza arouse that sort of sentiment; but
love has its sufferings at every age,--and he underwent them to the full.
-----
[12] This service, consisting (generally) of Vespers and Matins, can be
read in private houses, and even by laymen: whereas, the Liturgy,
or Mass, must be celebrated at a duly consecrated altar, by a duly
ordained priest.--Translator.