CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
PG 342lSri87T""" '■"'"'* 
 Liza : 
 
 3 1924 027 510 811 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31 92402751 081 1 
 
LIZA 
 
 A NEST OF NOBLES" 
 
 IVAN S. TURGEISMEFF 
 
 TRANSLA TED FROM THE RUSSIAN 
 BY 
 
 W. R. S. RALSTON 
 
 NEW YORK- 
 JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY ' 
 150 Worth Street, corner Mission Place 
 
Entered, ao^sordmg^ to act of Congress, in the vev 1873, V 4 
 
 rtKNRy MOLT, 
 In the OiUfM oi the Llbranan Jt Ccr-gitss, at Washington. 
 
UBniCATED TO THE AUTHOR. 
 
 BV HIS FRIENU 
 
 THE TRANSLATOR. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 The author of the Dvoryanskoe Gnyezdo, or " Nest 
 of Nobles," of which a translation is now offered to the 
 English reader under the title of " I^iza,'' is a writer of 
 whom Russia may well be proud. And that, not only 
 because he is a consummate artist, — entitled as he is to 
 take high rank among those of European fame, so 
 accurate is he in his portrayal of character, and so 
 quick to seize and to fix even its most fleeting expres- 
 sion ; so vividly does he depict by a few rapid touches 
 the appearance of the figures whom he introduces upon 
 his canvas, the nature of the scenes among which they 
 move, — he has other and even higher claims than these 
 to the respect and admiration of Russian readers. For 
 he is a thoroughly conscientious worker ; one who, amid 
 all his dealings with fiction, has never swerved from his 
 regard for what is real and true ; one to whom his own 
 
 • Notwithstanding the unencouraging opinion expressed by Mr. 
 Ralston in this preface, of the probable fate of " Fathers and Chil- 
 dren," and " Smoke," with the English public, both have been 
 translated in America and have met with very fair success. Of 
 course, even more may be hoped for the author's other works. 
 
8 Preface. 
 
 country and his own people are very dear, but who has 
 neither timidly bowed to the prejudices of his country- 
 men, nor obstinately shut his eyes to their faults. 
 
 His first prose work, the " Notes of a Sportsman " 
 {Zapiski Okhotnika), a collection of sketches of countiy 
 life, made a deep and lasting impression upon the 
 minds of the educated classes in Russia, so vigorous 
 were its attacks upon the vices of that system of slavery 
 which was then prevalent. Those attacks had all the 
 more weight, inasmuch as the book was by no means 
 exclusively devoted to them. It dealt with many other 
 subjects connected with provincial life ; and the humor 
 and the pathos and the picturesqueness with which they 
 were treated would of themselves have been sufficient 
 to commend it to the very favorable attention of his 
 countrymen. But the sad pictures he drew in it, occa- 
 sionally and almost as it were accidentally, of the 
 wretched position occupied by the great masses of the 
 people, then groaning under the weight of that yoke 
 which has since been removed, stirred the heart of 
 Russian society with a thrill of generous horror and 
 sympathy ; and the effect thus produced was all the more 
 permanent inasmuch as it was attained by thoroughly 
 
Preface. g 
 
 legitimate means. Far from exaggerating the ills of 
 which he wrote, or describing them in sensational and 
 declamatory language, he treated them in a style that 
 sometimes seemed almost cold in its reticence and free- 
 dom from passion. The various sketches of which the 
 volume was composed appeared at intervals in a Rus- 
 sian magazine, called the Contemporary {Sovremennik), 
 about three-and-twenty years ago, and were read in it 
 with avidity ; but when the first edition of the collected 
 work was exhausted, the censors refused to grant per- 
 mission to the author to print a second, and so for many 
 years the complete book was not to be obtained in Rus- 
 sia without great difficulty. Now that the good fight of 
 emancipation has been fought, and the victory — thanks 
 to the present Emperor — has been won, M. Turgdnieff 
 has every reason for looking back with pride upon that 
 phase of the struggle ; and his countrymen may well 
 have a feeling of regard, as well as of respect, for him — ■ 
 the upper-classes as for one who has helped them to 
 recognize their duty ; the lower, as for a very generous 
 supporter in their time of trouble. 
 
 M. Turg^nieff has written a great number of very 
 charming short stories, most of them having reference 
 
lo Preface. 
 
 to Russia and Russian life ; for though he has lived in 
 Germany for many years, his thoughts, whenever he 
 takes up his pen, almost always seem to go back to his 
 native land. Besides these, as well as a number of 
 critical essays, plays, and poems, he has brought out 
 several novels, or rather novelettes, for none of them 
 have attained to three-volume dimens,ions. Of these, 
 the most remarkable are the one I have now translated, 
 which appeared about eleven years ago, and the two 
 somewhat polemical stories, called " Fathers and Chil- 
 dren " {Otsui i Dyeti) and " Smoke " (Duim). The first 
 of the three I may leave to speak for itself, merely add- 
 ing that I trust that — although it appears under all the 
 disadvantages by which even the most conscientious of 
 translations must always be attended — it may be looked 
 upon by English readers with somewhat of the admira- 
 tion which I have long felt for the original, on account 
 of the artistic finish of its execution, the purity of its 
 tone, and the delicacy and the nobleness of the senti- 
 ment by which it is pervaded. 
 
 The story of " Fathers and Children " conveys a vig- 
 orous and excessively clever description of the change 
 that has taken place of late years in the thoughts and 
 
Preface. 1 1 
 
 feelings of the educated classes of Russian society 
 One of the most interesting chapters in " Liza " — one 
 which may be skipped by readers who care for nothing 
 but incident in a story — describes a conversation which 
 takes place between the hero and one of his old college 
 friends. The sketch of the disinterested student, who 
 has retained in mature life all the enthusiasm of his 
 college days, is excellent, and is drawn in a very kindly 
 spirit. But in " Fathers and Children " an exaggeration 
 of this character is introduced, serving as a somewhat 
 scare-crow-like embodiment of the excessively hard 
 thoughts and very irreverent speculations in which the 
 younger thinkers of the new school indulge. This char- 
 acter is developed in the story into dimensions which 
 must be styled inordinate if considered from a purely 
 artistic point of view ; but the story ought not to be so 
 regarded. Unfortunately for its proper appreciation 
 among us, it cannot be judged aright, except by readers 
 who possess a thorough knowledge of what was going 
 on in Russia a few years ago, and who take a keen 
 and lively interest in the subjects which were then 
 being discussed there. To all others, many of its chap 
 ters will seem too unintelligible and wearisome, both 
 
1 2 Preface. 
 
 linked together into interesting unity by the slendei 
 thread of its story, beautiful as many of its isolated 
 passages are. The same objection may be' made to 
 " Smoke." Great spaces in that work are devoted to 
 caricatures of certain persons and opinions of note in 
 Russia, but utterly unknown in England — pictures 
 which either delight or irritate the author's countrymen, 
 according to the tendency of their social and political 
 speculations, but which are as meaningless to the untu- 
 tored English eye as a collection of " H. B." 's drawings 
 would be to a Russian who had never studied English 
 politics. Consequently neither of these stories is likely 
 ever to be fully appreciated among us.* 
 
 The last novelette which M. Turg6nieff has pub- 
 lished, " The Unfortunate One" {^Neschasinaya) is free 
 from the drawbacks by which, as far as English readers 
 are concerned, " Fathers and Children " and " Smoke " 
 are attended ; but it is exceedingly sad and painful. It 
 is said to be founded on a true story, a fact which may 
 account for an intensity of gloom in its coloring, the 
 
 * A detailed account of both of these stories, as -well as of sev- 
 eral other works by M. Turgenieiif, will be found in the number ol 
 the North British Review for March, 1869. 
 
Preface. 13 
 
 darkness of which would otherwise seem almost unar- 
 tistically overcharged. 
 
 Several of M. Turg^niefTs works have already been 
 translated into English. The "Notes of a Sportsman" ap- 
 peared about fourteen years ago, under the title of "Rus- 
 sian Life in the Interior ; "* but, unfortunately, the French 
 translation from which they were (with all due acknowl- 
 edgment) rendered, was one which had been so " cooked" 
 for the Parisian market, that M. Turgenieff himself felt 
 bound to protest against it vigorously. It is the more 
 unfortunate inasmuch as an admirable French transla- 
 tion of the work was afterwards made by M. Delaveau.j 
 
 Still more vigorously had M. Turg6nieff to protest 
 against an English translation of " Smoke,'' which ap- 
 peared a few months ago. 
 
 The story of " Fathers and Children " has also ap- 
 peared in English;! but as the translation was pub- 
 lished on the other side of the Atlantic, it has as yel 
 
 * " Russian Life in tiie Interior." Edited by J. D. Meiklejoiin, 
 Hack, Edinburg, 1855. 
 
 t " Recits d'un Chasseur." Traduits par H. Delavea, Paris, 
 1858. 
 
 :|: " Fatliers and Sons." Translated from the Russian by Eugene 
 Schuyler. New York 1867. 
 
1 4 I'reface. 
 
 served but little to make M.. Turg6nieff's name known 
 among us. 
 
 The French and German translations of M. Turg6- 
 nieff's works are excellent. From the French versions 
 of M. Delaveju, M. Xavier Marmier, M. Prosper Meri- 
 m§e, M. Viardot, and several others, a very good idea 
 may be formed by the general reader of M. Turg6niefFs 
 merits. For my own part, I wish cordially to thank the 
 French and the German translators of the Dvoryanskoe 
 Gnyezdo for the assistance their versions rendered me 
 while I was preparing the present translation of that 
 story. The German version, by M. Paul Fuchs,* is 
 wonderfully literal. The French version, by Count 
 SoUogub and M. A. de Calonne, which originally ap- 
 peared in the Revue Contemporaine, without being quite 
 so close, is also very good indeed.! 
 
 I, too, have kept as closely as I possibly could to the 
 original. Indeed, the first draft of the translation was 
 absolutely literal, regardless of style or even idiom. 
 While in that state, it was revised by the Russian friend 
 
 • * Das adelige Nest. Von I. S. Turgeneff. Aus deiii Russichen 
 ubersetzt von Paul Fuchs. Leipzig, 1862. 
 
 fUne Nichee de Gentilshommes. Paris, 1862 
 
Preface. 1 5 
 
 who assisted me in my translation of Krilof's Fables — 
 M. Alexander Onegine — and to his painstaking kind- 
 ness I am greatly indebted for the hope I venture to 
 entertain that 1 have not " traduced " the author I have 
 undertaken to translate. It may be as well to state that 
 in the few passages in which my version differs design- 
 edly from the ordinary text of the original, I have fol- 
 lowed the alterations which M. Turg^nieff made with 
 his own hand in the copy of the story on which I worked, 
 and the title of the story has been altered to its present 
 form with his consent. 
 
 I may as well observe also, that while I have inserted 
 notes where I thought their presence unavoidable, I 
 have abstained as much as possible from diverting the 
 reader's attention from the story by obtrusive asterisks, 
 referring to what might seem impertinent observations 
 at the bottom of the page. The Russian forms of name 
 I have religiously preserved, even to the extent of using 
 such a form as Ivanich, as well as Ivanovich, when it is 
 employed by the author. 
 
 Inner Temple, June i, 1869 
 
LIZA. 
 
 A BEAUTIFUL spring day was drawing to a close. 
 High aloft in the clear sky floated small rosy clouds, 
 which seemed never to drift past, but to be slowly ab- 
 sorbed into the blue depths beyond. 
 
 At an open window, in a handsome mansion situ- 
 ated in one of the outlying streets of O., the chief 
 town of the government of that name — it was in the 
 year 1842 — there were sitting two ladies, the one about 
 fifty years old, the other an old woman of seventy. 
 
 The name of the first was Maria Dmitrievna Kali- 
 tine. Her husband, who had formerly occupied the 
 post of Prcvincial Procurator, and who was well known 
 in his day as a good man of business — a man of bilious 
 temperament, confident, resolute, and enterprising — 
 had been dead ten years. He had received a good 
 education, and had studied at the university, but as the 
 family from which he sprang was a poor one, he had 
 early recognized the necessity of making a career for 
 himself and of gaining money. 
 
 Maria Dmitrievna married him for love. He was 
 
1 8 Liza. 
 
 good-looking, he had plenty of sense, and, when he 
 liked, he could be very agreeable. Maria Dmitrievna, 
 whose maiden name was Pestof, lost her parents while 
 she was still a child. She spent several years in an 
 Institute at Moscow, and then went to live with her 
 brother and one of her aunts at Pokrovskoe, a family 
 estate situated fifteen versts from O. Soon afterwards 
 her brother was called away on duty to St Peters- 
 burgh, and, until a sudden death put an end to his 
 career, he kept his aunt and sister with only just 
 enough for them to live upon. Maria Dmitrievna in- 
 herited Pokrovskoe, but she did not long reside 
 there. In the second year of her marriage with Kali- 
 tine, who had succeeded at the end of a few days in 
 gaining her affections, Pokrovskoe was exchanged for 
 another estate^one of much greater intritisic value, 
 but unattractive in appearance, and not provided with 
 a mansion. At the same time Kalitine purchased a 
 house in the town of O., and there he and his wife per- 
 manently established themselves. A large garden was 
 attached to it, extending in one direction to the fields 
 outside the town, " so that," Kalitine, who was by no 
 means an admirer of rural tranquillity, used to say, 
 " there is no reason why we should go dragging our- 
 selves off into the country." Maria Dmitrievna often 
 secretly regretted her beautiful Pokrovskoe, with its 
 joyous brook, its sweeping meadows, and its verdant 
 woods, but she never opposed her husband in any thing, 
 having the highest respect for his judgment and his 
 
Liza. 19 
 
 knowledee of the world. And when he died, aftei 
 fifteen vears of married life, leaving behind him, a son 
 and two daughters, Maria Dmitrievna had grown so 
 accustomed to her house and to a town life, that she 
 had no inclination to change her residence. 
 
 In her youth Maria Dmitrievna had enjoyed the 
 reputation of being a pretty blonde, and even in her 
 fiftieth year her features were not unattractive, though 
 they had lost somewhat of their fineness and delicacy. 
 She was naturally sensitive and impressionable, rather 
 than actually good-hearted, and even in her years of 
 maturity she continued to behave in the manner pecu- 
 liar to "Institute girls;" she denied herself no indul- 
 gence, she was easily put out of temper, and she would 
 even burst into tears if her habits were interfered with. 
 On the other hand, she was gracious and affable when 
 all her wishes were fulfilled, andjwhen nobody opposed 
 her in any thing. Her house was the pleasantest in 
 the town ; and she had a handsome income, the greater 
 part of which was derived from her late husband's 
 earnings, and the rest from her own property. Her 
 two daughters lived with her ; her son was being edu- 
 cated in one of the best of the crown establishments 
 at St. Petersburgh. 
 
 The old lady who was sitting at the window with 
 Maria Dmitrievna was her father's sister, the aunt with 
 whom she had formerly spent so many lonely years at 
 Pokrovskoe. Her name was Marfa Timofeevna Pestof. 
 She was looked upon as an original, being a woman of 
 
20 Liza. 
 
 an independent character, who bluntly told the truth to 
 every one, and who, although her means were very 
 small, behaved in society just as she would have done 
 had she been rolling in wealth. She never could abide 
 the late Kahtine, and as soon as her niece married him 
 she retired to her own modest little property, where she 
 spent ten whole years in a peasant's smoky hut. Maria 
 Dmitrievna was rather afraid of her. Small in stature, 
 with black hair, a sharp nose, and eyes which even in 
 old age were still keen, Marfa Timofeevna walked 
 briskly, held herself bolt upright, and spoke quickly 
 but distinctly, and with a loud, high-pitched voice. She 
 always wore a white cap, and a white kofta* always 
 formed part of her dress. 
 
 " What is the matter ? " she suddenly asked. " What 
 are you sighing about ? " 
 
 " Nothing," replied Maria Dmitrievna. " What 
 lovely clouds ! " 
 
 '' You are sorry for them, I suppose ? " 
 
 Maria Dmitrievna made no reply. 
 
 " Why doesn't Gedeonovsky come ? " continued 
 Marfa Timofeevna, rapidly plying her knitting needles. 
 (She was making a long worsted scarf.) " He would 
 liave sighed with you. Perhaps he would have uttered 
 some platitude or other." 
 
 " How unkindly you always speak of him ! Sergius 
 Petrovich is — a most respectable man." 
 
 * A sort of jacket. 
 
Liza. 21 
 
 " Respectable ! " echoed the old lady reproachfully. 
 
 " And then," continued Maria Dmitrievna, " how 
 devoted he was to my dear husband I Why, he can 
 never think of him without emotion." 
 
 " He might well be that, considering that your hus- 
 band pulled him out of the mud by the ears," growled 
 Marfa Timofeevna, the needles moving quicker than 
 ever under her fingers. " He looks so humble," she 
 began anew after a time. " His head is quite grey, and 
 yet he never opens his mouth but to lie or to slander. 
 And, forsooth, he is a councillor of state ! Ah, well, 
 to be sure, he is a priest's son." * 
 
 " Who is there who is faultless, aunt ? It is true thai 
 he has this weakness. Sergius Petrovich has not had a 
 good education, I admit — he cannot speak French — 
 but I beg leave to say that I think him exceedingly 
 agreeable." 
 
 " Oh, yes, he fawns on you like a dog. As to his 
 not speaking French, that's no great fault. I am not 
 very strong in the French ' dialect ' myself. It would 
 be better if he spoke no language at all ; he wouldn't 
 tell lies then. But of course, here he is, in the very 
 nick of time," continued Marfa Timofeevna, looking 
 down the street. " Here comes your agreeable man, 
 striding along. How spindle-shanked he is, to be sure . 
 — ^just Uke a stork ! " 
 
 • Popovich, or son of a pope ; a not over respectful designation 
 in Russia. 
 
2 2 Liza. 
 
 Maria Dmitrievna arranged her curls. Marfa 
 Timofeevna looked at her with a quiet smile. 
 
 " Isn't that a grey hair I see, my dear ? You should 
 scold Pelagia. Where can her eyes be ? " 
 
 "That's just like you, aunt," muttered Maria Dmit- 
 lievna, in a tone of vexation, and thrumming with hei 
 fingers on the arm of her chair. 
 
 " Sergius Petrovich Gedeonovsky ! " shrilly an- 
 nounced a rosy-cheeked little Cossack,* who suddenly 
 appeared at the door. 
 
 * A page attired in a sort of Cossack dress. 
 
11. 
 
 A TALL man came into the room, wearing a good 
 enough coat, rather short trousers, thick grey gloves, 
 and two cravats — a black one outside, a white one 
 underneath. Every thing belonging to him was sug- 
 gestive of propriety and decorum, from his well pro- 
 portioned face, with locks carefully smoothed down over 
 the temples, to his heelless and never-creaking boots. 
 He bowed first to the mistress of the liouse, then to 
 MarfaTimofeevna, and afterwards, having slowly taken 
 off his gloves, he approached Maria Dmitrievna and 
 respectfully kissed her hand twice. After that he 
 leisurely subsided into an easy-chair, and asked, as he 
 smilingly rubbed together the tips of his fingers — 
 
 " Is Elizaveta quite well ? " 
 
 " Yes," replied Maria Dmitrievna, " she is in the 
 garden." 
 
 " And Elena Mikhailovna ? " 
 
 " Lenochka is in the garden also. Have you any 
 news ?" 
 
 " Rather ! " replied the visitor, slowly screwing up 
 his eyes, and protruding his lips. " Hm ! here is a 
 piece of news, if you please, and a very startUng one, 
 too. Fedor Ivanovich Lavretsky has arrived." 
 
2 4 Lisa. 
 
 " Fedia ! " exclaimed Marfa Timofeevna. " You're 
 inventing, are you not ? " 
 
 " Not at all. I have seen him with my own eyes." 
 
 " That doesn't prove any thing." 
 
 " He's grown much more robust," continued Ged- 
 eonovsky, looking as if he Iiad not heard Marfa Timo- 
 feevna's remark; "his shoulders have broadened, and 
 his cheeks are quite rosy." 
 
 " Grown more robust," slowly repeated Maria Dmit- 
 rievna. " One would think he hadn't met with much to 
 make him robust." 
 
 " That is true indeed," said Gedeonovsky. " Any 
 one else, in his place, would have scrupled to show 
 himself in the world." 
 
 " And why, I should like to know ? " broke in Marfa 
 Timofeevna. "What nonsense you are talking! A 
 man comes back to his home. Where else would you 
 have him betake himself.' And, pray, in what has he 
 been to blame ? " 
 
 " A husband is always to blame, madam, if you will 
 allow me to say so, when his wife behaves ill." 
 
 " You only say that, batyushka^ because you have 
 ever been married." 
 
 " Gedeonovsky's only reply was a forced smile. Foi 
 a short time he remained silent, but presently he said, 
 " May I be allowed to be so inquisitive as to ask for 
 whom this pretty scarf is intended ? " 
 
 * Father. 
 
Liza. 25 
 
 Marfa Timofeevna looked up at him quickly. 
 
 " For whom is it intended ? " she said. " For a man 
 who never slanders, who does not intrigue, and who 
 makes up no falsehoods — if, indeed, such a man is to 
 be found in the woi.d. I know Fedia thoroughly well ; 
 the only thing for which he is to blame is that he spoil*- 
 his wife. To be sure he married for love ; and from 
 such love-matches no good ever comes," added the old 
 lady, casting a side glance at Maria Dmitrievna. 
 Then, standing up, she added : " But now you can whe 
 your teeth on whom you will ; on me, if you like. I'm 
 off. I won't hinder you any longer." And with these 
 words she disappeared. 
 
 " She is always like that," said Maria Dmitrievna 
 following her aunt with her eyes — " always." 
 
 " What else can be expected of her at her time of 
 life ?" replied Gedeonovsky. "Just see now! 'Who 
 does not intrigue ? ' she was pleased to say. But who 
 is there nowadays who doesn't intrigue ? It is the cus- 
 tom of the present age. A friend of mine — a most 
 respectable man, and one, I may as well observe, of 
 no slight rank — used to say, ' Nowadays, it seems, if a 
 hen wants a grain of corn she approaches it cunningly, 
 watches anxiously for an opportunity of sidling up to 
 it.' But when I look at you, dear lady, I recognize in 
 you a truly angelic nature. May I be allowed to kiss 
 your snow-white hand ? " 
 
 Maria Dmitrievna slightly smiled, and held out her 
 plump hand to Gedeonovsky, keeping the little finger 
 
2 6 Liza. 
 
 gracefully separated from the rest ; and then, after he 
 had raised her hand to his hps, she drew her chair 
 closer to his, bent a little towards him, and asked, in a 
 low voice — 
 
 " So you have seen him ? And is he leally well and 
 in good spirits ? " 
 
 " In excellent spirits," replied Gedeonovsky in a 
 whisper. 
 
 " You haven't heard where his wife is now ? " 
 
 " A short time ago she was in Paris ; but she is 
 gone away, they say, and is now in Italy." 
 
 " Really it is shocking — Fedia's position. I can't 
 think how he manages to bear it. Every one, of course, 
 has his misfortunes ; but his affairs, one may say, have 
 become known all over Europe." 
 
 Gedeonovsky sighed. 
 
 " Quite so, quite so I They say she has made friends 
 with artists and pianists ; or, as they call them there, 
 with lions and other wild beasts. She has completely 
 lost all sense of shame — " 
 
 "It's very, very sad," said Maria Dmitrievna; "es- 
 pecially for a relation. You know, don't you, Sergius 
 Petrovich, that he is a far-away cousin of mine ? " 
 
 " To be sure, to be sure ! You surely don't suppose 
 I could be ignorant of any thing that concerns your 
 family." 
 
 " Will he come to see us ? What do you think ? " 
 
 " One would suppose so ; but afterwards, I am told,, 
 he will go and live on his estate in the country." 
 
Liza. 2 1 
 
 Maria Umitrievna lifted lier eyes towards heaven. 
 
 "Oh, Sergius Petrovich, Sergius Petrovich ! how 
 often I thiiilc how necessary it is for us women to be- 
 have circumspectly ! " 
 
 " There are women and women, Maria Dmitrievna. 
 There are, unfortunately, some who are — of an unsta- 
 ble character ; and then there is a certain time of life — 
 and, besides, good principles have, not been instilled 
 into them when they were young." 
 
 Here Sergius Petrovich drew from his pocket a blue 
 handkerchief, of a check pattern, and began to un- 
 fold it. 
 
 " Such women, in fact, do exist." 
 
 Here Sergius Petrovich applied a corner of the 
 handkerchief to each of his eyes in turn. 
 
 " But, generally speaking, if one reflects — that is to 
 say — The dust in the streets is something extraordi- 
 nary,'' he ended by saying. 
 
 " Maman, maman," exclaimed a pretty little girl of 
 eleven, who came running into the room, "Vladimir 
 Nikolaevich is coming here on horseback." 
 
 Maria Dmitrievna rose from her chair. Sergius 
 Petrovich also got up and bowed. 
 
 " My respects to Elena Mikhailovna," he said ; and, 
 discreetly retiring to a corner, he betook himself to 
 blowing his long straight nose. 
 
 "What a lovely horse he has!" continued the little 
 gin. "He was at the garden gate just now, and he 
 
28 Liza, 
 
 told me and Liza that he would come up to the front 
 door." 
 
 The sound of hoofs was heard, and a well appointed 
 cavalier, mounted on a handsome bay horse, rode up 
 to the house, and stopped in front of the open window. 
 
111. 
 
 " Good-evening, Maria Dmitrievna ! " exclaimed Ihe 
 rider's clear and pleasant voice. " How do you like 
 my new purchase ? " 
 
 Maria Dmitrievna went to the window. 
 
 " Good-evening, Woldemar ! Ah, what a splendid 
 horse ! From whom did you buy it ? " 
 
 " From our remount-officer. He made me pay dear 
 for it, the rascal." 
 
 " What is it's name ? " 
 
 " Orlando. But that's a stupid name. I want to 
 change it. £/i bien, eh bien, mon gar(on. What a rest- 
 less creature it is ! " 
 
 The horse neighed, pawed the air, and tossed the 
 foam from its nostrils. 
 
 "Come and stroke it, Lenochka; don't be afraid." 
 
 Lcnochka stretched out her hand from the window, 
 but Orlando suddenly reared and shied. But its rider, 
 who took its proceedings very quietly, gripped the sad- 
 dle firmly with his knees, laid his whip across tlae 
 horse's neck, and forced it, in spite of its resistance, to 
 return to the window, "Frenez garde, prenez garde" 
 Maria Dmitrievna kept calling out. 
 
 "Now then, stroke hiiT, Lenochka," repeated the 
 
3° Liza. 
 
 horsemanj "I don't mean to let him have his own 
 way." 
 
 Lenochka stretched out her hand a second time, 
 and timidly touched the quivering nostrils of Orlando 
 who champed his bit, and kept incessantly fidgeting. 
 
 " Bravo ! " exclaimed Maria Dmitrievna ; " but no-n 
 get off, and come in." 
 
 The rider wheeled his horse sharply round, drove 
 the spurs into its sides, rode down the street at a hand 
 gallop, and tiirned into the court-yard. In another- 
 minute he had crossed the hall and entered the draw- 
 ing-room, flourishing his whip in the air. 
 
 At the same moment there appeared on the threshold 
 of another doorway a tall, well-made, dark-haired girl 
 of iiineieen — Maria Dmitrievna's elder daughter, Liza 
 
IV. 
 
 The young man whom we have just introduced to 
 Dur readers was called Vladimir Nikolaevich I'aiishine. 
 He occupied a post at St. Petersburg — one devoted to 
 business of a special character — in the Ministry of the 
 Interior. He had come to O. about certain affairs of a 
 temporary nature, and was placed there at the disposal 
 of the governor, General Zonnenberg, to whom he was 
 distantly related. 
 
 Panshine's father, a retired cavalry officer,* who 
 used to be well known among card-players, was a man 
 of a worn face, with weak eyes, and a nervous contrac- 
 tion about the lips. Throughout his life he always re- 
 volved in a distinguished circle, frequenting the Eng- 
 lish Clubs t of both capitals, and being generally con- 
 sidered a man of ability and a pleasant companion, 
 though not a person to be confidently depended upon. 
 In spite of all his ability, he was almost always just on 
 the verge of ruin, and he ultimately left but a small 
 and embarrassed property to his only son. About that 
 
 * A Shtabs-Rotmistr, the second captain in a cavalry regiment, 
 f Fashionable clubs having nothing English about Iheni ba» 
 their name. 
 
32 Ltza. 
 
 son's education, however, he had, after his own fashion, 
 taken great pains. 
 
 The young Vladimir Nikolaevich spoke excellent 
 French, good English, and bad German. That is just 
 as it should be. Properly brought-up people should of 
 course be ashamed to speak German really well ; but 
 to throw out a German word now and then, and gener- 
 ally on facetious topics — that is allowable ; " c'est mime 
 tres chic," as the Petersburg Parisians say. Moreover, 
 by the time Vladimir Nikolaevich was fifteen, he al- 
 ready knew how to enter any drawing-room whatsoever 
 without becoming nervous, how to move about it in an 
 agreeable manner, and how to take his leave exactly at 
 the right moment. 
 
 The elder Panshine made a number of useful con- 
 nections for his son ; while shuffling the cards between 
 two rubbers, or after a lucky " Great Schlemm," * he 
 never lost the opportunity of saying a word about his 
 young " Volodka " to some important personage, a 
 lover of games of skill. On his part, Vladimir Niko 
 laevich, during the period of his stay at the university, 
 whicli he left with the rank of " effective student," t 
 made acquaintance with several young people of dis 
 tinction, and gained access into the best houses. He 
 was cordially received everywhere, for he was verv 
 good looking, easy in manner, amusing, always in good 
 
 * " A bumper." 
 
 t A degree a little inferior to that of Bachelor of Arts. 
 
Liza. 53 
 
 health, and ready for everj. thing. Where he was 
 obliged, he was respectful; where he could, he was 
 overbearing. Altogether, an excellent companion, un 
 charmant garfon. The Promised Land lay before him. 
 Panshine soon fathomed the secret of worldly wisdom, 
 and succeeded in inspiring himself with a genuine re- 
 spect for its laws. He Knew how to invest trifles with a 
 half-ironical importance, and to behave with the air of 
 one who treats all serious matters as trifles. He danced 
 admirably; he dressed like an Englishman. In a sliort 
 time he had gained the reputation of being one of the 
 pleasantest and most adroit young men in St. Peters- 
 burg. 
 
 Panshine really was very adroit — not less so than his 
 father had been. And besides this, he was endowed 
 with no small talent ; nothing was too difficult for him. 
 He sang pleasantly, drew confidently, could write poetry, 
 and acted remarkably well. 
 
 He was now only in his twenty-eighth year, but he 
 was already a Chamberlain, and he had arrived at a 
 highly respectable rank in the service. He had thor- 
 ough confidence in himself, in his intellect, and in his 
 sagacity. He went onwards under full sail, boldly and 
 cheerfully; the stream of his life flowed smoothly 
 along. He was accustomed to please every one, old 
 and young alike ; and he imagined that he thoroughly 
 understood his fellow-creatures, especially women^ 
 that he was intimately acquainted with all their ordi 
 nary weaknesses. 
 
34 Liza. 
 
 As one who was no stranger to Art, lie felt within 
 him a certain enthusiasm, a glow, a rapture, in conse- 
 quence of which he claimed for himself various ex- 
 emptions from ordinary rules. He led a somewhat ir- 
 regular life, he made acquaintance with people who 
 were not received into society, and in general he be- 
 haved in an unconventional and unceremonious man- 
 ner. But in his heart of hearts he was cold and astute ; 
 and even in the midst of his most extravagant rioting, 
 his keen hazel eye watched and took note of every 
 thing. It was impossible for this daring and unconven- 
 tional youth ever quite to forget himself, or to be thor- 
 oughly carried away. It should be mentioned to his 
 credit, by the way, that he never boasted of his victo- 
 ries. To Maria Dmitrievna's house he had obtained 
 access as soon as he arrived in O., and he soon made 
 himself thoroughly at home in it. As to Maria Dmit- 
 rievna herself, she thought there was nobody in the 
 world to be compared with him. 
 
 Panshine bowed in an engaging manner to all the 
 occupants of the room, shook hands with Maria Dmit- 
 rievna and Elizaveta Mikhailovna, lightly tapped Ged- 
 eonovsky on the shoulder, and, turning on his heels, 
 took Lenochka's head between his hands and kissed 
 her on the forehead. 
 
 " Are not you afraid to ride such a vicious horse ? " 
 asked Maria Dmitrievna. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, it is perfectly quiet. No, but 
 [ will tell you what I really am afraid of. I am afraid 
 
Liza. 
 
 35 
 
 of playing at preference with Sergius Petrovich. Yes- 
 terday, at (he Bielenitsines', he won all the money I had 
 with me.'' 
 
 Gedeonovsky laughed a thin and cringing laugh ; 
 he wanted to gain the good graces of the brilliant young 
 official from St. Petersburg, the governor's favorite. 
 In his conversations with Maria Dmitrievna, he frequent- 
 ly spoke of Panshine's remarkable faculties. " Why, real- 
 ly now, how can one help praising him ? " he used to 
 reason. " The young man is a success in the highest 
 circles of society, and at the same time he does his 
 work in the most perfect manner, and he isn't the least 
 bit proud." And indeed, even at St. P etersburg. Pan- 
 shine was looked upon as an efficient public servant ; 
 the work " burnt under his hands ; " he spoke of it jest- 
 ingly, as a man of the world should, who does not at- 
 tach any special importance to his employment ; but he 
 was a " doer." Heads of departments like such sub- 
 ordinates ; he himself never doubted that in time, sup- 
 posing he really wished it, he would be a Minister. 
 
 " You are so good as to say that I won your money," 
 said Gedeonovsky \ " but who won fifteen roubles from 
 me last week ? And besides — " 
 
 "Ah, rogue, rogue!" interrupted Panshine, in a 
 pleasant tone, but with an air of indifference bordering 
 on contempt, and then, without paying him any further 
 attention, he accosted Liza. 
 
 " I cannot get the overture to Oberon here," he be 
 gan. " Madame lUelenitsine boasted that she had a o'.w- 
 
^6 Liza. 
 
 plete collection of classical music ; but in reality she 
 has nothing but polkas and waltzes. However, I have 
 already written to Moscow, and you shall have the over- 
 ture in a week." 
 
 " By the way," he continued, " I wrote a new ro- 
 mance yesterday ; the words are mine as well as the 
 music. Would you like me to sing it to you ? Ma- 
 dame Bielenitsine thought it very pretty, but her judg- 
 ment is not worth much. I want to know your opinion 
 of it. But, after all, I think I had better sing it by- 
 and-by." 
 
 " Why by-and-by ? " exclaimed Maria Dmitrievna, 
 " why not now ? " 
 
 " To hear is to obey," answered Panshine, with a 
 sweet and serene smile, which came and went quickly ; 
 and then, having pushed a chair up to the piano, he sat 
 down, struck a few chords, and began to sing the fol- 
 lowing romance, pronouncing the words very distinctly ■ 
 
 Amid pale clouds, above the earth, 
 
 The moon rides high, 
 And o'er the sea a magic light 
 
 Pours from the sky. 
 
 My Spirit's waves, as towards the moon, 
 
 Towards thee, love, flow : 
 Its waters' stirred by thee alone 
 
 In weal or woe. 
 
 My heart replete with love that grieves 
 
 But yields no cry, 
 I suffer — cold as yonder moon 
 
 Thou passest by. 
 
Liza. 37 
 
 Panshine sang the second stanza with more than 
 usual expression and feeling ; in the stormy accompa- 
 niment might be heard the roUing of the waves. Af- 
 ter the words, "' I suffer ! " he breathed a light sigh, and 
 with downcast eyes let his voice die gradually away. 
 When he had finished, Liza praised the air, Maria 
 Dmitrievna said, " Charming ! " and Gedeonovsky ex- 
 claimed, " Enchanting ! — the words and the music are 
 equally enchanting ! " Lenochka kept her eyes fixed 
 on the singer with childish reverence. In a word, the 
 composition of the young dilettante delighted all who 
 were in the room. But outside the drawing-room door, 
 in the vestibule, there stood, looking on the floor, an 
 old man who had just come into the house, to whom, 
 judging from the expression of his face and the move- 
 ments of his shoulders, Panshine's romance, though 
 really pretty, did not afford much pleasure. Affer 
 waiting a little, and having dusted his boots with a 
 coarse handkerchief, he suddenly squeezed up his eyes, 
 morosely compressed his lips, gave his already curved 
 back an extra bend, and slowly entered the drawing- 
 room. 
 
 " Ah ! Christopher Fedorovich, how do you do ? ' 
 Panshine was the first to exclaim, as he jumped up 
 quickly from his chair. " I didn't suspect you were 
 there. I wouldn't for any thing have ventured to sing 
 my romance before you. I know you are no admirei 
 of the light style in music.'' 
 
 "I didn't hear it," said the new-comer, in imperfect 
 
3? Liza. 
 
 Russian. Then, having bowed to all the party, he stood 
 5till in an awkward attitude in the middle of the room. 
 
 " I suppose. Monsieur Lemm," said Maria Dmit- 
 -ievna, " you have come to give Liza a music lesson." 
 
 " No ; not Lizaveta Mikhailovna, but Elena Mik 
 lailovna." 
 
 "Oh, indeed! very good. Lenochka, go up-stairs 
 xrith Monsieur Lemm." 
 
 The old man was about to follow the little girl, when 
 Panshine stopped him. 
 
 " Don't go away when the lesson is over, Christo- 
 phor Fedorovich," he said. " Lizaveta Mikhailovna 
 and I are going to play a duet — one of Beethoven's 
 sonatas." 
 
 The old man muttered something to himself, but 
 Panshine continued in German, pronouncing the words 
 very badly — 
 
 "Lizaveta Mikhailovna has sho»vn me the sacred 
 cantata which you have dedicated to her — a very beau- 
 tiful piece ! I beg you will not suppose I am unable to 
 appreciate serious music. Quite the reverse. It is 
 sometimes tedious ; but, on the other hand, it is ex- 
 tremely edifying.'' 
 
 The old man blushed to the ears, cast a side glance 
 at Liza, and went hastily out of the room. 
 
 Maria Dmitrievna asked Panshine to repeat his ro- 
 mance ; but he declared that he did not like to offend 
 the ears of the scientific German, and proposed to Liza 
 to begin Beethoven's sonata. On this, Maria Dmii- 
 
Liza. 39 
 
 rievna sighed, and, on her part, proposed a stroll in the 
 garden to Gedeonovsky. 
 
 " I want to have a little more chat with you," she 
 said, "about our poor Fedia, and to ask for your ad- 
 vice." 
 
 Gedeonovsky smiled and bowed, took up with two 
 fingers his hat, on the brim of which his gloves were 
 neatly laid out, and retired with Maria Dmitrievna. 
 
 Panshine and Eliza remained in the room. She 
 fetched the sonata, and spread it out. Both sat down 
 to the piano in silence. Frorn up-stairs there came the 
 feeble sound of scales, played by Lenochka's uncertain 
 fingers. 
 
 Note lo p. 36. 
 It is possible that M. Panshine may have been inspired by 
 Heine's verses : — 
 
 Wie des Mondes Abl:ild zittert 
 
 In den wilden Meereswogen, 
 Und er selber still und sicher 
 
 Wandelt an dem Himmelsbogen. 
 
 Also wandelst du, Geliebte, 
 
 Still und sicher, und es zittert 
 Nur dein Abbild mir im Herzen, 
 
 Weil mein eignes Herz erschiittert. 
 
CiiRiSTOPH Theodor Gottlieb Lemm was born in 
 1786, in the kingdom of Saxony, in the town of Chem- 
 nitz. His parents, who wer« very poor, were both of 
 them musicians, his father playing the hautboy, Iiis 
 mother the harp. He himself, by the time he was five 
 years old, was already practicing on three different in- 
 struments. At the age of eight, he was left an orphan, 
 and at ten, he began to earn a. living by his art. For a 
 long time he led a wandering life, playing in all sorts 
 of places — in taverns, at fairs, at peasants' marriages, 
 and at balls. At last he gained access to an orchestra, 
 and there, steadily rising higher and higher, he attained 
 to the position of conductor. As a performer he had 
 no great merit, but he understood music thoroughly. 
 In his twenty-eighth year, he migrated to Russia. He 
 was invited there by a great seigneur, who, although he 
 could not abide music himself, maintained an orchestra 
 from a love of display. In his house Lemm spent seven 
 years as a musical director, and then left him with 
 empty hands. The seigneur, who had squandered all 
 his means, first offered Lemm a bill of exchange for the 
 amount due to him ; then refused to give him even that ; 
 and ultimately never paid him a single farthing. Lemm 
 
Liza. 41 
 
 (vas advised to leave the country, but he did not like to 
 go home penniless from Russia — from the great Russia, 
 that golden land of artists. So he determined to re- 
 main and seek his fortune there. 
 
 During the course of ten years, the poor German 
 -ontinued to seek his fortune. He found various em- 
 ployers, he lived in Moscow, and in seve-al county 
 towns, he patiently suffered much, he made acquaint- 
 ance with poverty, he struggled hard.* All this time, 
 amidst all the troubles to which he was exposed, the 
 idea of ultimately returning home never quitted him. 
 It was the only thing that supported him. But fate did 
 not choose to bless him with this supreme and final 
 piece of good fortune. 
 
 At fifty years of age, in bad health and prematurely 
 decrepid, he happened to come to the town of O., and 
 there he took up his permanent abode, managing some- 
 how to obtain a poor livelihood by giving lessons. He 
 had by this time entirely lost all hope of quitting the 
 hated soil of Russia. 
 
 Lemm's outward appearance was not in his favor. 
 He was short and high-shouldered, his shoulder-blades 
 stuck out awry, his feet were large and flat, and his red 
 hands, marked by swollen veins, had hard, stiff" fingers, 
 tipped with nails of a pale blue color. His face was 
 covered with wrinkles, his cheeks were hollow, and he 
 
 * Literally, " like a fish out of ice : " as a fish, taken out of a 
 river which has been frozen over, struggles on the ice. 
 
42 Liza. 
 
 had pursed-up lips which he was always moving with a 
 kind of chewing action — one which, joined with his 
 habitual silence, gave him an almost malignant expres- 
 sion. His grey hair hung in tufts over a low forehead. 
 His very small and immobile eyes glowed dully, like 
 coals in which the flame has just been extinguished by 
 water. He walked heavily, jerking his clumsy frame at 
 every step. Some of his movements called to mind 
 the awkward shuffling of an owl in a cage, when it feels 
 that it is being stared at, but can scarcely see anything 
 itself out of its large yellow eyes, blinking between 
 sleep and fear. An ancient and inexorable misery had 
 fixed its ineffaceable stamp on the poor musician, and 
 had wrenched and distorted his figure — one which, even 
 without that, would have had but little to recommend 
 it ; but in spite of all that, something good and honest, 
 something out of the common run, revealed itself in 
 that half-ruined being, to any one who was able to get 
 over his first impressions. 
 
 A devoted admirer of Bach and Handel, thoroughly 
 well up to his work, gifted with a lively imagination, 
 and that audacity of idea which belongs only to the 
 Teutonic race, Lemm might in time — who can tell ? — 
 have been reckoned among the great composers of his 
 country, if only his life had been of a different nature. 
 But he was not born under a lucky star. He had writ- 
 ten much in his time, and yet he had never been fortu- 
 nate enough to see any of his compositions published. 
 He did not know how to set to work, how to cringe at 
 
Liza. 43 
 
 the right moment, how to proffer a request at the fitting 
 time. Once, it is true, a very long time ago, one of his 
 friends and admirers, also a German, and also poor, 
 published at his own expense two of Lemm's sonatas. 
 But they remained untouched on the shelves of the 
 music shops ; silently they disappeared and left no 
 trace behind, just as if they had been dropped into a 
 river by night. 
 
 At last Lemm bade farewell to every thing Old age 
 gained upon him, and he hardened, he grew stiff in 
 mind, just as his fingers had stiffened. He had never 
 married, and now he lived alone in O., in a little house 
 not far from that of the Kalitines, looked after by an 
 old woman-servant whom he had taken out of an alms- 
 house. He walked a great deal, and he read the Bible, 
 also a collection of Protestant hymns, and Shakspeare 
 in Schlegel's translation. For a long time he had com- 
 posed nothing ; but apparently Liza, his best pupil, had 
 been able to arouse him. It was for her that he had 
 written the cantata to which Panshine alluded. The 
 words of this cantata were borrowed by him from his 
 collection of hymns, with the exception of a few verses 
 which he composed himself. It was written for two 
 choruses : one of the happy, one of the unhappy. At 
 the end the two united and sang together, " Merciful 
 Lord, have pity upon us, poor sinners, and keep us from 
 all evil thoughts and worldly desires." On the title- 
 page, very carefully and even artistically written, were 
 the words, " Only the Righteous are in the Right. A 
 
44 Liza. 
 
 Sacred Cantata. Composed, and dedicated to Eliza 
 veta Kalitine, his dear pupil, by her teacher, C. T. G. 
 Lemm." The words " Only the Righteous are in the 
 Right " and " To Elizaveta Kalitine " were surrounded 
 by a circle of rays. Underneath was written, " For 
 you only. Fiir Sie allein." This was why Lemm grew 
 red and looked askance at Liza ; he felt greatly hurt 
 when Fanshine began to talk to him about his cantata. 
 
IV. 
 
 Panshink struck the first chords of the sonata, in 
 which he played the bass, loudly and with decision, but 
 Liza did not begin her part. He stopped and looked 
 at her — Liza's eyes, which were looking straight at him, 
 expressed dissatisfaction ; her lips did not smile, all her 
 countenance was severe, almost sad. 
 
 " What is the matter ? " he asked. 
 
 " Why have you not kept your word ? " she said. 
 "I showed you Christophor Fedorovich's cantata 
 only on condition that you would not speak to him 
 about it." 
 
 " I was wrong, Lizaveta Mikhailovna — I spoke with- 
 out thinking." 
 
 " You have wounded him and me too. In future he 
 will distrust me as well as others." 
 
 "What could I do, Lizaveta Mikhailovna? From 
 my earliest youth I have never been able to see a Ger- 
 man without feeling tempted to tease him." 
 
 " What are you saying, Vladimir Nikolaevich ? This 
 German is a poor, lonely, broken man ; and you fepl no 
 pity for him ! you feel tempted to tease him ! " 
 
 Panshine seemed a little disconcerted. 
 
 "You are right, Lizaveta Mikhailovna," he said. 
 
46 Liza. 
 
 ' The fault is entirely due to my perpetual thoughtless 
 uess. No, do not contradict me. I know myself well. 
 My thoughtlessness has done me no slight harm. I* 
 makes people suppose that I am an egotist." 
 
 Panshine made a brief pause. From whatevei 
 point he started a conversation, he generally ended by 
 speaking about himself, and then his words seemed 
 almost to escape from him involuntarily, so softly and 
 pleasantly did he speak, and with such an air of sin- 
 cerity. 
 
 " It is so, even in your house," he continued. 
 "Your mamma, it is true, is most kind to me. She is 
 so good. You — but no, I don't know what you think of 
 me. But decidedly your aunt cannot abide me. I have 
 vexed her by some thoughtless, stupid speech. It is 
 true that she does not like me, is it not ? " 
 
 " Yes,'' replied Liza, after a moment's hesitation. 
 "You do not please her.'' 
 
 Panshine let his fingers run rapidly over the keys ; 
 a scarcely perceptible smile glided over his lips. 
 
 " Well, but you," he continued,." do you also think 
 me an egotist ? " 
 
 "I know so little about you," replied Liza; "but I 
 should not call you an egotist. On the contrary, I ought 
 to feel grateful to you — " 
 
 " I know, I know what you are going to say," inter- 
 rupted Panshine, again running his fingers over the 
 keys, " for the music, for the books, which I bring you, 
 for the bad drawings with which I ornament your album, 
 
Ltza. 47 
 
 and so on, and so on. I may do all that, and yet be an 
 egotist. I venture to think that I do not bore you, and 
 that you do not think me a bad man ; but yet you sup- 
 pose that I — how shall I say it ? — for the sake of an 
 epigram would not spare my friend, my father him 
 self." 
 
 " You are absent and forgetful, like all men of the 
 world," said Liza, " that is all." 
 
 Panshine slightly frowned. 
 
 " Listen," he said ; " don't let's talk any more about 
 me ; let us begin our sonata. Only there is one thing 
 I will ask of you," he added, as he smoothed the sheets 
 which lay on the music-desk with his hand ; " think of 
 me what you will, call me egotist even, I don't object 
 to that; but don't call me a man of the world, that 
 name is insufferable. AiicICio soiio pittore. I too am 
 an artist, though but a poor one, and that — namely, that 
 I am a poor artist — I am going to prove to you on the 
 spot. Let us begin." 
 
 "Very good, let us begin," said Liza. 
 
 The first adagio went off with tolerable success, al- 
 though Panshine made several mistakes. What he had 
 written himself, and what he had learnt by heart, he 
 played very well, but he could not play -at sight cor- 
 rectly. Accordingly the second part of the sonata — 
 a tolerably quick allegro — would not do at all. At the 
 twentieth bar Panshine, who was a couple of bars be- 
 hind, gave in, and pushed back his chair with a laugh. 
 
 " No I " he exclaimed, " I cannot play to-day. It is 
 
48 Liza. 
 
 fortunate that Xemm cannot hear us ; he would have 
 had a fit." 
 
 Liza stood up, shut the piano, and then turned to 
 Panshine. 
 
 " AVhat shall we do then ? " she asked. 
 
 "That question is so like you! You can never sit 
 with folded hands for a moment. Well then, if you 
 feel inclined, let's draw a little before it becomes quite 
 dark. Perhaps another Muse — the Muse of painting — 
 what's her name .'' I've forgotten — will be more pro 
 pitious to me. Where is your album ? I remember 
 the landscape I was drawing in it was not finished." 
 
 Liza went into another room for the album, and 
 Panshine, finding himself alone, took a cambric hand- 
 kerchief out of his pocket, rubbed his nails and looked 
 sideways at his hands. They were very white and well 
 shaped ; on the second finger of the left hand he wore 
 a spiral, gold ring. 
 
 Liza returned ; Panshine seated himself by the 
 window and opened the album. 
 
 " Ah ! " he exclaimed, " I see you have begun to 
 copy my landscape — and capitally^very good indeed — 
 only — ^just give me the pencil — the shadows are not 
 laid in black enough. Look here." 
 
 And Panshine added some long strokes with a vig- 
 orous touch. He always drew the same landscape — 
 large dishevelled trees in the foreground, in the middle 
 distance a plain, and on the horizon an indented chain 
 of hills. Liza looked ova" hi" shoulder at his work. 
 
Liza. 49 
 
 " In drawing, as also in life in general," said Pan- 
 shine, turning his head now to the right, now to the 
 left, "lightness and daring — those are the first requis- 
 i'.es." 
 
 At this moment Lemm entered the room, and after 
 bowing gravely, was about to retire ; but Panshine flung 
 the album and pencil aside, and prevented him from 
 leaving the room. 
 
 " Where are you going, dear Christoph Fedorovich ? 
 Won't you stay and take tea ? " 
 
 " I am going home," said Lemm, in a surly voice ; 
 "my head aches." 
 
 "What nonsense ! do remain. We will have a talk 
 about Shakspeare." 
 
 " My head aches," repeated the old man. 
 
 "We tried to play Beethoven's sonata without you," 
 continued Panshine, caressingly throwing his arm over 
 the old man's shoulder and smihng sweetly ; " but we 
 didn't succeed in bringing it to a harmonious conclu- 
 sion. Just imagine, I couldn't play two consecutive 
 notes right." 
 
 "You had better have played your romance over 
 again," replied Lemm; then, escaping from Panshine's 
 hold he went out of the room. 
 
 Liza ran after him, and caught him on the steps. 
 
 " Christophor Fedorovich, I want to speak to you," 
 she said in German, as led him across the short green 
 grass to the gate. "I have done you a wro:ig — forgive 
 me." 
 
 3 
 
5° Liza. 
 
 Lemm made no reply. 
 
 " I showed your cantata to Vladimir Nikolaevich ; 1 
 was sure he would appreciate it, and, indeed, he was 
 exceedingly pleased with it." 
 
 Lemm stopped still. 
 
 " It's no matter," he said in Russian, and then added 
 in his native tongue, — "But he is utterly incapable of 
 understanding it. How is it you don't see that ? He 
 is a dilettante — that is all." 
 
 "You are unjust towards him," replied Liza. " He 
 understands every thing, and can do almost every thing 
 himself." 
 
 " Yes, every thing second-rate — poor goods, scamped 
 work. But that pleases, and he pleases, and he is well 
 content with that. Well, then, bravo ! — But I am not 
 angry. I and that cantata, we are both old fools ! I 
 feel a little ashamed, but it's no matter." 
 
 " Forgive me, Christophor Fedorovich ! " urged Liza 
 anew. 
 
 " It's no matter, no matter," he repeated a second 
 time in Russian. You are a good girl. — Here is some 
 one coming to pay you a visit. Good-bye. You are a 
 very good girl " 
 
 And Lemm made his way with hasty steps to the 
 gate, through which there was passing a gentleman who 
 was a stranger to him, dressed in a grey paletot and a 
 broad straw hat. Politely saluting him (he bowed to 
 every new face in O., and always turned away his head 
 from his acquaintances in the street — such was the rule 
 
Liza. 51 
 
 r.e had adopted), Lemm went past him, and disap- 
 peared behind the wall. 
 
 The stranger gazed at him as he retired with sur- 
 prise, then looked at Liza, and then went straight up 10 
 her. 
 
VIT. 
 
 " You won't remember me," he said, as he took off 
 his hat, "but I recognized you, though it is seven years 
 since I saw you last. You were a child then. I am 
 Lavretsky. Is your mamma at home ? Can I see her ? " 
 
 " Mamma will be so glad," replied Liza. " She has 
 heard of your arrival." 
 
 " Your name is Elizaveta, isn't it ? " asked Lavretsky, 
 as he mounted the steps leading up to the house. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " I remember you perfectly. Yours was even in 
 those days one of the faces which one does not forget. 
 1 used to bring you sweetmeats then." 
 
 Liza blushed a little, and thought to herself, " What 
 au odd man !" Lavretsky stopped for a minute in the 
 ha.ll. 
 
 Liza entered the drawing-room, in which Panshine's 
 voice and laugh were making theniselves heard. He 
 was communicating some piece of town gossip to Ma 
 ria Dmitri evna and Gedeonovsky, both of whom had 
 by th's time returned from the garden, and he was 
 laughly loudly at his own story. At the name of La- 
 vretsky, Maria Dmitrievna became nervous and turned 
 ipale, but went forward to receive him. 
 
Liza. 
 
 53 
 
 " How are you ? how are you, my dear cousin ? " she. 
 exclaimed, with an almost lachrymose voice, dwelling 
 on each word she uttered. " How glad I am to see 
 you 1 " 
 
 " How are you, my good cousin ? " replied Lavret- 
 sk}', with a friendly pressure of her outstretched hand. 
 " Is all well with you ? " 
 
 " Sit down, sit down, my dear Fedor Ivanovich. 
 Oh, how delighted I am ! But first let me introduce 
 my daughter Liza." 
 
 "I have already introduced myself to Lizavela 
 Mikhailovna," interrupted Lavretsky. 
 
 " Monsieur Panshine — Sergius Petrovich Gedeon- 
 ovsky. But do sit down. I look at you, and, really, 1 
 can scarcely trust my eyes. But tell me about your 
 health ; is it good ? " 
 
 " I am quite well, as you can see. And you, too, 
 cousin — if I can say so without bringing you bad luck ♦ 
 — ^you are none the worse for these seven years." 
 
 " When I think what a number of years it is since 
 we'last saw one another," musingly said Maria Dmit- 
 rievna. " Where do you come from now ? Where have 
 you left — that's to say, I meant" — she hurriedly cor- 
 rected herself — " I meant to say, shall you stay with us 
 long ? " 
 
 * A reference to the superstition of the " evil eye," still rife 
 among the peasants in Russia. Though it has died out among the 
 educated classes, yet the phrase, " not to cast an evil eye," is still 
 made use of in conversation. 
 
54 
 
 Liza. 
 
 "I come just now from Berlin," replied Lavretsky, 
 " and to-morrow I shall go into tht. country — to stay 
 there, in all probabiUty, a long time." 
 
 " I suppose you are going to live at Lavriki ?" 
 
 " No, not at Lavriki ; but I have a small property 
 about five-and-twenty versts from here, and I am going 
 there " 
 
 " Is that the property which Glafira Petrovna left 
 you ? " 
 
 " Yes, that's it." 
 
 " But really, Fedor Ivanovich, you have such a 
 charming house at Lavriki." 
 
 Lavretsky frowned a little. 
 
 " Yes — ^but I have a cottage on the other estate too ; 
 1 don't require any more just now. That place is — 
 most convenient for me at present." 
 
 Maria Dmitrievna became once more so embar- 
 rassed that she actually sat upright in her chair, and let 
 her hands drop by her side. Panshine came to the 
 rescue, and entered into conversation with Lavretsky. 
 Maria Dmitrievna by degrees grew calm, leant back 
 again comfortably in her chair, and from time to time 
 contributed a word or two to the conversation. But 
 still she kept looking at her guest so pitifully, sighing 
 so significantly, and shaking her head so sadly, that at 
 last he lost all patience, and asked her, somewhat 
 brusquely, if she was unwell. 
 
 " No, thank God ! " answered Maria Dmitrievna ; 
 '' but why do you ask ? " 
 
Liza. 55 
 
 " Because I thought you did not seem quite your- 
 self." 
 
 Maria Dmitrievna assumed a dignified and some- 
 what offended expression. 
 
 " If that's the way you take it," she thought, " it's a 
 matter of perfect indifference to me ; it's clear that 
 every thing slides off you like water off a goose. Any 
 one else would have withered up with misery, but you've 
 grown fat on it." 
 
 Maria Dmitrievna did not stand upon ceremony 
 when she was only thinking to herself. When she spoke 
 aloud she was more choice in her expressions. 
 
 And in reality Lavretsky did not look like a victim 
 of destiny. His rosy-cheeked, thoroughly Russian face, 
 with its large white forehead, somewhat thick nose, and 
 long straight lips, seemed to speak of robust health and 
 enduring vigor of constitution. He was powerfully 
 built, and his light hair twined In curls, like a boy's, 
 about his head. Only in his eyes, which were blue, 
 rather prominent, and a little wanting in mobility, an 
 expression might be remarked which it would be diffi- 
 cult to define. It might have been melancholy, or it 
 might have been fatigue ; and the ring of his voice 
 seemed somewhat monotonous. 
 
 All this time Panshine was supporting the burden 
 of the conversation. He brought it round to the 
 advantages of sugar making, about which he had 
 lately read two French pamphlets; their contents he 
 now proceeded to disclose, speaking with an air of 
 
56 Liza. 
 
 great modesty, but without saying a single word about 
 the sources of his information. 
 
 " Why, there's Fedia ! " suddenly exclaimed the 
 voice of Marfa Timofeevna in the next room, the door 
 of which had been left half open. " Actually, Fedia ! " 
 And the old lady hastily entered the room. Lavretsky 
 hadn't had time to rise from his chair before she had 
 caught him in her arms. " Let me have a look at you," 
 she exclaimed, holding him at a little distance from her. 
 " Oh, how well you are looking ! You've grown a little 
 older, but you haven't altered a bit for the worse, that's 
 a fact. But what makes you kiss my hand. Kiss my 
 face, if you please, unless you don't like the look of 
 my wrinkled cheeks. I dare say you never asked after 
 me, or whether your aunt was alive or no. And yet it 
 was my hands received you when you first saw the 
 light, you good-for-nothing fellow ! Ah, well, it's all 
 one. But it was a good idea of yours to come here. I 
 say, my dear," she suddenly exclaimed, turning to Maria 
 Dmitrievna, " have you offered him any refreshment ? " 
 
 " I don't want any thing," hastily said Lavretsky. 
 
 "Well, at all events, you will drink tea with ub, 
 iatyushka. Gracious heavens ! A man comes, good- 
 ness knows from how far off, and no one gives him so 
 much as a cup of tea. Liza, go and see after it 
 quickly. I remember he was a terrible glutton when he 
 was a boy, and even now, perhaps, he is fond of eating 
 and drinking." 
 
 " Allow me to pay my respects, Maria Timofeevna," 
 
Liza. 
 
 57 
 
 said Panshine, coming up to the excited old lady, and 
 making her a low bow. 
 
 " Pray excuse me, my dear sir," replied Marfa 
 Timofeevna, "I overlooked you in my joy. You're 
 just like your dear mother," she continued, turning anew 
 to Lavretsky, " only you always had your father's nose, 
 and you have it still. Well, shall you stay here long ? " 
 
 " I go away to-morrow, aunt." 
 
 " To where ? " 
 
 " To my house at Vasilievskoe." 
 
 " To-morrow ? " 
 
 " To-morrow." 
 
 " Well, if it must be to-morrow, so be it. God be 
 with you ! You know what is best for yourself. Only 
 mind you come and say good-bye." The old lady 
 tapped him gently on the cheek. " I didn't suppose 1 
 should live to see you come back ; not that I thought I 
 was going to die — no, no ; I have life enough left in me 
 Tor ten years to come. All we Pestofs are long-lived — 
 your late grandfather used to call us double-lived ; but 
 God alone could tell how long you were going to loitei 
 abroad. Well, well ! You are a fine fellow — a very 
 fine fellow. I dare say you can still lift ten poods* 
 with one hand, as you used to do. Your late father, if 
 you'll excuse my saying so, was as nonsensical as he 
 could be, but he did well in getting you that Swiss tutor. 
 Do you remember the boxing matches you used to have 
 with him ? Gymnastics, wasn't it, you used to call 
 
 * The pood weighs thirty-six pounds. 
 
 3* 
 
S^ Liza. 
 
 them ? But why should I go on cackling like this ? 1 
 shall only prevent Monsieur V?LXishine (she never laid 
 the accent on the first syllable of his name, as she 
 ought to have done) from favoring us with his opinions. 
 On the whole, we had much better go and have tea. 
 Yes, let's go and have it on the terrace. We have 
 magnificent cream — not like what they have in your 
 Londons and Parises. Come away, come away ; and 
 you, Fediouchka, give me your arm. What a strong 
 arm you have, to be sure ! I shan't fall while you're by 
 my side." 
 
 Every one rose and went out on the terrace, except 
 Gedeonovsky, who slipped away stealthily. During the 
 whole time Lavretsky was talking with the mistress of 
 the house, with Panshine and with Marfa Timofeevna, 
 that old gentleman had been sitting in his corner, 
 squeezing up his eyes and shooting out his lips, while 
 he listened with the curiosity of a child to all that was 
 being said. When he left, it was that he might hasten to 
 spread through the town the news of the recent arrival. 
 
 Here is a picture of what was taking place at eleven 
 o'clock that same evening in the Kalitines' house. 
 Down stairs, on the threshold of the drawing-room, 
 I'anshine was taking leave of Liza, and saying, as he 
 held her hand in his : — 
 
 " You know who it is that attracts me here ; you 
 know why I am always coming to your house. Of what 
 use are words when all is so clear ? " 
 
Liza. 
 
 59 
 
 Liza did not say a word in reply — she did not even 
 smile. Slightly arching her eyebrows, and growing 
 rather red, she kept her eyes fixed on the ground, but 
 did not withdraw her hand. Up stairs, in Marfa Timo- 
 feevna's room, the light of the lamp, which hung in the 
 corner before the age-embrowned sacred pictures, fell 
 on Lavretsky, as he sat in an arm-chair, his elbows 
 resting on his knees, his face hidden in his hands. In 
 front of him stood the old lady, who from time to time 
 silently passed her hand over his hair. He spent more 
 than an hour with her after taking leave of the mistress 
 of the house, he scarcely saying a word to his kind old 
 friend, and she not asking him any questions. And 
 why should he have spoken ? what could she have 
 asked ? She understood all so well, she so fully syrepa- 
 thized with all the feelings which filled his heart 
 
vm. 
 
 Fedor Ivanovich Lavretsky (we must ask oui 
 reader's permission to break off the thread of the story 
 for a time) sprang from a noble family of long descent. 
 The founder of the race migrated from Prussia during 
 the reign of Basil the Blind,* and was favored with a 
 grant of two hundred chetverts^ of land in the district 
 of Biejetsk. Many of his descendants filled various 
 official positions, and were appointed to governorships 
 in distant places, under princes and influential person- 
 ages, but none of them obtained any great amount of 
 property, or arrived at a higher dignity than that of 
 inspector of the Czar's table. 
 
 The richest and most influential of all the Lavret- 
 skys was Fedor Ivanovich's paternal great-grandfather 
 Andrei, a man who was harsh, insolent, shrewd, and 
 crafty. Even up to the present day men have never 
 ceased to talk about his despotic manners, his furious 
 temper, his senseless prodigality, and his insatiable av- 
 arice. He was very tall and stout, his complexion was 
 swarthy, and he wore no beard. He lisped, and he gen- 
 
 * In the fifteenth century. 
 
 t An old measure of land, variously estimated at from two to six 
 icres. 
 
Liza. 6 1 
 
 erally seemed half asleep. But the more quietly he 
 spoke, the more did all around him tremble. He had 
 found a wife not unlike himself. She had a round face, 
 a yellow complexion, prominent eyes, and the nose of 
 a hawk. A gypsy by descent, passionate and vindic- 
 tive in temper,, she refused to yield in any thing to her 
 husband, who all but brought her to her grave, and 
 whom, although she had been eternally squabbling with 
 him, she could not bear long to survive. 
 
 Andrei's son, Peter, our Fedor's grandfather, did not 
 take after his father. He was a simple country gentle- 
 man; rather odd, noisy in voice and slow in action, 
 rough but not malicious, hospitable, and devoted to cours- 
 ing. He was more than thirty years old when he inher- 
 ited from his father two thousand souls,* all in excellent 
 condition ; but he soon began to squander his property, 
 a part of which he disposed of by sale, and he spoilt 
 his household. His large, warm, and dirty rooms were 
 full of people of small degree, known and unknown, 
 who swarmed in from all sides like cockroaches. All 
 these visitors gorged themselves with whatever came in 
 their way, drank their fill to intoxication, and carried 
 off what they could, extolling and glorifying their affa- 
 ble host. As for their host, when he was out of humoi 
 with them, he called them scamps and parasites ; but 
 when deprived of their company, he soon found himself 
 bored. 
 
 The wife of Peter Andreich was a quiet creature 
 * Male serfs. 
 
62 Liza. 
 
 whom he had taken from a neighboring family in ac- 
 quiescence with his father's choice and command. Her 
 name was Anna Pavlovna. She never interfered in 
 any thing, received her guests cordially, and went out 
 into society herself with pleasure — although " it was 
 death " to her, to use her own phrase, to have to powder 
 herself. "They put a felt cap on your head," she used 
 to say in her old age ; " they combed all your hair 
 straight up on end, they smeared it with grease, they 
 strewed it with flour, they stuck it full of iron pins ; you 
 couldn't wash it away afterwards. But to pay a visit 
 without powdering was impossible. People would have 
 taken offence. What a torment it was ! " She liked to 
 drive fast, and was ready to play at cards from morning 
 until evening. When her husband approached the card- 
 table, she was always in the habit of covering with her 
 hand the trumper)' losses scored up against her; but 
 she had made over to him, without reserve, all her dowry, 
 all the money she had. She brought him two children 
 — a son named Ivan, our Fedor's father, and a daughter, 
 Glafira.* 
 
 Ivan was not brought up at home, but in the house of 
 an old and wealthy maiden aunt. Princess Kubensky. She 
 styled him her heir (if it had not been for that, his father 
 would not have let him go), dressed him like a doll, gave 
 him teachers of every kind, and placed him under the 
 care of a French tutor — an ex-abbd, a pupil of Jean 
 Jacques Rousseau — a certain M. Cou^-tin de Vaucelles 
 
 * The accent should be on the second syllable of this name. 
 
Liza. 63 
 
 an adroit and subtle intriguer — "the \sxy fine fleur of 
 the fimigration," as she expressed herself; and she 
 ended by marrying t]\\s fine fleur when she was almost 
 seventy years old. She transferred all her property to 
 his name, and soon afterwards, rouged, perfumed with 
 amber a la Richelieu, surrounded by negro boys, Italian 
 grey-hounds, and noisy parrots, she died, stretched on a 
 crooked silken couch of the style of Louis the Fifteenth, 
 with an enamelled snuff-box of Petitot's work in her 
 hands — and died deserted by her husband. The insin- 
 uating M. Courtin had preferred to take himself and 
 her money off to Paris. 
 
 Ivan was in his twentieth year when this unexpected 
 blow struck him. We speak of the Princess's marriage, 
 not her death. In his aunt's house, in which he had 
 suddenly passed from the position of a wealthy heir to 
 that of a hanger-on, he would not stay any longer. In 
 Petersburg, the society in which he had grown up closed 
 its doors upon him. For the lower ranks of the public 
 service, and the laborious and obscure life they involved, 
 he felt a strong repugnance. All this, it must be re- 
 membered, took place in the earliest part of the reign 
 of the Emperor Alexander I.* He was obliged, great- 
 ly against his will, to return to his father's country house. 
 Dirty, poor, and miserable did the paternal nest seem 
 10 him. The solitude and the dullness of a retired 
 country life offended him at every step. He was de- 
 voured by ennui ; besides, every one in the house, ex- 
 
 * When corruption was the rule in the pu1)lic service. 
 
6^ Liza. 
 
 cept his mother, regarded him with unloving eyes. His 
 father disliked his metropoHtan habits, his dress-coat.' 
 and shirt-frills, his books, his flute, his cleanliness — from 
 which he justly argued that his son regarded him Vi^itha 
 feeling of aversion. He was always grumbling at his 
 son, and complaining of his conduct. 
 
 " Nothing we have here pleases him," he used to say. 
 " He is so fastidious at table, he eats nothing. He can- 
 not bear the air and the smell of the room. The sight 
 of drunken people upsets him ; and as to beating any- 
 one before him, you musn't dare to do it. Then he 
 won't enter the service ; his health is delicate, forsooth ! 
 Bah ! AVhat an effeminate creature ! — and all because 
 his head is full of Voltaire ! " The old man particu- 
 larly disliked Voltaire, and also the " infidel " Diderot, 
 although he had never read a word of their works. 
 Reading was not in his line. 
 
 Peter Andreich was not mistaken. Both Diderot 
 and Voltaire really were in his son's head ; and not 
 they alone. Rousseau and Raynal and Helvetius also, 
 and many other similar writers, were in his head ; but 
 in his head only. Ivan Petrovich's former tutor, the 
 retired Abbd and encyclopaedist, had satisfied himself 
 with pouring all the collective wisdom of the eighteenth 
 century over his pupil ; and so the pupil existed, satu- 
 rated with it. It held its own in him without mixing 
 with his blood, without sinking into his mind, without 
 resolving into fixed convictions. And would it be rea- 
 sonable to ask for convictions from a youngster half ? 
 
f.!za. ^5 
 
 century ago, when we have not even yet acquired 
 any ? 
 
 Ivan Petrovich disconcerted the visitors also in his 
 father's house. He was too proud to have anything to 
 do with them ; they feared him. With his sister Gla- 
 fira, too, who was twelve years his senior, he did not at 
 all agree. This Glafira was a strange being. Plain, 
 deformed, meagre — with staring and severe eyes, and 
 with thin, compressed lips — she, in her face and her 
 voice, and. in her angular and quick movements, resem- 
 bled her grandmother, the gipsy Andrei's wife. Obsti- 
 nate, and fond of power, she would not even hear of 
 marriage. Ivan Petrovich's return home was by no 
 means to her taste. So long as the Princess Kubensky 
 kept him with her, Glafira had hoped to obtain at least 
 half of her father's property ; and in her avarice, as 
 well as in other points, she resembled her grandmother. 
 Besides this, Glafira was jealous of her brother. He 
 had been educated so well ; he spoke French so cor- 
 rectly, with a Parisian accent ; and she scarcely knew 
 how to say " Bonjour," and " Comment voiis portez 
 lous V It is true that her parents were entirely igno- 
 rant of French, but that did not make things any better 
 for her. 
 
 As to Ivan Petrovich, he did not know what to do 
 with himself for vexation and ennui ; he had not spent 
 quite a year in the country, but even this time seemed 
 to him like ten years. It was only with his mothei that 
 he was at ease in spirit ; and for whole hours he used 
 
66 Liza. 
 
 to sit in her low suite of rooms listening to the good 
 lady's simple, unconnected talk, and stuffing himself 
 with preserves. It happened that among Anna Pavlov- 
 na's maids there was a very pretty girl named Malania. 
 Intelligent and modest, with calm, sweet eyes, and fine- 
 ly-cut features, she pleased Ivan Petrovich from the 
 very first, and he soon fell in love with her. He loved 
 her timid gait, her modest replies, her gentle voice, her 
 quiet smile. .Every day she seemed to him more 
 attractive than before. And she attached . herself to 
 Ivan Petrovich with the whole strength of her soul — as 
 only Russian girls know how to devote^ themselves — 
 and gave herself to him. In a country house no secret 
 can be preserved long; in a short time almost every 
 one knew of the young master's fondness for Malania. 
 At last the news reached Peter Andreich himself. At 
 another time it is probable that he would have paid 
 very little attention to so unimportant an affair ; but he 
 had long nursed a grudge against his son, and he was 
 delighted to have an opportunity of disgracing the phi- 
 losophical exquisite from St. Petersburg. There ensued 
 a storm, attended by noise and outcry. Malania was 
 locked up in the store-room.* Ivan Petrovich was 
 summoned into his father's presence. AnnaPavlovna 
 also came running to the scene of confusion, and tried to 
 appease her husband; but he would not listen to a 
 word she said. Like a hawk, he pounced upon his son 
 
 * A sort of closet under the stairs. 
 
Liza. 6) 
 
 charging him with immorality, atheism, and hypocrisy. 
 He eagerly availed himself of so good an opportunity 
 of discharging on him all his long-gathered spite against 
 the Princess Kubensky, and overwhelmed him with in- 
 sulting expressions. 
 
 At first Ivan Petrovich kept silence, and maintained 
 h's ho'd over himself; but when his father thought fit 
 to threaten him with a disgraceful punishment, he could 
 bear it no longer. " Ah ! " he thought, '" the infidel 
 Diderot is going to be brought forward again. Well, 
 then, I will put his teaching in action." And so with a 
 quiet and even voice, although with a secret shuddering 
 in all his limbs, he told his father that it was a mistake 
 to accuse him of immorality ; that he had no intention 
 of justifying his fault, but that he was ready to make 
 amends for it, and that all the more willingly, inasmuch 
 as he felt himself superior to all prejudices ; and, in 
 fact — that he was ready to marry Malania. In uttering 
 these words Ivan Petrovich undoubtedly attained the 
 end he had in view. Peter Andreich was so confounded 
 that he opened his eyes wide, and for a moment was 
 struck dumb ; but he immediately recovered his senses, 
 and then and there, just as he was, wrapped in a dress- 
 ing-gown trimmed with squirrels' fur, and with slippers 
 on his bare feet, he rushed with clenched fists at his 
 son, who, as if on purpose, had dressed his hair that 
 day a la Titus, and had put on a blue dress-coat, quite 
 new and made in the English fashion, tasselled boots, 
 and dandified, tight-fitting buckskin pantaloons. Anna 
 
68 Liza. 
 
 Pavlovna uttered a loud shriek, and hid" her face in hci 
 hands ; meanwhile her son ran right through the house, 
 jumped into the court-yard, threw himself first into the 
 kitchen garden and then into the flower garden, flew 
 across the park into the road, and ran and ran, without 
 once looking back, until at last he ceased to hear behind 
 him the sound of his father's heavy feet, the loud and 
 broken cries with which his father sobbed out, " Stop, 
 villain ! Stop, or I will curse you ! " 
 
 Ivan Petrovich took refuge in the house of a neigh- 
 bor,* and his father returned home utterly exhausted, 
 and bathed in perspiration. There he announced, al- 
 most before he had given himself time to recover breath, 
 that he withdrew his blessing and his property from his 
 son, whose stupid books he condemned to be burnt; 
 and he gave orders to have the girl Malania sent, with 
 out delay, to a distant village. Some good people 
 found out where Ivan Petrovich was, and told him 
 everything. Full of shame and rage, he swore ven- 
 geance upon his father; and that veiy night, having 
 lain in wait for the peasant's cart on which Malania 
 was being sent away, he carried her off by force, gal- 
 loped with her to the nearest town, and there married 
 her. He was supplied with the necessary means by a 
 
 * Literally, " of a neighboring Odnodvorets." That word sig- 
 nifies one who belongs by descent to the class of nobles and pro- 
 prietors, but who has no serfs belonging to him, and is really a 
 moujik, or peasant. Some villages are composed of inhabitants of 
 this class, who are often intelligent, though uneducated. 
 
Liza. 69 
 
 neighbor, a hard-drinking, retired sailor, who was ex 
 ceedingly good-natured, and a very great lover of all 
 " noble histories," as he called them. 
 
 The next day Ivan Petrovich sent his father a letter, 
 which was frigidly and ironically polite, and then be- 
 took himself to the estate of two of his second cousins, 
 — Dmitry Pestof, and his sister Marfa Timofeevna, 
 with the latter of whom the reader is already acquainted. 
 He told them everything that had happened, announced 
 his intention of going to St. Petersburg to seek an ap- 
 pointment, and begged them to give shelter to his wife, 
 even if only for a time. At the word " wife " he sobbed 
 bitterly ; and, in spite of his metropolitan education, 
 and his philosophy, he humbly, like a thorough Russian 
 peasant, knelt down at the feet of his relations, and 
 even touched the floor with his forehead. 
 
 The Pestofs, who were kind and compassionate 
 people, willingly consented to his request. With them 
 he spent three weeks, secretly expecting an answer 
 from his father. But no answer came ; no answer 
 could come. Peter Andreich, when he received the 
 news of tlie marriage, took to his bed, and gave orders 
 that his son's name should never again be mentioned 
 to him ; but Ivan's mother, without her husband's 
 knowledge, borrowed five hundred paper roubles from 
 a neighboring priest,* and sent them to her son, with a 
 
 * Literally, " from the Blagochinny" an ecclesiastic who exer 
 cises supervision over a number of churches or parishes, a soit of 
 Rural Dean. 
 
70 Liza. 
 
 little sacred pictife for his wife. She was afraid ot 
 writing, but she told her messenger, a spare little peas 
 ant who could walk sixty versts in a day, to say to Ivan 
 that he was not to fret too much ; that please God, all 
 would yet go right, and his father's wrath would turn to 
 kindness — that she, too, would have preferred a differ- 
 ent daughter-in-law ; but that evidently God had willed 
 it as it was, and that she sent her paternal benediction 
 to Malania Sergievna. The spare little peasant had a 
 rouble given him, asked leave to see the new mistress, 
 whose gossip* he was, kissed her hand, and returned 
 home. 
 
 So Ivan Petrovich betook himself to St. Petersburg 
 with a lipht heart. An unknown future lay before him. 
 Poverty might menace him ; but he had broken with 
 the hateful life in the country, and, above all, he had 
 not fallen short of his instructors; he had really "put 
 into action," and indeed done justice to, the doctrines 
 of Rousseau, Uiderot, and the " Declaration of the 
 Rights of Man.'' The conviction of having accom- 
 plished a duty, b >ei'se of pride and of triumph, filled 
 his soul ; and the lact of having to separate from his 
 wife did not greatly alarm him ; he would far sooner 
 have been troubled by the necessity of having con- 
 stantly to live with her. He had now to think of other 
 affairs. One task was finished. 
 
 In St. Petersburg, contrary to his own expectations, 
 he was successful. The Princess Kubensky — whom 
 
 * The word is used in its old meaning of fellow-sponsor. 
 
Liza. 71 
 
 M. Courtin had already flung aside, but who had 
 Tiot yet contrived to die — in order that she miglit at 
 kast to some extent, make amends for her conduct 
 'owards her nephew, recommended him to all her 
 fi tends, and gave him five thousand roubles — almost 
 all, ':he money she had left — and a watch, with his 
 crest wrought on its back surrounded by a wreath of 
 Cupids. 
 
 Three months had not gone by before he received 
 an appointment on the staff of the Russian embassy 
 in London, whither he set sail (steamers were not even 
 talked about then) in the first homeward bound English 
 vessel he could find. A few months later he received 
 a letter from Pestof 'l"he kind-hearted gentleman 
 congratulated him on the birth of a sou, who had 
 ^ome into the world at the village of Pokrovskoe, on 
 the 20th of August, 1807, and had been named Fedor, 
 in honor of the holy martyr Fedor Stratilates. On 
 account of her extreme weakness, Malania Sergievna 
 could add only a few lines. But even those few aston- 
 ished Ivan Petrovich; he was not aware that Marfa 
 'riinofeevna had taught his wife to read and write. 
 
 It must not be supposed that Ivan Petrovich 
 gave himself up for any length of time to the sweet 
 emotion caused by paternal feeling. He was just 
 [hen paying court to one of the celebrated Phrynes or 
 Laises of the day — classical names were still in vogue 
 at that time. The peace of Tilset was only just 
 
72 Liza. 
 
 concluded,* and every one was hastening to enjoy 
 himself, every one was being swept round by a gid- 
 dy whirlwind. The black eyes of a bold beauty had 
 helped to turn his head also. He had very little 
 money, but he played cards luckily, made friends, 
 joined in all possible diversions — in a word, he sailed 
 with all sail set. 
 
 • In consequence of which the Russian embassy was withdrawp 
 from London, and Ivan Petrovich probably went to Paris. 
 
lA. 
 
 For a long time the old Lavretsky could not forgive 
 his son lor his marriage. If, at the end of six months, 
 Ivan Petrovich had appeared before him with contrite 
 mien, and had fallen at his feet, the old man would, 
 perhaps, have pardoned the offender — after having 
 soundly abused him, and given him a tap with his 
 crutch by way of frightening him. But Ivan Petrovich 
 went on ' living abroad, and, apparently, troubled him- 
 self but little about his father. " Silence ! don't dare 
 to say another word ! " exclaimed Peter Andreich to his 
 wife, every time she tried to mollify him. " That pup- 
 jjy ought to be always praying to God for me, since I 
 have not laid my curse upon him, the good-for-nothing 
 fellow ! Why, my late father would have killed him 
 with his own hands, and he would have done well." 
 All that Anna Pavlovna could do was to cross herself 
 stealthily when she heard such terrible words as these. 
 As to his son's wife, Peter Andreich would not so much 
 as hear of her at first ; and even when he had to an- 
 swer a letter in which his daughter-in-law was mentioned 
 by Pestof, he ordered a message to be sent to him to 
 say that he did not know of any one who could be his 
 4 
 
74 Liza. 
 
 daughter-in-law, and that it was contrary to the law to 
 shelter runaway female serfs, a fact of which he con- 
 sidered it a duty to warn him. But afterwards, on learn- 
 ing the birth of hib grandson, his heart softened a little ; 
 he gave orders that inquiries should be secretly made 
 on his behalf about the mother's health, and he sent 
 her — but still, not as if it came from himself — a small 
 jura of money. 
 
 Before Fedor was a year old, his grandmocher, /\.nna 
 Pavlovna, was struck down by a mortal complaint. A 
 few days before her death, when she could no longer 
 rise from her bed, she told her husband in the pres- 
 ence of the priest, while her dying eyes swam with timid 
 tears, that she wished to see her daughter-in-law, and 
 to bid her farewell, and to bless her grandson. The old 
 man, who was greatly moved, bade her set her mind at 
 rest, and immediately sent his 0\vn carriage for his 
 daughter-in-law, calling her, for the first time, Malania 
 Sergievna.* Malania arrived with her boy, and with 
 Marfa Timofeevna, whom nothing would have induced 
 to allow her to go alone, and who was determined not 
 to allow her to meet with any harm. Half dead with 
 fright, Malania Sergievna entered her father-in-law's 
 study, a nurse carrying Fedia behind her. Peter And- 
 reich looked at her in silence. She drew near and took 
 his hand, on which her quivering lips could scarcely 
 press a silent kiss. 
 
 * That is to say, no longer speaking of her as if she were still 
 a servant. 
 
Liza. 75 
 
 " Well, noble lady,"* he said at last,— "Good-day to 
 you ; let's go to my wife's room." 
 
 He rose and bent over Fedia ; the babe smiled ana 
 stretched out its tiny white hands towards him. The 
 old man was touched. 
 
 " Ah, my orphaned one ! '' he said. " You have suc- 
 cessfully pleaded your father's cause. I will not desert 
 you, little bird." 
 
 As soon as Malania Sergievna entered Anna Pav- 
 lovna's bed-room, she fell on her knees near the door. 
 Anna Pavlovna, having made her a sign to come to her 
 bedside, embraced her, and blessed her child. Then, 
 turning wOwards her husband a face worn by cruel suf- 
 fering, she would have spoken to him, but he prevented 
 ber. 
 
 " I know, I know what you want to ask," he said ; 
 " don't worry yourself. She shall remain with us, and 
 for her sake I will forgive Vanka."t 
 
 Anna Pavlovna succeeded by a great effort in get- 
 ting hold of her husband's hand and pressing it to hei 
 lips. That same evening she died. 
 
 Peter Andreich kept his word. He let his son know 
 that out of respect to his mother's last moments, and 
 for the sake of the little Fedor, he gave him back his 
 
 * Literally " thrash ed-whilc-damp noblewoman," /. e., hastily en- 
 nobled. Much corn is thrashed in Russia before it has had time 
 to get dry. 
 
 t A diminutive of Ivan, somewhat expressive of contempt 
 Vanya is the affectionate form. 
 
76 Liza. ■ 
 
 blessing, and would keep Malania Sergievna in his 
 house. A couple of small rooms up-stairs were accord- 
 ingly given to Malania, and he presented her to his most 
 important acquaintances, the one-eyed Brigadier Sku- 
 rekhine and his wife. He also placed two maid-sei 
 vants at her disposal, and a page to run her errands. 
 
 After Marfa Timofeevna had left her — who had con- 
 ceived a perfect hatred for Glafira, and had quarrelled 
 with her three times in the course of a single day — the 
 poor woman at first found her position difficult and pain- 
 ful. But after a time she attained endurance, and grew 
 accustomed to her father-in-law. He, on his part, grew 
 accustomed to her, and became fond of her, though he 
 scarcely ever spoke to her, although in his caresses 
 themselves a certain involuntary contempt showed itself. 
 But it was her sister-in-law who made Malania suffer the 
 most. Even during her mother's lifetime, Glafira had 
 gradually succeeded in getting the entire management 
 of the house into her own hands. Every one, from hei 
 father downwards, yielded to her. Without her permis- 
 sion not even a lump of sugar was to be got. She 
 would have preferred to die rather than to delegate her 
 authority to another housewife — and such a housewife 
 too ! She had been even more irritated than Peter An- 
 dreich by her brother's marriage, so she determined t;i 
 read the upstart a good lesson, and from the very first 
 Malania Sergievna became her slave. And Malania, 
 iilterjy without defence, weak in health, constantly a 
 prey to trouble and alarm — how could she have striven 
 
Liza. 77 
 
 against the proud and strong-willed Glafira ? Not a day 
 passed without Glafira reminding her of her former po- 
 sition, and praising her for not forgetting herself. Ma- 
 lania Sergievna would willingly have acquiesced in 
 these remindings and praisings, however bitter they 
 might be — but her child had been taken awav from her. 
 This drove her to despair. Under the pretext that she 
 was not qualified to see after his education, she was 
 scarcely ever allowed to go near him. Glafira under- 
 took the task. The child passed entirely into her keep- 
 ing. 
 
 In her sorrow, Malania Sergievna began to implore 
 her husband in her letters to return quickly. Peter 
 Andreich himself wished to see his son, but Ivan Pe- 
 trovich merely sent letters in reply. He thanked his 
 father for what had been done for his wife, and for the 
 money which had been sent to himself, and he promised 
 to come home soon — but he did not come. 
 
 At last the year 1812 recalled him from abroad. On 
 seeing each other for the first time after a separation of 
 six years, the father and the son met in a warm em- 
 brace, and did not say a single word in reference to 
 their former quarrels. Nor was it a time for that. All 
 Russia was rising against the foe, and they both felt 
 that Russian blood flowed in their vein.i I'eter An- 
 dreich equipped a whole regiment of volunteers at his 
 own expense. But the war ended ; the danger passed 
 away. Ivan Petrovich once more became bored, once 
 more he was allured into the distance, into that world 
 
78 Liza. 
 
 in which he had grown up, and in which he felt himself 
 at home. Malania could not hold him back ; she was 
 valued at very Httle in his eyes. Even what she really 
 had hoped had not been fulfilled. Like the rest, her 
 husband thought that it was decidedly most expedient 
 to confide Fedia's education to Glafira. Ivan's poor 
 wife could not bear up against this blow, could no', en- 
 dure this second separation. Without a murmur, at the 
 end of a few days, she quietly passed away. 
 
 In the course of her whole life she had never been 
 able to resist any thing ; and so with her illness, also, 
 she did not struggle. When she could no longer speak, 
 and the shadows of death already lay on her face, her 
 features still retained their old expression of patient 
 perplexity, of unruffled and submissive sweetness. 
 With her usual silent humility, she gazed at Glafira ; 
 and as Anna Pavlovna on her death-bed had kissed the 
 hE!.nd of Peter Andreich, so she pressed her lips to 
 Glafira's hand, as she confided to Glafira's care her only 
 child. So did this good and quiet being end her earthly 
 career. Like a shrub torn from its native soil, and the 
 next moment flung aside, its roots upturned to the sun, 
 she withered and disappeared, leaving no trace be- 
 hind, and no one to grieve for her. It is true that her 
 maids regretted her, and so did Peter Andreich. The 
 old man missed her kindly face, her silent presence. 
 " Forgive — farewell — my quiet one ! " he said, as he 
 took leave of her for the last time, in the church. He 
 wept as he threw a handful of earth into her grave. 
 
Liza. 79 
 
 He did not long survive her — not more than five 
 years. In the winter of 1819, he died peacefully in 
 Moscow, whither he had gone with Glafira and his grand- 
 son. In his will he desired to be buried by the side of 
 Anna Pavlovna and " Malasha." * 
 
 Ivan Petrovich was at that time amusing himself in 
 Paris, having retired from the service soon after the 
 year 181 5. On receiving the news of his father's death, 
 he determined to return to Russia. The organization 
 of his property had to be considered. Besides, ac- 
 cording to Glafira's letter, Fedia had finished his twelfth 
 year; and the time had come for taking serious thought 
 about his education. 
 
 * Diminutive of Malania. 
 
Ivan Pet rovich returned to Russia an Anglomaniac. 
 Short hair, starched frills, a pea-green, long-skirted 
 coat with a number of little collars ; a sour expression 
 of countenance, something trenchant and at the same 
 time careless in his demeanor, an utterance through the 
 teeth, an abrupt wooden laugh, an absence of smile, a 
 habit of convei'sing only on political or politico-eco- 
 nomical subjects, a passion for under-done roast beef 
 and port wine — every thing in him breathed, so to 
 speak, of Great Britain. He seemed entirely imbued 
 by its spirit. , But strange to say, while becoming an 
 Anglomaniac, Ivan Petrovich had also become a pa- 
 triot, — at all events he called himself a patriot, — al- 
 though he knew very little about Russia, he had not re- 
 tained a single Russian habit, and he expressed him- 
 self in Russian oddly. In ordinary talk, his language 
 was colorless and unwieldy, and absolutely bristled with 
 Gallicisms. But the moment that the conversation 
 turned upon serious topics, Ivan Petrovich immediately 
 began to give utterance to such expressions as " to 
 render manifest abnormal symptoms of enthusiasm," 
 or " this is extravagantly inconsistent with the essen- 
 tial nature of circumstances," and so forth. He had 
 
Liza 81 
 
 brought with him some manuscript plans, intended to 
 assist in the organization and improvement of the em- 
 pire. For he was greatly discontented with what he 
 saw taking place. It was the absence of system which 
 especially aroused his indignation. 
 
 At his interview with his sister, he informed her iu 
 the first words he spoke that he meant to introduce rad- 
 ical reforms on his property, and that for the future all 
 his affairs would be conducted on a new system. Gla- 
 fira made no reply, but she clenched her teeth and 
 tliought, " What is to become of me then ? " However, 
 when she had gone with her brother and her nephew to 
 the estate, her mind was soon set at ease. It is true 
 that a few changes were made in the house, and the 
 hangers-on and parasites were put to immediate flight. 
 Among their number suffered two old women, the one 
 blind, the other paralyzed, and also a worn-out major 
 of the Ochakof * days, who, on account of his great 
 voracity, was fed upon nothing but black bread and 
 lentiles. An order was given also not to receive any 
 of the former visitors ; they were replaced by a distant 
 neighbor, a certain blonde and scrofulous baron, an e.x- 
 ceedingly well brought-up and remarkably dull man. 
 New furniture was sent from Moscow ; spittoons, bells, 
 and washhand basins were introduced; the breakfast 
 was served in a novel fashion ; foreign wines replaced 
 the old national spirits and liquors ; new liveries were 
 
 * Ochakof is a town which was taken from the Turks by the 
 Russians in 1788. 
 
82 Liza. 
 
 given to the servants, and to the family coat of arms 
 was added the motto, "In recto virtus." 
 
 In reality, however, the power of Glafira did not di- 
 minish ; all receipts and expenditures were settled, as 
 before, by her. A valet, who had been brought from 
 abroad, a native of Alsace, tried to compete with her, 
 and lost his place, in spite of the protection which his 
 master generally afforded him. In all that related to 
 house-keeping, and also to the administration of the es- 
 tate (for with these things too Glafira interfered) — in 
 spite of the intention often expressed by Ivan Petro- 
 vich "to breathe new life into the chaos," — all remained 
 on the old footing. Only the obrok * remained on the 
 old footing, and the barshina \ became heavier, and the 
 peasants were forbidden to go straight to Ivan I'etio- 
 vich. The patriot already despised his fellow-citizens 
 heartily. Ivan Petrovich's system was applied in its full 
 development only to Fedia. The boy's education really 
 underwent " a radical reform." His father undertook 
 the sole direction of it himself. 
 
 * What the peasant paid his lord in money, 
 t What the peasant paid his lord in labor. 
 
XT. 
 
 Until the return of Ivan Petrovich from abroad, 
 Fedia remained, as we have already said, in the hands 
 of Glafira Petrovna. He was not yet eight years old 
 when his mother died. It was not every day that he 
 had been allowed to see her, but he had become pas- 
 sionately attached to her. His recollections of her, espe- 
 cially of her pale and gentle face, her mournful eyes, and 
 her timid caresses, were indelibly impressed upon his 
 heart. It was but vaguely that he understood her position 
 in the house, but he felt that between him and her there 
 existed a barrier which she dared not and could not de- 
 stro}'. He felt shy of his father, who, on his part, never 
 caressed him. His grandfather sometimes smoothed 
 his hair and gave him his hand to kiss, but called him 
 a savage and thought him a fool. After Malania's 
 death, his aunt took him regularly in hand. Fedia 
 feared her, feared her bright sharp eyes, her cutting 
 voice ; he never dared to make the slightest noise in 
 her presence ; if by chance he stirred ever so little on 
 his chair, she would immediately exclaim in her hissing 
 voice, " Where are you going ? sit still ! " 
 
 On Sundays, after mass, he was allowed to play — 
 that is to say, a thick book was given to him, a mysteri- 
 
84 Liza. 
 
 Gus book, the work of a certain Maksimovich-Ambodik 
 bearing the title of "Symbols and Emblems." In this 
 book there were to be found about a thousand, for '.he 
 most part, very puzzling pictures, with equally puzzling 
 explanations in five languages. Cupid, represented 
 with a naked and chubby body, played a great part in 
 these pictures. To one of them, the title of which was 
 " Saffron and the Rainbow," was appended the expla- 
 nation, " The effect of this is great." Opposite an- 
 other, which represented " A Stork, flying with a violet 
 in its beak," stood this motto, " To thee they are all 
 known ; " and " Cupid, and a bear licking its cub,'' was 
 styled " Little by Little." Fedia used to pore over these 
 pictures. He was familiar with them all even to their 
 minutest details. Some of them — it was always the 
 same ones — made him reflect, and excited his imagi- 
 nation : of other diversions he knew nothing. 
 
 When the time came for teaching him languages and 
 music, Glafira Petrovna hired an old maid for a mere 
 trifle, a Swede, whose eyes looked sideways, like a 
 hare's, who spoke French and German more or less 
 badly, played the piano so so, and pickled cucumbers 
 to perfection. In the company of this governess, of 
 his aunt, and of an old servant maid called Vasilievna, 
 Fedia passed four whole years. Sometimes he would 
 sit in a corner with his " Emblems " — there he would sit 
 and sit. A scent of geraniums filled the low room, one 
 tallow candle burnt dimly, the cricket chirped monoto- 
 nously as if it were bored, the little clock ticked busily 
 
Ltza. 85 
 
 on the wall, a mouse scratched stealthily and gnawed 
 behind the tapestry ; and the three old maids, like the 
 three Fates, knitted away silently and swiftly, the 
 shadows of their hands now scampering along, now 
 mysteriously quivering in the dusk; and strange, no 
 less dusky, thoughts were being born in the child's 
 mind. 
 
 No one would have called Fedia an interesting child. 
 He was rather pale, but stout, badly built, and awk- 
 ward — a regular moujik, to use the expression employed 
 by Glafira Petrovna. The pallor would soon have van- 
 ished from his face if they had let him go out more into 
 the fresh air. He learnt his lessons pretty well, though 
 he was often idle. He never cried, but he sometimes 
 evinced a savage obstinacy. At those times no one 
 could do any thing with him. Fedia did not love a sin- 
 gle one of the persons by whom he was surrounded. 
 Alas for that heart which has not loved in youth ! 
 
 Such did Ivan Petrovich find him when he returned ; 
 and, without losing time he at once began to apply his 
 system to him. 
 
 "I want, above all, to make a man of him — un 
 homme" he said to Glafira Petrovna " and not only a 
 man, but a Spartan." This plan he began to carry out 
 by dressing his boy in Highland costume. The twelve- 
 year-old little fellow had to go about with bare legs, 
 and with a cock's feather in his cap. The Swedish 
 governess was replaced by a young tutor from Switzer 
 land, who was acquainted with all the niceties of gym 
 
86 Liza. 
 
 nasties. Music was utterly forbidden, as an accoin 
 plishment unworthy of a man. Natural science, inter- 
 national law, and mathematics, as well as carpentry, 
 which was selected in accordance with the advice of 
 Jean Jacques Rousseau ; and heraldry, which was intro- 
 duced for the maintenance of chivalrous ideas — these 
 were the subjects to which the future "man" had to 
 give his attention. He had to get up at four in the 
 morning and take a cold bath immediately, after which 
 he had to run round a high pole at the end of a cord. 
 He had one meal a day, consisting of one dish ; he 
 rode on horseback, and he shot with a cross-bow. On 
 every fitting occasion he had to exercise himself, in 
 imitation of his father, in gaining strength of will ; and 
 every evening he used to write, in a book reserved for 
 that purpose, an account of how he had spent the day, 
 and what were his ideas on the subject. Ivan Petro- 
 vich, on his side, wrote instructions for him in French, 
 in which he styled him mon fils, and addressed him as 
 vous. Fedia used to say " thou " to his father in 
 Russian, but he did not dare to sit down in his pres- 
 ence. 
 
 The " system " muddled the boy's brains, confused 
 his ideas, and cramped his mind ; but, as far as his 
 physical health was concerned, the new kind of life 
 acted on him beneficially. At first he fell ill with a 
 fever, but he soon recovered and became a fine fellow. 
 His father grew proud of him, and styled him in his 
 curious language, "the child of nature, my creation." 
 
Liza. 8t 
 
 When Fedia reached the age of sixteen, Ivan Peirovich 
 considered it a duty to inspire him in good time with 
 contempt for the female sex — and so the young Spar- 
 tan, with the first down beginning to appear upon his 
 lips, timid in feeling, but with a body full of blood, and 
 strength, and energy, already tried to seem careless, 
 and cold, and rough. 
 
 Meanwhile time passed by. Ivan Petrovich spent 
 the greater part of the year at Lavriki — that was the 
 name of his chief hereditary estate ; but in winter he 
 used to go by himself to Moscow, where he put up at 
 a hotel, attended his club assiduously, aired his elo- 
 quence freely, explained his plans in society, and more 
 than ever gave himself out as an Anglomaniac, a 
 grumbler, and a statesman. But the year 1825 came 
 and brought with it much trouble.'' Ivan Petrovich's 
 intimate friends and acquaintances underwent a heavy 
 tribulation. He made haste to betake himself far away 
 into the country, and there he shut himself up in his 
 house. Another year passed and Ivan Petrovich sud- 
 denly broke down, became feeble, and utterly gave 
 way. His health having deserted him, the freethinker 
 began to go to church, and to order prayers to be said 
 for him ; t the European began to steam himself in the 
 
 • Arising from the conspiracy of the "Decembrists" and their 
 attempts at a revolution, on the occasion of the death of Alexandei 
 [., and the accession of Nicholas to the throne. 
 
 f Molebni : prayers in which the name of the person who has 
 paid for them is mentioned. 
 
88 Liza. 
 
 Russian bath, to dine at two o'clock, to go to bed al 
 nine, to be talked to sleep by the gossip of an old 
 house-steward; the statesman burnt all his plans and 
 all his correspondence, trembled before the governor, 
 and treated the Ispravnik* with uneasy civility; the 
 man of iron will whimpered and complained whenever 
 he was troubled by a boil, or when his soup had got 
 cold before he was served with it. Glafira again ruled 
 supreme in the house ; again did inspectors, overseers,! 
 and simple peasants begin to go up the back staircase 
 to the rooms occupied by the " old witch " — as she was 
 called by the servants of the house. 
 
 The change which had taken place in Ivan Petro- 
 vich, produced a strong impression on the mind of his 
 son. He had already entered on his nineteenth year ; 
 and he had begun to think for himself, and to shake 
 off the weight of the hand which had been pressing 
 him down. Even before this he had remarked how 
 different were his father's deeds from his words ; the 
 wide and liberal theories he professed from the hard 
 and narrow despotism he practiced ; but he had not 
 expected so abrupt a transformation. In his old age 
 the egotist revealed himself in his full nature. The 
 young Lavretsky was just getting ready to go to Mos- 
 cow, with a view to preparing himself for the university, 
 
 * Inspector of rural police. 
 
 f Prikashchiki and Burmistrui : two classes of overseers, the 
 former dealing with economical matters only, the latter having to 
 do with the administrative department also. 
 
Liza. 85 
 
 when a new and unexpected misfortune fell on the 
 head of Ivan Petrovich. In the course of a single day 
 the old man became blind, hopelessly blind. 
 
 Distrusting the skill of Russian medical men, he 
 did all he could to get permission to travel abroad. It 
 was refused. Then, taking his son with him, he wan- 
 dered about Russia for three whole years, trying one 
 doctor after another, incessantly journeying from place 
 to place, and, by his impatient fretfulness, driving his 
 doctors, his son, and his servants to the verge of de- 
 spair. Utterly used up,* he returned to Lavriki a 
 weeping and capricious infant. Days of bitterness 
 ensued, in which all suffered at his hands. He was 
 quiet only while he was feeding. Never had he eaten 
 so much, nor so greedily. At all other moments he 
 allowed neither himself nor any one else to be at 
 peace. He prayed, grumbled at fate, found fault with 
 himself, with his system, with politics, with all which 
 he used to boast of, with all that he had ever set up as 
 a model for his son. He would declare that he believed 
 in nothing, and then he would betake himself again to 
 prayer ; he could not bear a single moment of solitude, 
 and he compelled his servants constantly to sit near 
 his bed day and night, and to entertain him with stories, 
 which he was in the habit of interrupting by exclama 
 tions of, "You're all telling Hes ! " or, "What utter 
 
 nonsense 
 
 I" 
 
 Glafira Petrovna had the largest share in all the 
 
 * Literally, " a regular rag." 
 
Qo Liza. 
 
 trouble he gave. He was absolutely unable to do with 
 out her ; and until the very end she fulfilled all the in- 
 valid's caprices, though sometimes she was unable to 
 reply immediately to what he said, for fear the tone of 
 her voice should betray the anger which was almosi 
 choking her. So he creaked on for two years more, and 
 at length one day in the beginning of the month of 
 May, he died. He had been carried out to the balcony, 
 and placed there in the sun. " Glasha ! Glashka ! 
 broth, broth, you old idi — ," lisped his stammering 
 tongue ; and then, without completing the last word, it 
 became silent forever. Glafira, who had just snatched 
 the cup of broth from the hands of the major-domo, 
 stopped short, looked her brother in the face, very slow- 
 ly crossed herself, and went silently away. And his son, 
 who happened also to be on the spot, did not say a 
 word either, but bent over the railing of the balcony, 
 and gazed for a long time into the garden, all green and 
 fragrant, all sparkling in the golden sunlight of spring. 
 He was twenty-three years old ; how sadly, how swiftly 
 had those years passed by unmarked ! Life opened 
 out before him now. 
 
XII. 
 
 After his father's burial, having confided to the 
 never-changing Glafira Petrovna the administration of 
 his household, and the supervision of his agents, the 
 young Lavretsky set out for Moscow, whither a vague 
 but powerful longing attracted him. He knew in what 
 his education had been defective, and he was deter- 
 mined to supply its deficiencies as far as possible. In 
 the course of the last five years he had read much, and 
 he had see a good deal with his own eyes. Many ideas 
 had passed through his mind, many a professor might 
 have envied him some of his knowledge ; yet, at the 
 same time, he was entirely ignorant of much that had 
 long been familiar to every school-boy. Lavretsky felt 
 that he wa-s not at his ease among his fellow-men ; he 
 had a secret inkling that he was an exceptional charac- 
 ter. The Anglomaniac had played his son a crue! 
 trick ; his capricious education had borne its fruit. Foi 
 many years he had implicitly obeyed his father ; and 
 when at last he had learned to value him aright, the ef- 
 fects of his father's teaching were already produced. 
 Certain habits had become rooted in him. He did not 
 know how to comport himself towards his fellow-men ; 
 at the age of twenty-three, with an eager longing after 
 
92 Liza. 
 
 love in his bashful heart, he had not yet dared to look a 
 woman in the face. With his clear and logical, but 
 rather sluggish intellect, with his stubbornness, and his 
 tendency towards inactivity and contemplation, he 
 ought to have been flung at an early age into the whirl 
 of life, instead of which he had been dehberately kept 
 in seclusion. And now the magic circle was broken, 
 but he remained standing on the same spot, cramped 
 in mind and self-absorbed. 
 
 At his age it seemed a little ridiculous to put on the 
 uniform of a student,* but he did not fear ridicule. His 
 Spartan education had at all events been so far useful, 
 inasmuch as it had developed in him a contempt for the 
 world's gossiping. So he donned a student's uniform 
 without being disconcerted, enrolling himself in the fac- 
 ulty of physical and mathematical science. His robust 
 figure, his ruddy face, his sprouting beard, his taciturn 
 manner, produced a singular impression on his com 
 rades. They never suspected that under the rough ex- 
 terior of this man, who attended the lectures so regu- 
 larly, driving up in a capacious rustic sledge, drawn by 
 a couple of horses, something almost childlike was con- 
 cealed. They thought him an eccentric sort of pedant, 
 and they made no advances towards him, being able to 
 do very well without him. And he, for his part, avoided 
 them. During the first two years he passed at the uni- 
 versity, he became intimate with no one except the 
 
 * The students at the Russian universities used to wear a uni- 
 form, but they no longer do so. 
 
Liza. 
 
 93 
 
 student from whom she took lessons in Latin. This stu- 
 dent, whose name was Mikhalevich, an enthusiast, and 
 somewhat of a poet, grew warmly attached to Lavretsky, 
 and quite accidentally became the cause of a serious 
 change in his fortunes. 
 
 One evening, when Lavretsky was at the theatre — 
 he never missed a single representation, for Mochalof 
 was then at the. summit of his glory — he caught sight 
 of a young girl in a box on the first tier. Never before 
 had his heart beaten so fast, though at that time no 
 woman ever passed before his stern eyes without send- 
 ing its pulses flying. Leaning on the velvet border of 
 the box, the girl sat very still. Youthful animation 
 lighted up every feature of her beautiful face ; artistic 
 feeling shone in her lovely eyes, which looked out with 
 a soft, attentive gaze from underneath delicately pen- 
 cilled eyebrows, in the quick smile of her expressive 
 lips, in the bearing of her head, her arms, her neck. 
 As to her dress, it was exquisite. By her side sat a sal- 
 low, wrinkled woman of five-and-forty, wearing a low 
 dress and a black cap, with an unmeaning smile on her 
 vacant face, to which she strove to give an aspect of 
 attention. In the background of the box appeared an 
 elderly man in a roomy coat, and with a high cravat. 
 His small eyes had an expression of stupid conceit, 
 modified by a kind of cringing suspicion ; his mus- 
 tache and whiskers were dyed, he had an immense 
 meaningless forehead, and flabby cheeks : his whole ap- 
 pearance was that of a retired general. 
 
94 Liza. 
 
 Lavretsky kept his eyes fixed on the girl who had 
 made such an impression on him. Suddenly the dooi 
 of the box opened, and Mikhalevich entered. The ap- 
 pearance of the man who was almost his only acqnain*-- 
 ance in all Moscow — his appearance in the company 
 of the very girl who had absorbed his v/hole attention, 
 seemed to Lavretsky strange and significant. As ho 
 continued looking at the box, he remarked that all its 
 occupants treated Mikhalevich like an old friend. Lav- 
 retsky lost all interest in what was going on upon th-^ 
 stage ; even Mochalof, although' he was that evening 
 '' in the vein," did not produce his wonted impression 
 upon him. During one very pathetic passage, Lavret 
 sky looked almost involuntarily at the object of his ad- 
 miration. She was leaning forward, a red glow color- 
 ing her cheeks. Her eyes were bent upon the stage, 
 but gradually, under the influence of his fixed look, 
 they turned and rested on him. All night long those 
 eyes haunted him. At last, the carefully constructed 
 dam was broken through. He shivered and he burnt 
 by turns, and the very next day he went to see Mik- 
 halevich. From him he learned that the name of the 
 girl he admired so much was Varvara Pavlovna Koro- 
 bine, that the elderly people who were with her in the 
 box were her father and her mother, and that Mikhal- 
 evich had become acquainted with them the year be- 
 fore, during the period of his stay as tutor in Count 
 N.'s family, near Moscow. The enthusiast Sfoke of 
 Varvara Pavlovna in the most eulogistic terms. " This 
 
Liza. 95 
 
 girl, my brother," he exclaimed, in his peculiar, jerking 
 kind of sing-song, " is an exceptional being, one en 
 dowed with genius, an artist in the true sense of the 
 word, and besides all that, such an amiable creature." 
 Perceiving from Lavretsky's questions how great an 
 impression Varvara Pavlovna had made upon him, Mik- 
 halevich, of his own accord, proposed to make him ac- 
 quainted with her, adding that he was on the most 
 familiar terms with them, that the general was not in 
 the least haughty, and that the mother was as unintel- 
 lectual as she well could be. 
 
 Lavretsky blushed, muttered something vague, and 
 took himself off. For five whole days he fought against 
 his timidity ; on the sixth, the young Spartan donned an 
 entirely new uniform, and placed himself at the dispo- 
 sal of Mikhalevich, who, as an intimate friend of thg 
 family, contented himself with setting his hair straight — 
 and the two companions set off together to visit the 
 Karobines. 
 
XIII. 
 
 Varvara Pavlovna s father, Pavel Petrovich Ko- 
 robine, a retired major-general, had been on duty at 
 St. Petersburg during almost the whole of his life. In 
 his early years he had enjoyed the reputation of being 
 an able dancer and driller ; but as he was very poor he 
 had to act as aide-de-camp to two or three generals of 
 small renown in succession, one of whom gave him his 
 daughter in marriage, together with a dowry of 25,000 
 roubles. Having made himself master of all the sci- 
 ence of regulations and parades, even to their sub- 
 tlest details, he " went on stretching the girth " until 
 at last, after twenty years service, he became a gen- 
 eral, and obtained a regiment. At that point he might 
 have reposed, and have quietly consolidated his fortune. 
 He had indeed counted upon doing so, but he man- 
 aged his affairs rather imprudently. It seems he had 
 discovered a new method of speculating with the public 
 money. The method turned out an excellent one, but 
 he must needs practise quite unreasonable economy,* so 
 information was laid against him, and a more than disa- 
 greeable, a ruinous scandal ensued. Some how or 
 other the general managed to get clear of the affair ; 
 but his career was stopped, and he was recommended 
 
 • In other words, he stole, but he neglected to bribe. 
 
Liza. c)-j 
 
 to retire from active service. For about a couple of 
 years he lingered on at St. Petersburg, in hopes tliat a 
 snug civil appointment might fall to his lot ; but no such 
 appointment did fall to his lot. His daughter finished 
 her education at the Institute ; his expenses increased 
 day by day. So he determined, with suppressed indig- 
 nation, to go to Moscow for economy's sake ; and there, 
 in the Old Stable Street, he hired a little house with an 
 escutcheon seven feet high on the roof, and began to 
 live as retired generals do in Moscow on an income of 
 2,700 roubles a year. * 
 
 Moscow is an hospitable city, and ready to welcome 
 any one who appears there, especially if he is a retired 
 general. Pavel Petrovich's form, which, though heavy, 
 was not devoid of martial bearing, began to appear in 
 the drawing-rooms frequented by the best society of 
 Moscow. The back of his head, bald, with the excep- 
 tion of a few tufts of dyed hair, and the stained ribbon 
 of the Order of St. Anne, which he wore over a stock 
 of the color of a raven's wing, became familiar to all 
 the young men of pale and wearied aspect, who were 
 wont to saunter moodily around the card tables while a 
 dance was going on. 
 
 Pavel Petrovich understood how to hold his own in 
 society. He said little, but always, as of old, spoke 
 through the nose — except, of course, when he was talk- 
 
 * Nearly ;^400, the roubles being " silver " ones. The differ 
 ence in value between " silver " and " paper " roubles exists nc 
 longer. 
 
 s 
 
98 Liza. 
 
 •ng to people of superior rank. He played at cards 
 prudently, and when he was at home he ate with mode- 
 ration. At a party he seemed to be feeding for six. 
 Of his wife scarcely anything more can be said than 
 that her name was Calliope Carlovna — that a tear al- 
 ways stood in her left eye, on the strength of which 
 Calliope Carlovna, who to be sure was of German ex- 
 traction, considered herself a woman of feeling — that 
 she always seemed frightened about something — that 
 she looked as if she never had enough to eat — and 
 that she always wore a tight velvet dress, a cap, and 
 bracelets of thin, dull metal. 
 
 As to Varvara Pavlovna, the general's only daugh- 
 ter, she was but seventeen years old when she left the 
 Institute in which she had been educated. While 
 within its walls she was considered, if not the most 
 beautiful, at all events the most intelHgent of the pupils, 
 and the best musician, and before leaving it she obtained 
 the Cipher. * She was not yet nineteen when Lavret- 
 sky saw her for the first time. 
 
 * The initial letter of the name of the Empress, worn as a kind 
 of decoration by the best pupils in the Imperial Institutes. 
 
XIV. 
 
 The Spartan's legs trembled when Mikhalevich led 
 him into the Korobines' not over-well furnished draw- 
 ■'ng-room, and introduced him to its occupants. But 
 he overcame his timidity, and soon disappeared. In 
 General Korobine that kindliness which is common to 
 all Russians, was enhanced by the special affability 
 which is peculiar to all persons whose fair fame has 
 been a, little soiled. As for the General's wife, she soon 
 became as it were ignored by the whole party. But 
 Varvara Pavlona was so calmly, so composedly gra- 
 cious, that no one could be, even for a moment, in her 
 presence without feeling himself at his ease. And at 
 the same time from all her charming form, from her 
 smiling eyes, from her faultlessly sloping shoulders, 
 from the rose-tinged whiteness of her hands, from her 
 elastic, but at the same time as it were, irresolute gait, 
 from the very sound of her sweet and languorous voice 
 — there breathed,* like a delicate perfume, a subtle and 
 incomprehensible charm • — • something which was at 
 once tender and voluptuous and modest — something 
 which it was difficult to express in words, which stirred 
 the imagination and disturbed the mind, but disturbed 
 it with sensations wliich were not akin to timidity. 
 
loo Liza. 
 
 Lavretsky introduced the subject of the theatre and 
 the preceding night's performance ; she immediately 
 began to talk about Mochalof of her own accord, and 
 did not confine herself to mere sighs and exclamations, 
 but pronounced several criticisms on his acting, which 
 were as remarkable for sound judgment as for woman- 
 ly penetration. Mikhalevich mentioned music ; she sat 
 down to the piano without affectation, and played with 
 precision several of Chopin's mazurkas, which were 
 ;hen only just coming into fashion. Dinner time came. 
 Lavretsky would have gone away, but they made him 
 stop, and the General treated him at table with excel- 
 lent Lafitte, which the footman had been hurriedly sent 
 Dut to buy at Depre's. 
 
 It was late in the evening before Lavretsky returned 
 home ; and then he sat for a long time without undress- 
 ing, covering his eyes with his hand, and yielding to the 
 torpor of enchantment. It seemed to him that he had 
 not till now understood what makes life worth having. 
 All his resolutions and intentions, all the now valueless 
 ideas of other days, had disappeared in a moment. 
 His whole soul melted within him into one feeling, one 
 desire ; into the desire of happiness, of possession, of 
 love, of the sweetness of a woman's love. 
 
 From that day he began to visit the Korobines fre- 
 quently. After six months had passed, he proposed to 
 Varvara Pavlovna, and his offer was accepted. Long, 
 long before, even if it was not the night before Lavret- 
 sky's first visit, the General had asked Mikhalevich how 
 
Liza. 1 01 
 
 many serfs* bis friend had. Even Varvara Pavlona, 
 who had preserved her wonted composure and equa- 
 nimity during the whole period of her young admirer's 
 courtship, and even at the very moment of his declara- 
 tion — even Varvara Pavlovna knew perfectly well that 
 her betrothed was rich. And Calliope Carlovna thought 
 to herself, " Meine Tochter macht eine schone Partie " *— 
 and bought herself a new cap. 
 
 * Literally, " souls," ;'. e,, male peasants. 
 
 t JMy daughter is going to make a capital match. 
 
XV. 
 
 And so his offer was accepted, but under certain 
 conditions. In the first place, Lavretsky must imme- 
 diately leave the university. Who could think of mar- 
 rying a student ? And what an extraordinary idea, a 
 landed proprietor, a rich man, at twenty-six years of 
 age, to be taking lessons like a schoolboy ! In the sec- 
 ond place, Varvara Pavlovna was to take upon herself 
 the trouble of ordering and buying her trousseau. She 
 even chose the presents the bridegroom was to give. 
 She had very good taste, and a great deal of common 
 sense, and she possessed a great liking for comfort, 
 and no small skill in getting herself that comfort. La- 
 vretsky was particularly struck by this talent when, 
 immediately after the wedding, he and his wife set off 
 for Lavriki, travelling in a convenient carriage which 
 she had chosen herself. How carefully all their sur- 
 roundings had been meditated over by Varvara Pav- 
 lovna ! what prescience she had shown in providing 
 them ! What charming travelling contrivances made 
 thei/ appearance in the various convenient corners ! 
 what delicious toilet boxes ! what excellent coffee ma- 
 chines ! and how gracefully did Varvara Pavlovna her- 
 self make the coffee in the morning ! But it must be 
 
Liza. 
 
 103 
 
 confessed that Lavretsky was little fitted for critical 
 observation just then. He revelled in his happiness, 
 he was intoxicated by his good fortune, he abandoned 
 himself to it like a child — he was, indeed, as innocent 
 as a child, this young Hercules. Not in vain did a 
 charmed influence attach itself to the whole presence 
 of his young wife ; not in vain did she promise to the 
 imagination a secret treasure of unknown delights. 
 She was even better than her promise. 
 
 When she arrived at Lavriki, which was in the very 
 hottest part of the summer, the house seemed to her 
 sombre and in bad order, the servants antiquated and 
 ridiculous ; but she did not think it necessary to say a 
 word about this to her husband. If she had intended 
 to settle at Lavriki, she would have altered every thing 
 there, beginning of course with the house ; but the idea 
 of staying in that out-of-the-way corner never, even for 
 an instant, came into her mind. She merely lodged in 
 it, as she would have done in a tent, putting up with all 
 its discomforts in the sweetest manner, and laughing at 
 them pleasantly. 
 
 When Marfa Timofeevna came to see her old pupil, 
 she pi oduced a favorable impression on Varvara Pav- 
 lovna. But Varvara was not at all to the old lady's 
 liking. Nor did the young mistress of the house get 
 on comfortably with Glafira Petrovna. She herself 
 would have been content to leave Glafira in peace, but 
 the general was anxious to get his hand into the man- 
 agement of his son-in-law's affairs. To see after the 
 
104 Liza. 
 
 property of so near a relative, he said, was an occupa 
 tion that even a general might adopt \vithout disgrace. 
 It is possible that Pavel Petrovich would not have dis- 
 dained to occupy himself with the affairs of even an 
 utter stranger. 
 
 Varvara Pavlovna carried out her plan of attack 
 very skillfulty. Although never putting herself for- 
 ward, but being to all appearance thoroughly immersed 
 in the bliss of the honeymoon, in the quiet life of the 
 country, in music, and in books, she little by little worked 
 upon Glafira, until that lady, one morning, burst into 
 Lavretsky's study like a maniac, flung her bunch of 
 keys on the table, and announced that she could no 
 longer look after the affairs of, the household, and that 
 she did not wish to remain on the estate. As Lavret- 
 sky had been fitly prepared for the scene, he immedi- 
 ately gave his consent to her departure. This Gla:fira 
 Petrovna had not expected. " Good," she said, and 
 her brow grew dark. " I see that I am not wanted here. 
 I know that I am expelled hence, driven away from the 
 family nest. But, nephew, remember my words — no- 
 where will you be able to build you a nest ; your lot will 
 be to wander about without ceasing. There is my part- 
 ing legacy to you." That same day she went off to hei 
 own little pioperty : a week later General Korobine ar- 
 rived, and, with a pleasantly subdued air, took the 
 whole management of the estate into his own hands. 
 
 In September Varvara Pavlovna carried off her hus- 
 band to St. Petersburg. There the young couple spent 
 
Liza. 105 
 
 two winters — migrating in the summer to Tsarskoe 
 Selo. They lived in handsome, bright, admirably- 
 furnished apartments ; they made numerous acquaint- 
 ances in the upper and even the highest circles of 
 society; they went out a great deal and received 
 frequently, giving very charming musical parties and 
 dances. Varvara Pavlovna attracted visitors as a light 
 does moths. 
 
 Such a distracting life did not greatly please Fedor 
 Ivanich. His wife wanted him to enter the service ; 
 but, partly in deference to his father's memory, partly 
 in accordance with his own ideas, he would not do so, 
 though he remained in St. Petersburg to please his wife. 
 However, he soon found out that no one objected to his 
 isolating himself, that it was not without an object that 
 his study had been made the quietest and the most com- 
 fortable in the whole city, that his attentive wife was 
 ever ready to encourage him in isolating himself; and 
 from that time all went well. He again began to oc- 
 cupy himself with his as yet, as he thought, unfinished 
 education. He entered upon a new course of reading ; 
 he even began the study of English. It was curious 
 to see his powerful, broad-shouldered figure constantly 
 bending over his writing-table, his full, ruddy, bearde J 
 face, half-hidden by the leaves of a dictionary or a 
 copy-book. His mornings were always spent over his 
 work ; later in the day he sat down to an excellent din. 
 ner — for Varvara Pavlovna always managed her house- 
 hold affairs admirably ; and in the evening he entered 
 5* 
 
ro6 Liza 
 
 an enchanted, perfumed, brilliant world, all peopled by 
 young and joyous beings, the central point of their 
 world being that extremely attentive manager of the 
 household, his wife. 
 
 She made him happy with a son ; but the poor child 
 did not live long. It died in the spring ; and in the sum- 
 mer, in accordance with the advice of the doctors, 
 Lavretsky and his wife went the round of the foreign 
 Afatering- places. Distraction was absolutely neces- 
 sary for her after such a misfortune ; and, besides, 
 her health demanded a warmer climate. That sum- 
 mer and autumn they spent in Germany and Switzer- 
 land ; and in the winter, as might be expected, they 
 went to Paris. 
 
 In Paris Varvara Pavlovna bloomed like a rose ; 
 and there, just as quickly and as skilfully as she had 
 done in St. Petersburg, she learnt how to build herself 
 a snug little nest. She procured a very pretty set of 
 apartments in one of the quiet but fashionable streets, 
 she made her husband such a dressing-gown as he had 
 never worn before ; she secured an elegant lady's maid, 
 an excellent cook, and an energetic footman ; and she 
 provided herself with an exquisite carriage, and a 
 charming cabinet piano. Before a week was over she 
 could already cross a street, put on a shawl, open a par- 
 asol, and wear gloves, as well as the most pure-blooded 
 of Parisian women. 
 
 She soon made acquaintances also. At first only 
 Russians used to come to her house ; then Frenchmen 
 
Liza. roy 
 
 began to show themselves — amiable bachelors, of pol- 
 ished manners, exquisite in demeanor, and bearing 
 high-sounding names. They all talked a great deal and 
 very fast, they bowed gracefully, their eyes twinkled 
 pleasantly. All of them possessed teeth which gleamed 
 white between rosy lips ; and how beautifully they 
 smiled ! Each of them brought his friends ; and be- 
 fore long La belle Madame de Lavretski became well 
 known from the Chausk d' Antin to the Jiue de Lille. 
 At that time — it was in 1836 — the race of feuilletonists 
 and journalists, which now swarms everywhere, numer- 
 ous as the ants one sees when a hole is made in an ant- 
 hill, had not yet succeeded in multiplying in numbers. 
 Still, there used to appear in Varvara Pavlovna's draw- 
 ing-room a certain M. Jules, a gentleman who bore 
 a very bad character, whose appearance was unprepos- 
 sessing, and whose manner was at once insolent and 
 cringing — like that of all duellists and people who have 
 been horsewhipped. Varvara disliked this M. Jules 
 very much ; but she received him because he wrote in 
 several newspapers, and used to be constantly mention- 
 ing her, calling her sometimes Madame de L . . . tski, 
 sometimes Madame de * * *, cette grande dame Russe 
 
 si distinguie, qui demeure rue de P , and describing 
 
 to the whole world, that is to say to some few hun- 
 dreds of subscribers, who had nothing whatever to 
 do with Madame de L . . . tski, how loveable and 
 charming was that lady, une vraie fran(aise par I' esprit, 
 — the French have no higher praise than this, — what 
 
io8 Liza. 
 
 an extraordinary musician she was, and how wonder 
 fully she waltzed. (Varvara Pavlovna did really waltz 
 so as to allure all hearts to the skirt of her light, float- 
 ing robe.) In fact, he spread her fame abroad through- 
 out the world ; and this we know, whatever people may 
 say, is pleasant. 
 
 Mademoiselle Mars had by that time quitted the 
 stage, and Mademoiselle Rachel had not yet appeared 
 there j but for all that Varvara Pavlovna none the less 
 assiduously attended the theatres. She went into rap- 
 tures about Italian music, and laughed over the ruins 
 of Odry, yawned in a becoming manner at the legiti- 
 mate drama, and cried at the sight of Madame Dorval's 
 acting in some ultra-melodramatic piece. Above all, 
 Liszt played at her house twice, and was so gracious, so 
 unaffected ! It was charming ! 
 
 Amid such pleasurable sensations passed the win- 
 ter, at the end of which Varvara Pavlovna was even 
 presented at Court. As for Fedor Ivanovich, he was 
 not exactly bored, but life began to weigh heavily on 
 his shoulders at times — heavily because of its very 
 emptiness. He read the papers, he Hstened to the lec- 
 tures at the Sorbonne and the College de France, he fol- 
 lowed the debates in the Chambers, he occupied him- 
 self in translating a famous scientific work on irrigation. 
 " I am not wasting my time," he thought ; " all this is 
 of use ; but next winter I really must return to Russia, 
 and betake myself to active business." It would be 
 hard to say if he had any clear idea of what were the 
 
Liza. 109 
 
 special characteristics of that business, and only Heaven 
 roufd tell whether he was likely to succeed in getting 
 bacK to Russia in the winter. In the meanwhile he 
 was intending to go with his wife to Baden. But an un- 
 expetced occurrence upset all his plans 
 
AVI. 
 
 One day when he happened to go into Varvara 
 Pavlovna's boudoir during her absence, Lavretsky saw 
 a carefully folded little piece of paper lying on the 
 floor. Half mechanically he picked it up and opened 
 it — and read the following lines written in French : — 
 
 " My dear angel Betty. 
 
 " (I really cannot make up my mind to call you 
 Barbe or Varvara). I have waited in vain for you at 
 the corner of the Boulevard. Come to our rooms to- 
 morrow at half-past one. That excellent husband of 
 yours is generally absorbed in his books at that time — 
 we will sing over again that song of your poet Pushkin 
 which you taught me, ' Old husband, cruel husband ! ' 
 A thousand kisses to your dear little hands and feet. I 
 await you. " Ernest." 
 
 At first Lavretsky did not comprehend the meaning 
 of what he had read. He read it a second time — an J 
 his head swam, and the ground swayed beneath his feel 
 like the deck of a ship in a storm, and a half-stifled 
 sound issued from his lips, that was neither quite a cry 
 nor quite a sob. 
 
Liza. 1 1 1 
 
 He was utterly confounded. He had trusted his 
 wife so bhndly ; the possibihty of deceit or of treachery 
 on her part had never entered into his mind. This 
 Ernest, his wife's lover, was a pretty boy of about three- 
 and-twenty, with light hair, a turned-up nose, and a 
 small moustache — probably the most insignificant of 
 all his acquaintances. 
 
 Several minutes passed ; a half hour passed. Lav- 
 retsky still stood there, clenching the fatal note in his 
 hand, and gazing unmeaningly on the floor. A sort of 
 dark whirlwind seemed to sweep roT^nd him, pale faces 
 to glimmer through it. 
 
 A painful sensation of numbness had seized his 
 heart. He felt as if he were falling, falling, falling — 
 into a bottomless abyss. 
 
 The soft rustle of a silk dress roused him from his 
 torpor by its familiar sound. Varvara Pavlovna came 
 in hurriedly from out of doors. Lavretsky shuddered 
 all over and rushed out of the room. He felt that at 
 that moment he was ready to tear her to pieces, to 
 strangle her with his own hands, at least to beat her all 
 but to death in peasant fashion. Varvara Pavlovna, in 
 her amazement, wanted to stay him. He just succeed- 
 ed in whispering " Betty" — and then he fled from th; 
 house. 
 
 Lavretsky took a carriage and drove ontside the 
 barriers. All the rest of the day, and the whole of the 
 night he wandered about, constantly stopping and 
 wringing his hands above his head. Sometimes he was 
 
112 Liza. 
 
 frantic with rage, at others every thing seemed to move 
 him to laughter, even to a kind of mirth. When the 
 morning dawned he felt half frozen, so he entered a 
 wretched little suburban tavern, asked for a room, anc* 
 sat down on a chair before the window. A convulsive 
 fit of yawning seized him. By that time he was scarce 
 !y able to keep upright, and his bodily strength was ut 
 terly exhausted. Still he was not conscious of fatigue 
 But fatigue had its own way. He continued sitting 
 there and gazing vacantly, but he comprehended noth- 
 ing. He could not make out what had happened to him, 
 why he found himself there, alone, in an empty, unknown 
 room, with numbed limbs, with a sense of bitterness in 
 his mouth, with a weight like that of a great stone on 
 his heart. He could not understand what had induced 
 her, his Varvara, 'to give herself to that Frenchman, and 
 how, knowing herself to be false to him, she could have 
 remained as calm as ever in his presence, as confiding 
 and caressing as ever towards him. " I cannot make 
 it out," whispered his dry lips. "And how can I be 
 
 sure iiow that even at St. Petersburg ? " but he did 
 
 not complete the question ; a fresh gaping fit seized 
 him, and his whole frame shrank and shivered. Sunny 
 and sombre memories equally tormented him. He sud- 
 denly recollected how a few days before, she had sat at 
 the piano, when both he and Ernest were present, and 
 had sung " Old husband, cruel husband !" He remem- 
 bered the expression of her face, the strange brilliance 
 of her eyes, and the coloi in her cheeks — and he rose 
 
Liza. 113 
 
 from his chair, longing to go to them and say, " You 
 were wrong to play your tricks on me. My great grand- 
 father used to hang his peasants on hooks by their ribs, 
 and my grandfather was a peasant himself," — and then 
 kill them both. All of a sudden it would appear to him 
 as if every thing that had happened were a dream, even 
 not so much as a dream, but just some absurd fancy; 
 as if he had only to give himself a shake and take a 
 look round — and he did look round; and as a hawk 
 claws a captured bird, so did his misery strike deeper 
 and deeper into his heart. What made things worse 
 was that Lavretsky had hoped, in the course of a few 
 months, to find himself once more a father. His past, 
 his future, his whole Ufe was poisoned. 
 
 At last he returned to Paris, went to a hotel, and 
 sent Varvara Pavlovna M. Ernest's note with the fol- 
 lowing letter : — 
 
 •' The scrap of paper which accompanies this will 
 explain every thing to you. I may as well tell you that 
 you do not seem to have behaved in this matter with 
 your usual tact. You, so careful a person, to drop such 
 important papers (poor Lavretsky had been preparing 
 this phrase, and fondling it, as it were, for several 
 hours). I can see you no more, and I suppose that 
 you too can have no wish for an interview with me. I 
 assign you fifteen thousand roubles a year. I cannot 
 give you more. Send your address to the steward of 
 my estate. And now do what you like ; live where you 
 please. I wish you all prosperity. I want no answer." 
 
114 Liza. 
 
 Lavretsky told his wife that he wanted no answer ; 
 but he did expect, he even longed for an answer — an 
 explanation of this strange, this incomprehensible af- 
 fair. That same day Varvara Pavlovna sent him a 
 long letter in French. It was the final blow. His last 
 doubts vanished, and he even felt ashamed of having 
 retained any doubts. Varvara Pavlovna did not attempt 
 to justify herself. All that she wanted was to see him ; 
 she besought him not to condemn her irrevocably. The 
 letter was cold and constrained, though marks of tears 
 were to be seen on it here and there. Lavretsky 
 smiled bitterly, and sent a message by the bearer, to 
 the effect that the letter needed no reply. 
 
 Three days later he was no longer in Paris ; but he 
 went to Italy, not to Russia. He did not himself know 
 why he chose Italy in particular. In reality, it was all 
 the same to him where he went — so long as he did not 
 go home. He sent word to his steward about his wife's 
 allowance, ordering him, at the same time, to withdraw 
 the whole management of the estate from General Ko- 
 robine immediately, without waiting for any settlement 
 of accounts, and to see to his Excellency's departure 
 from Lavriki. He indulged in a vivid picture of the 
 confusion of the expelled general, the useless airs 
 which he would put on, and, in spite of his sorrow, he 
 was conscious of a certain malicious satisfaction. At 
 the same time he wrote to Glafira Petrovna, asking her 
 to return to Lavriki, and drew up a power-of-attorney 
 in her name, But Glafira Petrovna would not return 
 
Liza. 115 
 
 to Lavriki ; she even advertised in the newspapers 
 that the power-of-attorney was cancelled, — a perfectly 
 superfluous proceeding on her part. 
 
 Lavretsky hid himself in a little Italian town ; but 
 for a long time he could not help mentally following 
 his wife's movements. He learned from the newspapers 
 that she had left Paris for Baden, as she had intended. 
 Her name soon appeared in a short article signed by 
 the M. Jules of whom we have already spoken. The 
 perusal of that article produced a very unpleasant ef- 
 fect on Lavretsky's mind. He detected in it, under- 
 neath the writer's usual sprightliness, a sort of tone of 
 charitable commiseration. Next he learned that a 
 daughter had been born to him. Two months later he 
 was informed_ by his steward that Varvara Pavlovna 
 had drawn her first quarter's allowance. After that, 
 Scandalous reports about her began to arrive ; then 
 they became more and more frequent ; at last a tragi- 
 comic story, in which she played a very unenviable 
 part, ran the round of all the journals, and created a 
 great sensation. Affairs had come to a climax. Var- 
 vara Pavlovna was now "a celebrity." 
 
 Lavretsky ceased to follow her movements. But i< 
 was long before he could master his own feelings 
 Sometimes he was seized by such a longing after hiE 
 wife, that he fancied he would have been ready to give 
 every thing he had — that he could, perhaps, even have 
 forgiven her — if only he might once more have heard 
 ner caressing voice, have felt once more her hand in 
 
ii6 Liza. 
 
 his. But time did not pass by in vain. He was not 
 born for suffering. His liealthy nature claimed its 
 rights. Many things became intelligible for him. The 
 very blow which had struck him seemed no longer to 
 have come without warning. He understood his wife 
 now. We can never fully understand persons with 
 whom we are generally in close contact, until we have 
 been separated from them. He was able to apply 
 himself to business again, and to study, although now 
 with much less than his former ardor ; the scepticism 
 for which both his education and his experience of life 
 had paved the way, had taken lasting hold upon his 
 mind. He became exceedingly indifferent to every 
 thing. Four years passed by, and he felt strong enough 
 to return to his home, to meet his own people. With- 
 out having stopped either at St. Petersburg or at Mos- 
 cow, he arrived at O., where we left him, and whithei 
 we now entreat the reader to return with us. 
 
XVII. 
 
 About ten o'clock in the morning, on the day after 
 that of which we have already spoken, Lavretsky was 
 goiug up the steps of the Kalitines' house, when he 
 met Liza with her bonnet and gloves on. 
 
 " Where are you going ? " he asked her. 
 
 " To church. To-day is Sunday." 
 
 " And so you go to church ? " 
 
 Liza looked at him in silent wonder. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said Lavretsky. " I — I did 
 not mean to say that. I came to take leave of you. I 
 shall start for my country-house in another hour." 
 
 " That isn't far from here, is it .' " asked Liza. 
 
 " About five-and-twenty versts.'' 
 
 At this moment Lenochka appeared at the door, ac- 
 companied by a maid-servant. 
 
 " Mind you don't forget us," said Liza, and went 
 down the steps. 
 
 " Don't forget me either. By the way," he contin- 
 ued, " you are going to church j say a prayer for me 
 too, while you are there." . 
 
 Liza stopped and turned towards him. 
 
 " Very well," she said, looking him full in the face. 
 " I will pray for you, too. Come, Lenochka." 
 
1 1 8 Liztt. 
 
 Lavretsky found Maria Dinitrievna alone in the 
 drawing-room, which was redolent of Eau de Cologne 
 and peppermint. Her head ached, she said, and she 
 had spent a restless night. 
 
 She received him with her usual languid amiability, 
 and by degrees began to talk. 
 
 " Tell me,' she asked him, " is not Vladimir Niko- 
 laevich a very agreeable young man ? " 
 
 " Who is Vladimir Nikolaevich ? " 
 
 " Why Panshine, you know, who was here yesterday. 
 He was immensely delighted with you. Between our- 
 selves I may mention, mon cher cousin, that he is per- 
 fectly infatuated with my Liza. Well, he is of good 
 family, he is getting on capitally in the service, he is 
 clever, and besides he is a chamberlain ; and if such be 
 the will of God — 1, for my part, as a mother, shall be 
 glad of it. It is certainly a great responsibility ; most 
 certainly the happiness of children depends upon their 
 parents. But this much must be allowed. Up to the 
 present time, whether well or ill, I have done every 
 thing myself, and entirely by myself. I have brought 
 up my children and taught them every thing myself — 
 and now I have just written to Madame Bulous for a 
 governess " 
 
 Maria Dmitrievna launched out into a description 
 of her cares, her efforts, her maternal feelings. Lav- 
 retsky listened to her in silence, and twirled his hat in 
 his hands. His cold, unsympathetic look at last dis- 
 concerted the talkative lady. 
 
Liza. ng 
 
 " And what do you think of Liza ? " she asked. 
 
 " Lizaveta Mikhailovna is an exceedingly handsome 
 girl," replied Lavretsky. Then he got up, said good- 
 bye, and went to pay Marfa Timofeevna a visit. Ma- 
 ria Dmitrievna looked after him with an expression of 
 dissatisfaction, and thought to herself, " What a bear ! 
 what a moujik ! Well, now I understand why his wife 
 couldn't remain faithful to him." 
 
 Marfa Timofeevna was sitting in her room, sur- 
 rounded by her court. This consisted of five beings, 
 almost equally dear to her heart — an educated bull- 
 finch, to which she had taken an affection because it 
 could no longer whistle or draw water, and which was 
 afHicted with a swollen neck; a quiet and exceedingly 
 timid little dog, called Roska ; a bad-tempered cat, 
 named Matros ; a dark-complexioned, lively little girl 
 of nine, with very large eyes and a sharp nose, whose 
 name was Shurochka ; * and an elderly lady of about 
 fifty-five, who wore a white cap and a short, cinnamon- 
 colored katsaveika \ over a dark gown, and whose name 
 was Nastasia Carpovna Ogarkof. 
 
 Shurochka was a fatherless and motherless girl, 
 whose relations belonged to the lowest class of the 
 bourgeoisie. Marfa Timofeevna had adopted her, as 
 well as Roska, out of pity. She had found both the 
 dog and the girl out in the streets. Both of them weie 
 thin and cold ; the autumn rain had drenched thein 
 
 * One of the many diminutives of Alexandrina. 
 f A kind of jacket worn by women. 
 
120 Liza. 
 
 both. No one ever claimed Roska, and as to Shuroch 
 ka, she was even gladly given up to Marfa Timofeevna 
 by her uncle, a drunken shoemaker, who never had 
 enough to eat himself, and could still less provide food for 
 his niece, whom he used to hit over the head with his last. 
 
 As to Nastasia Carpovna, Marfa Timofeevna had 
 made acquaintance with her on a pilgrimage, in a mon- 
 astery. She went up to tliat old lady in church one 
 day, — Nastasia Carpovna h"ad pleased Marfa Timofeev- 
 na by praying a; the latter lady said, " in very good 
 taste" — began to talk to her, and invited her home to a 
 cup of tea. From that day she parted with her no 
 more. Nastasia Carpovna, whose father had belonged 
 to the class of poor gentry, was a widow without chil- 
 dren. She was a woman of a very sweet and happy 
 disposition; she had a round head, grey hair, and soft, 
 white hands. Her face also was soft, and her features, 
 including a somewhat comical snub nose, were heavy 
 but pleasant. She worshipped Marfa Timofeevna, who 
 loved her dearly, although she teased her greatly about 
 her susceptible heart. Nastasia Carpovna had a weak- 
 ness for all young men, and never could help blushing 
 ike a girl at the most innocent joke. Her whole prop- 
 erty consisted of twelve hundred paper roubles.* She 
 lived at Marfa Timofeevna's expense, but on a footing 
 of perfect equality with her. Marfa Timofeevna could 
 not have endured any thing like servility. 
 
 "Ah, Fedia!" she began, as soon as she saw him 
 
 * About £$o. 
 
Liza. 121 
 
 " You didn't see my family last night. Please to ad- 
 mire them now ; we are all met together for tea. This 
 is our second, our feast-day tea. You may embrace us 
 all. Only Shurochka wouldn't let you, and the car 
 would scratch you. Is it to-day you go ?" 
 
 " Yes," taid Lavretsky, sitting down on a low chair, 
 ' I have just taken leave of Maria Dmitrievna. I saw 
 Lizaveta Mikhailovna too." 
 
 " Call her Liza, my dear. Why should she be Mik- 
 hailovna for you .'' But do sit still, or you will break 
 Shurochka's chair.'' 
 
 " She was on her way to church,'' continued Lavret- 
 sky. " Is she seriously inclined .'" 
 
 " Yes, Fedia, very much so. More than you or I, 
 Fedia." 
 
 " And do you mean to say you are not seriously in- 
 clined ? " lisped Nastasia Carpovna. " If you have not 
 gone to the early mass to-day, you will go to the later 
 one.'' 
 
 " Not a bit of it. Thou shalt go alone. I've grown 
 lazy, my mother," answered Marfa Timofeevna. " I am 
 spoiling myself terribly with tea drinking." 
 
 She said thou to Nastasia Carpovna, although she 
 lived on a footing of equality with her — but it was not 
 for nothing that she was a Pestof. Three Pestofs oc- 
 cur in the Sinodik* of Ivan the Terrible. Marfa Timo- 
 feevna was perfectly well aware of the fact. 
 
 * I.e., in the list of the nobles of his time, in the sixteenth cen- 
 tuiy. 
 
122 Liza 
 
 '' Tell me, please," Lavretsky began again. " Maria 
 Dmitrievna was talking to me just now about that — 
 what's his name ? — Panshine. What sort of a man is he ?" 
 
 " Good Lord ! what a chatter-box she is !" grumbled 
 Marfa Timofeevna. " I've no doubt she has communi- 
 cated to you as a secret that he hangs about here as a 
 suitor. She might have been contented to whisper 
 about it with her popovich* But no, it seems that is 
 not enough for her. And yet there is nothing settled 
 so far, thank God ! but she's always chattering." 
 
 " Why do you say ' Thank God ?' " asked Lavretsky. 
 
 " Why, because this fine young man doesn't please 
 me. And what is there in the matter to be delighted 
 about, I should like to know ?'' 
 
 " Doesn't he please you 1 " 
 
 " No ; he can't fascinate every one. It's enough 
 for him that Nastasia Carpovna here is in love with 
 him." 
 
 The poor widow was terribly disconcerted. 
 
 "How can you say so, Marfa Timofeevna '>. Do not 
 you fear God ? " she exclaime I, and a blush instantly 
 suffused her face and neck. 
 
 " And certainly the rogue knows how to fascinate 
 her," broke in Marfa Timofeevna. " He has given her 
 a snuff-box. Fedia, ask her for a pinch of snuff. You 
 will see what a splendid snuff-box it is. There is a hus- 
 sar on horseback on the lid. You had much better ngl 
 try to exculpate yourself, my mother." 
 
 *The priest's son. /. c, Gedeonovsky. 
 
LiT.a 123 
 
 Nastasia Carpovna could only wave her hands with 
 a deprecatory air. 
 
 " Well, but about Liza ? " asked Lavretsky. " Is he 
 indifferent to her ? " 
 
 "She seems to like him^and as to the rest. God 
 knows. Another person's heart, you know, is a dark 
 forest, and more especially a young girl's. l,ook at 
 Shurochka there ! Come and analyze her's. AVhy has 
 she been hiding herself, but not going away, ever since 
 you came in ? " 
 
 Shurochka burst into a laugh she was unable to 
 stifle, and ran out of the room. Lavretsky also rose 
 from his seat. 
 
 " Yes," he said slowly ; " one cannot fathom a girl's 
 heart." 
 
 As he was going to take leave, 
 
 "Well ; shall we see you soon ? " asked Marfa Tim- 
 ofeevna. 
 
 " Perhaps, aunt. It's no great distance to where 
 I'm going." 
 
 " Yes ; you're going, no doubt, to Vasilievskoe. 
 You won't live at Lavriki. Well, that's your affair. 
 Only go and kneel down at your mother's grave, and 
 your grandmother's, too, while you are there. You have 
 picked up all kinds of wisdom abroad there, and per- 
 haps, who can tell, they may feel, even in their graves, 
 that you have come to visit them. And don't forget, 
 Fedia, to have a service said for Glafira Petrovna, too. 
 Here is a rouble for you. Take it, take it please ; it is 
 
1 24 Liza. 
 
 I who wish to have the service performed for her. 1 
 didn't love her while she lived, but it must be confessed 
 that she was a girl of character. She was clever. And 
 then she didn't hurt you. And now go, and God bn 
 with you — else I shall tire you." 
 
 And Marfa Timofeevna embraced her nephew. 
 
 " And Liza shall not marry Panshine ; don't make 
 yourself uneasy about that. He isn't the sort of man 
 she deserves for a husband." 
 
 " But I am not in the least uneasy about it," re- 
 marked Lavretsky as he retired. 
 
XVIII. 
 
 Four hours later he was on his way towards his 
 home. His tarantass rolled swiftly along the soft cross- 
 road. There had been no rain for a fortnight. The 
 atmosphere was pervaded by a light fog of milky hue, 
 which hid the distant forests from sight, while a smell 
 or burning filled the air. A number of dusky clouds 
 with blurred outlines stood out against a pale blue sky, 
 and lingered, slowly drawn. A strongish wind swept 
 by in an unbroken current, bearing no moisture with 
 it, and not dispelling the great heat. His head lean- 
 ing back on the cushions, his arms folded across 
 his breast, Lavretsky gazed at the furrowed plains 
 which opened fanwise before him, at the cytisus shrubs, 
 at the crows and rooks which looked sideways at the 
 passing carriage with dull suspicion, at the long ridges 
 planted with mugwort, wormwood, and mountain ash. 
 He gazed — and that vast level solitude, so fresh and so 
 fertile, that expanse of verdure, and those sweeping 
 slopes, the ravines studded with clumps of dwarfed 
 oaks, the grey hamlets, the thinly-clad birch trees — all 
 this Russian landscape, so long by him unseen, filled 
 his mind with feelings which were sweet, but at the 
 same time almost sad, and gave rise to a certain heav- 
 
126 Liza. 
 
 iness of heart, but one which was more akin to a pleas 
 ure than to a pain. His thoughts wandered slowly past, 
 their forms as dark and ill-defined as those of the 
 clouds, which also seemed vaguely wandering there on 
 high. He thought of his childhood, of his mother, 
 how they brought him to her on her death-bed, and how, 
 pressing his head to her breast, she began to croon over 
 liim, but looked up at Glafira Petrovna and became si- 
 lent. He thought of his father, at first robust, brazen- 
 voiced, grumbling at every thing — then blind, queru- 
 lous, with white, uncared-for beard. He remembered 
 how one day at dinner, when he had taken a little too 
 much wine, the old man suddenly burst out laughing, 
 and began to prate about his conquests, winking his 
 blind eyes the while, and growing red in the face. He 
 thought of Varvara Pavlovna — and his face contracted 
 involuntarily, like that of a man who feels some sudden 
 pain, and he gave his head an impatient toss. Then hi.<; 
 thoughts rested on Liza. " There," he thought, " is a new 
 life just beginning. A good creature ! I wonder what 
 will become of her. And she's pretty, too, with her 
 pale, fresh face, her eyes and lips so serious, and that 
 frank and guileless way she has of looking at you. It's 
 a pity she seems a'little enthusiastic. And her figure 
 is good, and she moves about lightly, and she has a 
 quiet voice. I like her best when she suddenly stands 
 still, and listens attentively and gravely, then becomes 
 contemplative and shakes her hair back. Yes, I agree, 
 Panshine isn't worthy of her. Yet what harm is there 
 
Liza. 
 
 127 
 
 in him? However, as to all that, why am I troubling 
 my head about it ? She will follow the same road that 
 all others have to follow. I had better go to sleep.'' 
 And Lavretsky closed his eyes. 
 
 He could not sleep, but he sank into a traveller's 
 dreamy reverie. Just as before, pictures of by-gone 
 days slowly rose and floated across his mind, blending 
 with each other, and becoming confused with other 
 scenes. Lavretsky began to think — heaven knows 
 why — about Sir Robert Peel ; then about French his- 
 tory ; lastly, about the victory which he would have 
 gained if he had been a general. The firing and the 
 shouting rang in his ears. His head slipped on one 
 side; he opened his eyes — the same fields stretched 
 before him, the same level views met his eyes. The 
 iron shoes of the outside horses gleamed brightly by 
 turns athwart the waving dust, the driver's yellow * shirt 
 swelled with the breeze. " Here I am, returning vir- 
 tuously to my birth-place," suddenly thought Lavretsky, 
 and he called out, " Get on there ! " drew his cloak 
 more closely around him, and pressed himself still 
 nearer to the cushion. The tarantass gave a jerk. 
 Lavretsky sat upright and opened his eyes wide. On 
 the slope before him extended a small village. A little 
 to the right was to be seen an old manor house of mod- 
 est dimensions, its shutters closed, its portico awry. 
 On one side stood a barn built of oak, small, but well 
 
 * Yellow, with red pieces let in under the armpits. 
 
128 Liza. 
 
 preserved. The wide court-yard was entirely over 
 grown by nettles, as green and thick as hemp. This 
 was Vasilievskoe. 
 
 The driver turned aside to the gate, and stopped his 
 horses. Lavretsky's servant rose from his seat, ready 
 to jump down, and shouted " Halloo ! " A hoarse, dull 
 barking arose in reply, but no dog made its appearance. 
 The lackey again got ready to descend, and again cried 
 " Halloo ! " The feeble barking was repeated, and di- 
 rectly afterwards a man, with snow-white hair, dressed 
 in a nankeen caftan, ran into the yard from one of the 
 corners. He looked at the tarantass, shielding his eyes 
 from the sun, then suddenly struck both his hands upon 
 his thighs, fidgeted about nervously for a moment, and 
 finally ran to open the gates. The tarantass entered 
 the court-yard, crushing the nettles under its wheels, 
 and stopped before the portico. The white-headed 
 old man, who was evidently of a very active turn, was 
 already standing on the lowest step, his legs spread 
 awkwardly apart. He unbuttoned the apron of the 
 carriage, pulling up the leather with a jerk, and kissed 
 his master's hand while assisting him to alight. 
 
 " Good day, good day, brother,'' said Lavretsky. 
 " Your name is Anton, isn't it . So you're still alive ? " 
 
 The old man bowed in silence, and then ran to fetch 
 the keys. While he ran, the driver sat motionless, 
 leaning sideways and looking at the closed door ; and 
 Lavretsky's man-servant remained in the picturesque 
 attitude in which he found himself after springing 
 
Liza. i2g 
 
 down to the ground, one of his arms listing on the 
 box seat. The old man brought the keys and opened 
 the door, Ufting his elbows high the while, and need- 
 lessly wriggling his body — then he stood on one side, 
 and again bowed down to his girdle. 
 
 " Here I am at home, actually returned !" thought 
 I.avretsky, as he entered the little vestibule, while the 
 shutters opened, one after another, with creak and 
 rattle, and the light of day penetrated into the long- 
 deserted rooms. 
 
XIX. 
 
 The little house at which Lavretsky had arrived, 
 and in which Glafira Petrovna had died two years be- 
 fore, had been built of solid pine timber in the preced- 
 ing century. It looked very old, but it was good for 
 another fifty years or more. Lavretsky walked through 
 all the rooms, and, to the great disquiet of the faded 
 old flies which clung to the cornices without moving, 
 their backs covered with white dust, he had the windows 
 thrown open everywhere. Since the death of Glafira 
 Petrovna, no one had opened them. " Every thing had 
 remained precisely as it used to be in the house. In 
 the drawing-room the little white sofas, with their thin 
 legs, and their shining grey coverings, all worn and 
 rumpled, vividly recalled to mind the times of Catha- 
 rine. In that room also stood the famous arm-chair of 
 the late proprietress, a chair with a high, straight back, 
 in which, even in her old age, she used always to sit 
 bolt upright. On the wall hung an old portrait of 
 Fedor's great-grandfather, Andrei Lavretsky. His 
 dark, sallow countenance could scarcely be distin- 
 guished against the cracked and darkened background. 
 His small, malicious eyes looked out morosely from 
 beneath the heavy, apparently swollen eyelids. His 
 
Liza. 131 
 
 black hair, worn without powder, rose up stiff as a 
 brush above his heavy, wrinkled forehead. From the 
 corner of the portrait hung a dusky wreath of immor- 
 telles. " Glafira Petrovna deigned to weave it herself," 
 observed Anthony. In the bed-room stood a narrow 
 bedstead, with curtains of some striped material, ex- 
 tremely old, but of very good quality. On the bed lay 
 a heap of faded cushions and a thin, quilted counter- 
 pane ; and above the bolster hung a picture of the 
 Presentation of the Blessed Virgin in the Temple, the 
 very picture which the old lady, when she lay dying, 
 alone and forgotten, pressed for the last time with lips 
 which were already beginning to grow cold. Near the 
 window stood a toilet table, inlaid with different kinds 
 of wood and ornamented with plates of copper, sup- 
 porting a crooked mirror in a frame of which the gild- 
 ing had turned black. In a line with the bed-room was 
 the oratory, a little room with bare walls ; in the corner 
 stood a heavy case for holding sacred pictures, and on 
 the floor lay the scrap of carpet, worn threadbare, and 
 covered with droppings from wax candles, on which 
 Glafira Petrovna used to prostrate herself when she 
 prayed. 
 
 Anton went out with Lavretsky's servant to open 
 the stable and coach-house doors. In his stead ap- 
 peared an old woman, almost as old as himself, her 
 hair covered by a handkerchief, which came down to 
 her very eyebrows. Her head shook and her eyes 
 seemed dim ; but they wore, also, an expression of 
 
132 Liza. 
 
 zealous obedience, habitual and implicit, and, at the 
 same time, of a kind of respectful condolence. She 
 kissed Lavretsky's hand, and then remained near the 
 door, awaiting his orders. He could not remember 
 what her name was, nor even whether he had ever seen 
 her before. It turned out that her name was Apraxia. 
 Some forty years previously, Glafira Petrovna had 
 struck her off the list of the servants who lived in the 
 house, and had ordered her to become a poultry-maid. 
 She seldom spoke, seemed half idiotic, and always wore 
 a servile look. Besides this old couple, and three 
 paunchy little children in long shirts, Anton's great- 
 grandchildren, there lived also in the seigniorial house- 
 hold an untaxable * moujik, who had only one arm. He 
 cackled like a black-cock, and was fit for nothing. Of 
 very little more use was the infirm old hound which 
 had saluted Lavretsky's return by its barking. For ten 
 whole years it had been fastened to a heavy chain, pur- 
 chased by order of Glafira Petrovna, a burden under 
 which it was now scarcely able to move. 
 
 Having examined the house, Lavretsky went out into 
 the garden, and was well pleased with it. It was all 
 overgrown with steppe grass, with dandelions, and with 
 gooseberry and raspberry bushes ; but there was plenty 
 of shade in it, a number of old lime-trees growing there, 
 of singularly large stature, with eccentrically ordered 
 branches. They had been planted too close together, 
 
 * One who had not received the usual grant of land from the 
 community, and was not subject to rates like the rest 
 
Liza. 133 
 
 and a hundred years seemed to have elapsed since they 
 were pruned. At the end of the garden was a small, 
 clear lake, surrounded by a fringe of high, leddish-col- 
 ored rushes. The traces of a human life that is past 
 soon disappear. Glafira's manor-house had not yet 
 grown wild, but it seemed to have become already im- 
 mersed in that quiet slumber which all that is earthly 
 sleeps, whenever it is not affected by the restlessness of 
 humanity. 
 
 Lavretsky also went through the village. The women 
 looked at him from the door-ways of their cottages, 
 each resting her cheek upon her hand. The men bowed 
 low from afar, the children ran out of sight, the dogs 
 barked away at their ease. At last he felt hungry, but 
 .he did not expect his cook and the other servants till 
 the evening. The waggon bringing provisions from 
 Lavriki had not yet arrived. It was necessary to have 
 recourse to Anton. The old man immediately made his 
 arrangements. He caught an ancient fowl, and killed 
 and plucked it. Apraxia slowly squeezed and washed 
 it, scrubbing it as if it had been linen for the wash, be- 
 fore putting it into the stewpan. When at last it was 
 ready, Anton laid the table, placing beside the dish a 
 three-footed plated salt-cellar, blackened with age, and 
 a cut-glass decanter, with a round glass stopper in its 
 narrow neck. Then, in a kind of chant, he announced 
 to Lavretsky that dinner was ready, and took his place 
 behind his master's chair, a napkin wound around his 
 right hand, and a kind of air of the past, like the odor 
 
134 Liza. 
 
 of cyprcjs-wood hanging about him. Lavretsky tasted 
 the broth, and took the fowl out of it. The bird's skin 
 was covered all over with round blisters, a thick tendon 
 ran up each leg, and the flesh was as tough as wood, and 
 had a flavor like that which pervades a laundry. After 
 dinner Lavretsky said that he would take tea if 
 
 " I will bring it in a moment," broke in the old man, 
 and he kept his promise. A few pinches of tea were 
 found rolled up in a scrap of red paper. Also a small, 
 but very zealous and noisy little samovar'* was discov- 
 ered, and some sugar in minute pieces, which looked as 
 if they had been all but melted away. Lavretsky drank 
 his tea out of a large cup. From his earliest childhood 
 he remembered this cup, on which playing cards were 
 painted, and from which only visitors were allowed to 
 drink ; and now he drank from it, like a visitor. 
 
 Towards the evening came the servants. Lavretsky 
 did not like to sleep in his aunt's bed, so he had one 
 made up for him in the dining-room. After putting out 
 the candle, he lay for a long time looking around him, 
 and thinking what were not joyous thoughts. He ex- 
 perienced the sensations which every one knows who has 
 had to spend the night for the first time in a long unin 
 habited room. He fancied that the darkness which 
 pressed in upon him from all sides could not accustom 
 itself to the new tenant — that the very walls of the house 
 were astonished at him. At last he sighed, pulled the 
 counterpane well over him, and went to sleep. Anton 
 • Urn. 
 
Liza. 135 
 
 remained on his legs long after every one else had gone 
 to bed. For some time he spoke in a whisper to 
 Apraxia, sighing low at intervals, and three times he 
 crossed himself. The old servants had never expected 
 that their master would settle down among them at 
 Vasilievskoe, when he had such a fine estate, with a 
 well-appointed manor-house close by. They did not 
 suspect what was really the truth, that Lavriki was re- 
 pugnant to its owner, that it aroused in his mind too 
 painful recollections. After they had whispered to each 
 other enough, Anton took a stick, and struck the watch- 
 man's board, which had long hung silently by the barn. 
 Then he lay down in the open yard, without troubling 
 himself about any covering for his white head. The 
 May night was calm and soothing, and the old man slept 
 .soundly. 
 
XX. 
 
 The next day Lavretsky rose at a tolerably early 
 hour, chatted with the starosta* visited the rick-yard, 
 and had the chain taken off the yard dog, which just 
 barked a little, but did not even come out of its kennel. 
 Then, returning home, he fell into a sort of quiet rev- 
 erie, from which he did not emerge all day. " Here I 
 am, then, at the very bottom of the river ! "f he said to 
 himself more than once. He sat near the window with- 
 out stirring, and seemed to listen to the flow of the quiet 
 life which surrounded him, to the rare sounds which 
 came from the village solitude. Behind the nettles some 
 one was singing with a thin, feeble voice ; a gnat seemed 
 to be piping a second to it. The voice stopped, but the 
 gnat still went on piping. Through the monotonous and 
 obtrusive buzzing of the flies might be heard the hum- 
 ming of a large humble bee, which kept incessantly 
 striking its head against the ceiling. A cock crowed in 
 the street, hoarsely protracting its final note, a cart rat- 
 ded past, a gate creaked in the village. " What ? " sud- 
 denly screeched a woman's voice. " Ah, young lady 1 " 
 
 * The head of the village. 
 
 t A popular phrase, to express a life quiet as the depths of a 
 river are. 
 
Liza. lyi 
 
 said Anton to a little girl of two j'ears old whom ht was 
 carrying in his arms. " Bring the kvass here," continued 
 the same woman's voice. Then a death-like silence 
 suddenly ensued. 
 
 Nothing stirred, not a sound was audible. The wind 
 did not move the leaves. The swallows skimmed along 
 he ground one after another without a cry, and their 
 silent flight made a sad impression upon the heart of 
 the looker-on. " Here I am, then, at the bottom of the 
 river," again thought Lavretsky. " And here life is 
 always sluggish and still ; whoever enters its circle must 
 resign himself to his fate. Here there is no use in agi- 
 tating oneself, no reason why one should give oneself 
 trouble. He only will succeed here who traces his on- 
 ward path as patiently as the plougher traces the fur- 
 row with his plough. And what strength there is in all 
 around ; what robust health dwells in the midst of this 
 inactive stillness ! There under the window climbs the 
 large-leaved burdock from the thick grass. Above it 
 the lovage extends its sappy stalk, while higher still the 
 Virgin's tears hang out their rosy tendrils. Farther 
 away in the fields shines the rye, and the oats are al- 
 ready in ear, and every leaf or. its tree, every blade of 
 grass on its stalk, stretches itself out to its full extent. 
 On a woman's love my best years have been wasted ! " 
 (Lavretsky proceeded to think.) " Well, then, let the 
 dulness here sober me and calm me down ; let it edu- 
 cate me into being able to work like others without hur- 
 rying." And he again betook himself to listening to the 
 
138 Liza. 
 
 silence, without expecting anything, and yet, at the same 
 time, as if incessantly expecting something. The still 
 ness embraced him on all sides ; the sun went down 
 quietly in a calm, blue sky, on which the clouds floated 
 tranquilly, seeming as if they knew why and whither 
 they were floating. In the other parts of the world, at 
 that very moment, life was seething, noisily bestirring 
 itself. Here the same life flowed silently along, like 
 water over meadow grass. It was late in the evening 
 before Lavretsky could tear himself away from the con- 
 templation of this life so quietly welling forth — so tran- 
 quilly flowing past. Sorrow for the past melted away 
 in his mind as the snow melts in spring ; but, strange 
 to say, never had the love of home exercised so strong 
 or so profound an influence upon him. 
 
XXI. 
 
 In the course of a fortnight Lavretsky succeeded in 
 netting Glafira Petrovna's little house in order, and in 
 trimming the court-yard and the garden. Its stable be- 
 came stocked with horses ; comfortable furniture was 
 brought to it from Lavriki ; and the town supplied it 
 with wine, and with books and newspapers. In short, 
 Lavretsky provided himself with every thing he wanted, 
 and began to lead a life which was neither exactly that 
 of an ordinary landed proprietor, nor exactly that of a 
 regular hermit. His days passed by in uniform regu- 
 larity, but he never found them dull, although he had 
 no visitors. He occupied himself assiduously and at- 
 tentively with the management of his estate ; he rode 
 about the neighborhood, and he read. But he read lit- 
 tle. He preferred listening to old Anton's stories. 
 
 Lavretsky generally sat at the window, over a pipe 
 and a cup of cold tea. Anton would stand at the door, 
 his hands crossed behind his back, and would begin a 
 deliberate narrative about old times, those fabulous 
 times when oats and rye were sold, not by measure, but 
 in large sacks, and for two or three roubles the sack ; 
 when on all sides, right up to the town, there stretched 
 impenetrable forests and untouched steppes. " But 
 
I40 Liza. 
 
 now," grumbled the old man, over whose head eighty 
 years had already passed, " everything has been so cut 
 down and ploughed up that one can't drive anywhere.' 
 Anton would talk also at great length about his late mis- 
 tress, Glafira Petrovna, saying how judicious and eco- 
 nomical she was, how a certain gentleman, one of her 
 young neighbors, had tried to gain her good graces for 
 a time, and had begun to pay her frequent visits ; and 
 how in his honor she had deigned even to put on her 
 gala-day cap with massacas ribbons, and her yellow dress 
 made of tru-tru-levantine ; but how, a little later, having 
 become angry with her neighbor, that gentleman, on ac- 
 count of his indiscreet question, " I suppose, madam, 
 you doubtless have a good sum of money in hand ? " 
 she told her servants never to let him enter her house 
 again — and how she then ordered that, after her death, 
 every thing, even to the smallest rag, should be handed 
 over to Lavretsky. And, in reality, Lavretsky found his 
 aunt's property quite intact, even down to the gala-day 
 cap with the massacas ribbons, and the yellow dress of 
 tru-tru-Uvantine. 
 
 As to the old papers and curious documents on 
 which Lavretsky had counted, he found nothing of the 
 kind except one old volume in which his grandfather, 
 Peter Andreich, had made various entries. In one 
 place might be read, " Celebration in the city of SL 
 Petersburg, of the Peace concluded with the Turkish 
 Empire by his Excellency, Prince Alexander Alexan- 
 drovich Prozorovsky " In another, " Recipe of a de- 
 
Liza. 141 
 
 coction for the chest," with the remark, " This prescrip- 
 tion was given the Generaless Prascovia Fedorovna 
 Saltykof, by the Archpresbyter of the Life-beginning 
 Trinity, Fedor Avksentevich." Sometimes there oc- 
 curred a piece of political information, as follows : — 
 
 " About the French tigers there is somehow si- 
 lence " — and close by, " In the Moscow Gazette there is 
 an announcement of the decease of the First-Major 
 Mikhail Petrovich Kolychef. Is not this the son of 
 Peter Vasilievich Kolychef?" 
 
 Lavretsky also found some old calendars and dream- 
 books, and the mystical work of M. Ambodik. Many 
 a memory did the long-forgotten but famihar " Symbols 
 and Emblems " recall to his mind. In the furthest re- 
 cess of one of the drawers in Glafira's toilette-table, 
 Lavretsky found a small packet, sealed with black wax, 
 and tied with a narrow black ribbon. Inside the packet 
 were two portraits lying face to face, the one, in pastel, 
 of his father as a young man, with soft curls falling 
 over his forehead, with long, languid eyes, and with a 
 half- open mouth ; the other an almost obliterated pic- 
 ture of a pale woman, in a white dress, with a white rose 
 in her hand — his mother. Of herself Glafira never 
 would allow a portrait to be taken. 
 
 " Although I did not then live in the house,'' Ante 1 
 would say to Lavretsky, " yet I can remember your great 
 grandfather, Andrei Afanasich. I was eighteen years 
 old when he died. One day I met him in the garden — 
 then my very thighs began to quake. But he didn't do 
 
142 Liza. 
 
 anything, only asked me what my name was, and sent 
 me to his bed-room for a pocket-handkerchief. He was 
 truly a seigneur — every one must allow that ; and he 
 wouldn't allow that any one was better than himself. 
 Foi I may tell you, your great grandfather had such a 
 wonderful amulet — a monk from Mount Athos had given 
 him that amulet — and that monk said to him, ' I give 
 thee this, O Boyar, in return for thy hospitality. Wear 
 it, and fear no judge.' Well, it's true, as is well known, 
 that times were different then. What a seigneur want- 
 ed to do, that he did. If ever one of the gentry took 
 it into his head to contradict him, he would just look at 
 him, and say, ' Thou swimmest in shallow water ' * — 
 that was a favorite phrase with him. And he lived, did 
 your great grandfather of blessed memory, in small, 
 wooden rooms. But what riches he left behind him ! 
 What silver, what stores of all kinds ! All the cellars 
 were crammed full of them. He was a real manager. 
 That little decanter which you were pleased to praise 
 was his. He used to drink brandy out of it. But just 
 see ! your grandfather, Peter Andreich, provided him- 
 self with a stone mansion, but he lived worse than his 
 father, and got himself no satisfaction, but spent all his 
 money, and now there is nothing to remember him by — 
 not so much as a silver spoon has come down to us 
 from him ; and for all that is left, one must thank Glafira 
 Petrovna's care." 
 
 * Part of a Russian proverb. 
 
Liza. 143 
 
 " But is it true," interrupted Lavretsky, " that people 
 used to call her an old witch ? " 
 
 " But, then, who called her so ? " replied Anton, with 
 an air of discontent. 
 
 " But what is our mistress doing now, batyushka i " 
 the old man ventured to ask one day. " Where does she 
 please to have her habitation ? " 
 
 " I am separated from my wife,'' answered Lavret- 
 sky, with an effort. " Please don't ask me about her." 
 
 " I obey," sadly replied the old man. 
 
 At the end of three weeks Lavretsky rode over to 
 O., and spent the evening at the Kalitines' house. He 
 found Lemm there, and took a great liking to him. Al- 
 though, thanks to his father, Lavretsky could not play 
 any instrument, yet he was passionately fond of music 
 — of classical, serious music, that is to say. Panshine 
 was not at the Kalitines' that evening, for the Governor 
 had sent him somewhere into the country. Liza played 
 unaccompanied, and that with great accuracy. Lemm 
 grew lively and animated, rolled up a sheet of paper, 
 and conducted the music. Maria Dmitrievna looked at 
 him laughingly for a while, and then went off to bed. 
 According to her, Beethoven was too agitating for her 
 nerves. 
 
 At midnight Lavretsky saw Lemm home, and re- 
 mained with him till three in the morning. Lemm 
 talked a great deal. He stooped less than usual, his 
 eyes opened wide and sparkled, his very hair remained 
 pushed off from his brow. It was so long since any 
 
144 Liza. 
 
 one had shown any sympathy with him, and Lavretsky 
 was evidently interested in him, and questioned him 
 carefully and attentively. This touched the old man. 
 He ended by showing his music to his guest, and he 
 played, and even sang, in his worn-out voice, some pas- 
 sages from his own works ; among others, an entire 
 ballad of Schiller's that he had set to music — that of 
 Fridolin. Lavretsky was loud in its praise, made him 
 repeat several parts, and, on going away, invited him to 
 spend some days with him. Lemm, who was conduct- 
 ing him to the door, immediately consented, pressing 
 his hand cordially. But when he found himself alone 
 in the fresh, damp air, beneath the just-appearing 
 dawn, he looked round, half-shut his eyes, bent himself 
 together, and crept back, hke a culprit, to his bed-room. 
 " Ich bin wohl fiichtklug " — (" I must be out of my wits "), 
 he murmured, as he lay down on his short, hard bed. 
 
 He tried to make out that he was ill when, a few days 
 later, Lavretsky's carriage came for him. But Lavret- 
 sky went up into his room, and persuaded him to go. 
 Stronger than every other argument with him was the 
 fact that Lavretsky had ordered a piano to be sent out 
 to the country-house on purpose for him. The two com- 
 panions went to the Kalitines' together, and spent the 
 evening there, but not quite so pleasantly as on the 
 previous occasion. Panshine was there, talking a great 
 deal about his journey, and very amusingly mimicking 
 the various proprietors he had met, and parodying their 
 conversation. Lavretsky laughed, but Lemm refused 
 
Liza. 145 
 
 to come out of his corner, where he remained in silence, 
 noiselessly working his limbs like a spider, and wearing 
 a dull and sulky look. It was not till he rose to take 
 leave that he became at all animated. Even when sit- 
 ting in the carriage, the old man at first seemed still un- 
 sociable and absorbed in his own thoughts. But the 
 calm, warm air, the gentle breeze, the dim shadows, the 
 scent of the grass and the birch buds, the peaceful 
 light of the moonless, starry sky, the rhythmical tramp 
 and snorting of the horses, the mingled fascinations of 
 the journey, of the spring, of the night — all entered 
 into the soul of the poor German, and he began to talk 
 with Lavretsky of his own accord. 
 
XXTI. 
 
 He began to talk about music, then about Liza, and 
 then again about music. He seemed to pronounce his 
 words more slowly when he spoke of Liza. Lavretsky 
 turned the conversation to the subject of his compo- 
 sitions, and offered, half in jest, to write a libretto for 
 him. 
 
 " Hm ! a libretto ! " answered Lemm. " No ; that is 
 beyond me. I no longer have the animation, the play 
 of fancy, which are indispensable for an opera. Al- 
 ready my strength has deserted me. But if I could 
 still do something, I should content m5'self with a ro- 
 mance. Of course I should lik-i good words." 
 
 He became silent, and sat foi a long time without 
 moving, his eyes fixed on th° sky. 
 
 " For instance," he said at length, " something in 
 this way--' O stars, pure stars ! ' " 
 
 Lavretsky turned a little, and began to regard hira 
 attentively 
 
 " ' O stars, pure stars ! ' " repeated Lemm, •' ' you 
 look alike on the just and the unjust. But only the 
 innocent of heart ' — or something of that kind — ' under- 
 stand you ' — tliat is to say, no — ' love you.' However, 
 
Liza. 
 
 147 
 
 I am not a poet. What am I thinking about? But 
 something of that kind — something lofty." 
 
 Lamm pushed his hat back from his forehead. 
 Seen by the faint twilight of the clear night, his face 
 seemed paler and younger. 
 
 " ' And you know also,' " he continued, in a gradual- 
 ly lowered voice, " ' you know those who love, who 
 know how to love ; for you are pure, you alone can con- 
 sole.' No ; all that is not what I mean. I am not a 
 poet. But something of that kind." 
 
 " I am sorry that I am not a poet either," remarked 
 Lavretsky. 
 
 " Empty dreams ! " continued Lemm, as he sank 
 into the corn^.r of the carriage. Then he shut his eyes 
 as if he had made up his mind to go to sleep. 
 
 Several minutes passed. Lavretsky still listened. 
 
 " Stars, pure stars . . . love ' " whispered the old 
 man. 
 
 " Love ! " repeated Lavretsky to himself. Then he 
 fell into a reverie, and his heart grew heavy within him. 
 
 " You have set ' Fridolin ' to charming music, 
 Christopher Fedorovich," he said aloud after a time. 
 But what is your opinion .? This Fridolin, after he 
 had been brought into the presence of the countess by 
 her husband, didVt he then immediately become her 
 lover — eh ? " 
 
 " You think so," answered Lemm, " because, most 
 ikely, experience — ■ — " 
 
 He stopped short, and turned away in confusion. 
 
i^g L.tza. 
 
 Lavretsky uttered a forced laugh. Then he too 
 turned away from his companion, and began looking 
 out along the road. 
 
 The stars had already begun to grow pale, and the 
 sky to turn grey, when the carriage arrived before the 
 steps of the little house at Vasilievskoe. Lavretsky 
 conducted his guest to his allotted room, then went to 
 his study, and sat down in front of the window. Out in 
 the garden a nightingale was singing its last song before 
 the dawn. Lavretsky remembered that at the Kali- 
 tines' also a nightingale had sung m.the garden. He 
 remembered also the quiet movement of Liza's eyes 
 when, at its first notes, she had turned toward the dark 
 casement. He began to think of her, and his heart 
 grew calm. 
 
 "Pure maiden," he said, in a half-whisper, "pure 
 stars," he added, with a smile, and then quietly lay 
 down to sleep. 
 
 But Lemm sat for a long time on his bed, with a 
 sheet of music on his knees. It seemed as if some 
 sweet melody, yet unborn, were intending to visit him. 
 He already underwent the feverish agitation, he already 
 felt the fatigue and the delight, of its vicinity ; but it 
 always eluded him. 
 
 " Neither poet nor musician ! " he whispered at last ; 
 and his weary head sank heavily upon the pillow. 
 
 The next morning Lavretsky and his guest drank 
 their tea in the garden, under an old lime-tree. 
 
■ Li)ia. 
 
 149 
 
 " Maestro," said Lavretsky, among other things, 
 "you will soon have to compose a festal cantata." 
 
 " On what occasion ?" 
 
 " Why, on that of Mr. Panshine's marriage with 
 Liza. Didn't you observe what attention he paid her 
 yesterday ? All goes smoothly with them evidently." 
 
 " That will never be !" exclaimed Lemm. 
 
 " Why ?" 
 
 " Because it's impossible. However," he adder' 
 after pausing awhile, " in this world everything is pos- 
 sible. Especially in this country of yours — in Russia." 
 
 " Let us leave Russia out of the question for the 
 present. But what do you see objectionable in that 
 marriage ? " 
 
 " Every thing is objectionable — every thing. Liza- 
 veta Mikhailovna is a serious, true-hearted girl, with 
 lofty sentiments. But he — he is, to describe him by 
 one word, a dil-le-tante.^'' 
 
 " But doesn't she love him ?" 
 
 Lemm rose from his bench. 
 
 " No, she does not love him. That is to say, she is 
 very pure of heart, and does not herself know the mean- 
 ing of the words, ' to love.' Madame Von Kalitine 
 tells her that he is an excellent, young man ; and she 
 obeys Madame Von Kalitine because she is still quite 
 a child, although she is now nineteen. She says her 
 prayers every morning ; she says her prayers every 
 evening — and that is very praiseworthy. But she does 
 not love him. She can love only what is noble. But he 
 -S not noble ; that is to say, '^■'^ <!""' is not nohle.." 
 
150 Liza. 
 
 Lemm uttered the whole of this speech fluently, and 
 with animation, walking backwards and forwards with 
 short steps in front of the tea-table, his ejres running 
 along the ground meanwhile. 
 
 " Dearest Maestro !" suddenly exclaimed Lavretsky, 
 " I think you are in love with my cousin yourself. 
 
 Lemm suddenly stopped short. 
 
 " Please do not jest with me in that way," he began, 
 with faltering voice. " I am not out of my mind. I 
 ook forward to the dark grave, and not to a rosy 
 future." 
 
 Lavretsky felt sorry for the old man, and begged his 
 pardon. After breakfast Lemm played his cantata, and 
 after dinner, at Lavretsky's own instigation, he again 
 began to talk about Liza. I^avretsky listened to him 
 attentively and with curiosity. 
 
 "^Vhat do you say to this, Christophor Fedoro- 
 vitch ? " he said at last. " Every thing seems in order 
 tiere now, and the garden is in full bloom. Why 
 shouldn't I invite her to come here for the day, with her 
 mother and my old aunt — eh ? Will that be agreeable 
 to you?" 
 
 Lemm bowed his head over his plate. 
 
 " Invite her," he said, in a scarcely audible voice. 
 
 " But we needn't ask Panshine." 
 
 " No, we needn't," answered the old man, with an 
 almost childlike smile. 
 
 Two days later Lavretsky went into town and to the 
 Kalatines'. 
 
XXIV. 
 
 He found them all at home, but he did not tell them 
 of his plan immediately. He wanted to speak to Liza 
 alone first. Chance favored him, and he was left alone 
 with her in the drawing-room. They began to talk. As 
 a general rule she was never shy with any one, and by 
 this time she had succeeded in becoming accustomed to 
 him. He listened to what she said, and as he looked 
 at her face, he musingly repeated Lemm's words, and 
 agreed with him. It sometimes happens that two per- 
 sons who are already acquainted with each other, but 
 not intimately, after the lapse of a few minutes sud- 
 denly become familiar friends — and the consciousness 
 of this familiarity immediately expresses itself in their 
 looks, in their gentle and kindly smiles, in their gestures 
 themselves. And this happened now with Lavretsky 
 and Liza. " Ah, so that's what's you're like ! " thought 
 she, looking at him with friendly eyes. " Ah, so that's 
 what's you're like ! " thought he also ; and therefore he 
 was not much surprised when she informed him, not 
 without some little hesitation, that she had long wanted 
 to say something to him, but that she was afraid of 
 vexing him. 
 
 "Don't be afraid, speak out," he said, standing stil! 
 in front of her. 
 
Liza raised her clear eyes to his. 
 
 " You are so good," she began — and at the same 
 time she thought, "yes, he is really good " — " I hope you 
 will forgive me. I scarcely ought to have ventured to 
 speak to you about it — but how could you — why did 
 you separate from your wife ? " 
 
 Lavretsky shuddered, then looked at Liza, and sat 
 down by her side. 
 
 " My child," he began to say, " I beg you not to 
 touch upon that wound. Your touch is light, but — in 
 spite of all that, it will give me pain." 
 
 " I know," continued Liza, as if she had not heard 
 him, "that she is guilty before you. I do not want to 
 justify her. But how can they be separated whom God 
 has joined together ? " 
 
 " Our convictions on that score are widel) dif- 
 ferent, Lizaveta Mikhailovna," said Lavretsky, some- 
 what coldly. " We shall not be able to understand one 
 another." 
 
 Liza grew pale. Her whole body shuddered slightly, 
 but she was not silenced. 
 
 "You ought to forgive," she said quietly," if you 
 wish also to be forgiven." 
 
 " Forgive ! " cried Lavretsky ; you ought first to 
 know her for whom you plead. Forgive that woman, 
 take her back to my house, her, that hollow, heartless, 
 creature ! And who has told you that she wants to re- 
 turn to me ? Why, she is completely satisfied with het 
 position. But why should we talk of her .' Her name 
 
Liza. 
 
 IS3 
 
 ought never to be uttered by you. You are too-pure, 
 you are not in a position even to understand such a 
 being." 
 
 " Why speak so bitterly ? " said Liza, with an effort. 
 The trembling of her hands began to be apparent 
 " You left her of your own accord, Fedor Ivanich." 
 
 " But I tell you," replied Lavretsky, with an invol- 
 untary burst of impatience, " you do not know the sort 
 of creature she is." 
 
 Then why did you marry her ? " whispered Liza, 
 with downcast eyes. 
 
 Lavretsky jumped up quickly from his chair. 
 
 " Why did I marry her 1 I was young and inexpe- 
 rienced then. I was taken in. A beautiful exterior 
 fascinated me. I did not understand women ; there 
 was nothing I did understand. God grant you may 
 make a happier marriage ! But take my word for it, it 
 is impossible to be certain about anything." 
 
 " I also may be unhappy," said Liza, her voice be- 
 ginning to waver, " but then I shall have to be resigned. 
 I cannot express myself properly, but I mean to say 
 that if we are not resigned " 
 
 Lavretsky clenched his hands and stamped his foot. 
 
 " Dont't be angry ; please forgive me," hastily said 
 Liza. At that moment Maria Dmitrievna came into 
 the room. Liza stood up and was going away, when 
 Lavretsky unexpectedly called after her : 
 
 " Stop a moment. I have a great favor to ask of 
 your mother and you. It is that you will come and pay 
 7* 
 
154 i^tza. 
 
 rnea'visit in my new home. I've got a piano, you 
 know ; Lamm is stopping with me ; the lilacs are in 
 bloom. You will get a breath of country air, and be 
 able to return the same day. Do you consent ? " 
 
 Liza looked at her mother, who immediately as- 
 sumed an air of suffering. But Lavretsky did not give 
 Madame Kalatine time to open her mouth. He instantly 
 took both of her hands and kissed them, and Maria 
 Dmitrievna, who always responded to winning ways, 
 and had never for a moment expected such a piece of 
 politeness from " the bear," felt herself touched, and 
 gave her consent. While she was considering what 
 day to appoint, Lavretsky went up to Liza, and, still 
 under the influence of emotion, whispered aside to her, 
 " Thanks. You are a good girl. I am in the wrong." 
 Then a color came into her pale face, which lighted up 
 with a quiet but joyous smile. Her eyes also smiled. 
 Till that moment she had been afraid that she had of- 
 fended him. 
 
 " M. Panshine can come with us, I suppose ? " asked 
 Maria Dmitrievna. 
 
 " Of course," replied Lavretsky. " But would it not 
 be better for us to keep to our family circle ? " 
 
 " But I think " began Maria Dmitrievna, adding, 
 
 however, " Well, just as you like.'' 
 
 It was settled that Lenochka and Shurochka should 
 go. Marfa Timofeevna refused to take part in the ex- 
 cursion. 
 
 " It's a bore to me, my dear," she said, " to move 
 
Liza. 155 
 
 my old bones ; and there's nowhere, I suppose, in your 
 house where I could pass the night; besides, I never 
 can sleep in a strange bed. Let these young folks caper 
 as they please." 
 
 Lavretsky had no other opportunity of speaking 
 with Liza alone, but he kept looking at her in a manner 
 that pleased her, and at the same time confused her a 
 little. She felt very sorry for him. When he went 
 away, he took leave of her with a warm pressure of 
 the hand. She fell into a reverie as soon as she found 
 herself alone. 
 
XXIV.* 
 
 On entering the drawing-room, after hif, teturn home, 
 Lavretsky met a tall, thin man, with a wrinkled but an- 
 imated face, untidy grey whiskers, a long, straight nose, 
 and small, inflamed eyes. This individual, who was 
 dressed in a shabby blue surtout, was Mikhalevich, his 
 former comrade at the University. At first Lavretsky 
 did not recognize him, but he warmly embraced him as 
 soon as he had made himself known. The two friends 
 had not seen each other since the old Moscow days. 
 Then followed exclamations and questions. Memories 
 long lost to sight came out again into the light of day. 
 Smoking pipe after pipe in a hurried manner, gulping 
 down his tea, and waving his long hands in the air, 
 Mikhalevich related his adventures. There was nothing 
 very brilliant about them, and he could boast of but 
 little success in his various enterprises ; but he kept in- 
 cessantly laughing a hoarse, nervous laugh. It seemed 
 that about a month previously he had obtained a post 
 in the private counting-house of a rich brandy-farmer,t 
 at about three hundred versts from O., and having heard 
 of Lavretsky's return from abroad, he had turned out 
 of his road for the purpose of seeing his old friend 
 
 * Omitted in the French translation. 
 
 f One of the contractors who used to purchase the right of 
 supplying the people with brandy. 
 
Liza. 
 
 157 
 
 again. He spoke just as jerkingly as he used to do in 
 the days of youth, and he became as noisy and as warm 
 as he was in the habit of growing then. Lavretsky 
 began to speak about his own affairs, but Mikhalevich 
 stopped him, hastily stammering out, " I have heard 
 about it, brother ; I have heard about it. Wlao could 
 have expected it ? " and then immediately turned the 
 conversation on topics of general interest. 
 
 " I must go away again to-morrow, brother," he said. 
 "To-day, if you will allow it, we will sit up late. I 
 want to get a thoroughly good idea of what you are 
 now, what your intentions are and your convictions, 
 what sort of man you have become, what life has taught 
 you" (Mikhalevich still made use of the phraseology 
 current in the year 1830). " As for me, brother, I have 
 become changed in many respects. The watci-s of life 
 have gone over my breast. Who was it said that ? But 
 in what is important, what is substantial, I have not 
 changed. I believe, as I used to do, in the Good, in the 
 True. And not only do I believe, but I feel certain now 
 — ^yes, I feel certain, certain. Listen ; I make verses, 
 you know. There's no poetry in them, but there is 
 truth. I will read you my last piece. I have expressed 
 in it my most sincere convictions. Now listen." 
 
 Mikhalevich began to read his poem, which was 
 rather a long one. It ended with the following lines : — 
 
 " With my whole heart have I given myself up to new feelings j 
 In spirit I have become like unto a child, 
 And I have b irnt all that I used to worship, 
 I worship all that I used to bum." 
 
158 Liza. 
 
 Mikhalevich all but wept as he pronounced these 
 last two verses. A slight twitching, the sign of a strong 
 emotion, affected his large lips ; his plain face lighted 
 up. Lavretsky went on listening until at last the spirit 
 of contradiction was roused within' him. He bei^ame 
 irritated by the Moscow student's enthusiasm, so per- 
 petually on the boil, so continually ready for use. A 
 quarter of an hour had not elapsed before a dispute 
 had been kindled between the two friends, one of those 
 endless disputes of which only Russians are capable. 
 They two, after a separation which had lasted for many 
 years, and those passed in two different worlds, neither 
 of them clearly understanding the other's thoughts, not 
 even his own, holding fast by words, and differing in 
 words alone, disputed about the most purely abstract 
 ideas — and disputed exactly as if the matter had been 
 one of life and death to both of them. They shouted 
 and cried aloud to such an extent that every one in the 
 house was disturbed, and poor Lemm, who had shut 
 himself up in his room the moment Mikhalevich ar- 
 rived, felt utterly perplexed, and even began to enter- 
 tain some vague form of fear. 
 
 " But after all this, what are you ? blast I "* cried 
 Mikhalevich at midnight. 
 
 " Does a blast man ever look like me ? " ansv/ered 
 Lavretsky. " He is always pale and sickly ; but I, iJ 
 you like, will lift you off the ground wi! h one hand." 
 
 * Literally, "disillusioned." 
 
Liza. 159 
 
 " Well then if not blasS, at least a sceptic,* and that 
 is still worse. But what right have you to be a sceptic ? 
 Your life has not been a success, I admit. That wasn't 
 your fault. You were endowed with a soul full of 
 affection, fit for passionate love, and you were kept 
 away from women by force. The first woman you came 
 across was sure to take you in." 
 
 " She took you in, too," morosely remarked Lavret- 
 sky. 
 
 " Granted, granted. In that I was the tool of fate. 
 But I'm talking nonsense. There's no such thing as 
 fate. My old habit of expressing myself inaccurately ! 
 But what does that prove ? " 
 
 " It proves this much, that I have been distorted 
 from childhood." 
 
 " Well, then, straighten yourself. That's the good 
 of being a man. You haven't got to borrow energy. 
 But, however that may be, is it possible, is it allow- 
 able, to work upwards from an isolated fact, so to speak, 
 to a general law — to an invariable rule ? " 
 
 " What rule 'i " said Lavretsky, interrupting him. " I 
 do not admit " 
 
 " No, that is your rule, that is your rule," cried the 
 other, interrupfttig him in his turn. 
 
 " You are an egotist, that's what it is ! " thundered 
 
 * He says in that original Skyeptuik instead of Skeptik, on which 
 the author remarks, " Mikhalevich's accent testified to his birth- 
 place having been in Little Russia." 
 
i6o Liza. 
 
 Mikhalevich an hour later. " You wanted self-enjoy- 
 ment ; you wanted a happy life ; you wanted to live 
 only for yourself " 
 
 " What is self-enjoyment ? " 
 
 " — And every thing has failed you ; every thing has 
 given way under your feet." 
 
 " But what is self-enjoyment, I ask you ? " 
 
 " — And it ought to give way. Because you looked 
 for support there, where it is impossible to fibJit; 
 because you built your house on the quicksands " 
 
 " Speak plainer, without metaphor, because I do not 
 understand you." 
 
 " — Because — laugh away if you like — ^because there 
 is no faith in you, no hearty warmth — and only a poor 
 farthingsworth of intellect ; * you are simply a pitiable 
 creature, a behind-your-age disciple of Voltaire. That's 
 what you are." 
 
 " Who ? I a disciple of Voltaire ? " 
 
 " Yes, just such a one as your father was ; and you 
 have never so much as suspected it." 
 
 " After that," exclaimed Lavretsky, " I have a right 
 to say that you are a fanatic." 
 
 " Alas ! " sorrowfully replied Mikhalevich, " unfor- 
 tunately, I have not yet in any way deserved so grand a 
 name " 
 
 " I have found out now what to call you ! " cried the 
 self-same Mikhalevich at three o'clock in the morning. 
 " You are not a sceptic, nor are you a blase, nor a dis- 
 
 * Literally, " intellect, in all merely a copeck intellect." 
 
Liza. 1 61 
 
 ciple of Voltaire ; you are a marmot,* and a culpable 
 marmot ; a marmot with a conscience, not a naive mar- 
 mot. Naive marmots lie on the stovef and do nothing, 
 because they can do nothing. They do not even think 
 anything. But you are a thinking man, and yet you lie 
 idly there. You could do something, and you do noth- 
 ing. You lie on the top with full paumch and say, ' To 
 lie idle — so must it be ; because all that people ever do 
 — is all vanity, mere nonsense that conduces to noth- 
 ing."' 
 
 " But what has shown you that I lie idle ? " insisted 
 Lavretsky. " Why do you suppose I have such ideas ? " 
 
 " — And, besides this, all you people, all your bro- 
 therhood," continued Mikhalevich without stopping, 
 " are deeply read marmots. You all know where the 
 German's shoe piches him ; you all know what faults 
 Englishmen and Frenchmen have j and your miserable 
 knowledge only serves to help you to justify your 
 shameful laziness, your abominable idleness. There 
 are some who even pride themselves on this, that ' I, 
 forsooth, am a learned man. I lie Idle, and they are 
 fools to give themselves trouble.' Yes ! even such per- 
 sons as these do exist among us ; not that I say this 
 with reference to you ; such persons as will spend all 
 their life in a certain langour of ennui, and get accus- 
 tomed to it, and exist in it like — like a mushroom in sour 
 
 * A baibak, a sort of marmot or " prairie dog." 
 f The top of the stove forms the sleeping place in a Russian 
 peasant's hut. 
 
i62 Lisa. 
 
 cream " (Mikhalevich could not help laughing at his own 
 comparison). " Oh, that languor of ennui ! it is the 
 ruin of the Russian people. Throughout all time the 
 wretched marmot is making up its mind to work " 
 
 " But, after all, what are you scolding about ? " cried 
 Lavretsky in his turn. " To work, to do. You had 
 better say what one should do, instead of scolding, O 
 Demosthenes of Poltava."* 
 
 " Ah, yes, that's what you want ! No, brother, I will 
 not tell you that. Every one must teach himself that,'' 
 replied Demosthenes in an ironical tone. '* A proprie- 
 tor, a noble, and not know what to do ! You have no 
 faith, or you would have known. No faith and no divi- 
 nation."! 
 
 " At all events, let me draw breath for a moment, 
 you fiend," prayed Lavretsky. " Let me take a look 
 round me 1 " 
 
 " Not a minute's breathing-time, not a second's," 
 replied Mikhalevich, with a commanding gesture of the 
 hand. " Not a single second. Death does not tarry, 
 and life also ought not to tarry." 
 
 " And when and where have people taken it into 
 their heads to make marmots of themselves ? " he cried 
 at four in the morning, in a voice that was now some- 
 what hoarse, "Why, here! Why, now ! In Russia}' 
 \Yhen on every separate individual there lies a duty, a 
 
 * Poltava is a town of Little Russia. It will be remembered 
 tliat Mikhalovich is a Little Russian. 
 + Otknn'enie, discovery or revelation. 
 
Liza. 163 
 
 great responsibility, before God, before the nation, be- 
 fore himself 1 We sleep, but time goes by. We 
 sleep " 
 
 " Allow me to point out to you," observed Lavret- 
 sky, " that we do not at all sleep at present, but rather 
 prevent other persons from sleeping. We stretch out 
 throats like barn-door cocks. Listen, that one is crow- 
 ing for the third time." 
 
 This sally made Mikhalevich laugh, and sobered him 
 down. " Good night," he said with a smile, and put 
 away his pipe in its bag. " Good night," said Lavret- 
 sky also. However, the friends still went on talking for 
 more than an hour. But their voices did not rise high 
 any longer, and their^talk was quiet, sad, kindly talk. 
 
 Mikhalevich went away next day, in spite of all his 
 host could do to detain him. Lavretsky did not suc- 
 ceed in persuading Jiim to stay, but he got as much talk 
 as he wanted out of him. 
 
 It turned out that Mikhalevich was utterly impecu- 
 nious. Lavretsky had already been sorry to see in him, 
 on the preceding evening, all the characteristics of a 
 poverty of long standing. His shoes were trodden 
 down, his coat wanted a button behind, his hands were 
 strangers to gloves^ one or two bits of feather were 
 sticking in his hair. When he arrived, he did not think 
 of asking for a wash ; and at supper he ate like a shark, 
 tearing the meat to pieces with his fingers, and noisily 
 gnawing the bones with his firm, discolored teeth. 
 
 It turned nut, also, that he had not thriven in the 
 
i64 Liza. 
 
 civil service, and that he had pinned all his hopes on 
 the brandy-farmer, who had given him employment 
 simply that he might have an " educated man " in his 
 counting-house. In spite of all this, however, Mikhale- 
 vich had not lost courage, but kept on his way leading 
 the life of a cynic, an idealist, and a poet ; fervently 
 caring for, and troubling himself about, the destinies of 
 humanity and his special vocation in life — and giving 
 very little heed to the question whether or no he would 
 die of starvation. 
 
 Mikhalevich had never married ; but he had fallen in 
 love countless times, and he always wrote poetry about 
 all his loves : with especial fervor did he sing about a 
 mysterious, raven-haired " lady." It was rumored, in- 
 deed, that this " lady " was nothing more than a Jewess, 
 and one who had numerous friends among cavalry offi- 
 cers ; but, after all, if one thinks the matter over, it is 
 not one of much importance. 
 
 With Lemm, Mikhalevich did not get on well. His 
 extremely loud way of talking, his rough manners, 
 frightened the German, to whom they were entirely novel. 
 One unfortunate man immediately and from afar recog- 
 nizes another, but in old age he is seldom willing to 
 associate with him. Nor is that to be wondered at. He 
 has nothing to share with him — not even hopes. 
 
 Before he left, Mikhalevich had another long talk 
 with Lavretsky, to whom he predicted utter ruin if he 
 did not rouse himself, and whom he entreated to occupy 
 himself serious'y with the question of the position of 
 
Liza. 165 
 
 his serfs. He set himself up as a pattern for imitation, 
 saying that lie had been purified in the furnace of mis- 
 fortune ; and then he several times styled himself a 
 happy man, comparing himself to a bird of the air, a 
 lily of the valley. 
 
 " A dusky lily, at all events," remarked Lavretsky. 
 
 " Ah, brother, don't come the aristocrat," answered 
 Mikhalevich good-humoredly ; " but rather thank God 
 that in your veins also there flows simple plebeian blood. 
 But I see you are now in need of some pure, unearthly 
 being, who might rouse you from your apathy." 
 
 " Thanks, brother," said Lavretsky j " I have had 
 quite enough of those unearthly beings." 
 
 " Silence, cyneec ! " * exclaimed Mikhalevich. 
 
 " Cynic," said Lavretsky, correcting him. 
 
 "Just so, cyneec," repeated the undisconcerted Mik- 
 halevich. 
 
 Even when he had taken his seat in the tarantass, in 
 which his flat and marvellously light portmanteau had 
 been stowed away, he still went on talking. Enveloped 
 in a kind of Spanish cloak, with a collar reddened by 
 long use, and with lion's claws instead of hooks, he con- 
 tinued to pour forth his opinions on the destinies of 
 Russia, waving his swarthy hand the while in the air, as 
 if he were sowing-the seeds of future prosperity. At 
 last the horses set off. 
 
 " Remember my last three words ! " he exclaimed, 
 leaning almost entirely out of the carriage, and scarcely 
 * He says Tsuinuik instead of THnik. 
 
1 66 Liza. 
 
 able to keep his balance. " Religion, Progress, Hu 
 manity ! Farewell ! " His head, on which his forage 
 cap was pressed down to his eyes, disappeared from 
 sight. Lavretsky was left alone at the door, where he 
 remained gazing attentively along the road, until the 
 carriage was out of sight. " And perhaps he is right," 
 he thought, as he went back into the house. " Perhaps 
 I am a marmot." Much of what Mikhalevich had said 
 had succeeded in winning its way into his heart, al- 
 though at the time he had contradicted him and disa- 
 greed with him. Let a man only be perfectly honest- 
 no one can utterly gainsay him. 
 
XXV. 
 
 Two days later, Maria Dmitrievna arrived at Vasi- 
 lievskoe, according to her promise, and all her young 
 people with her. The little girls immediately ran into 
 the garden, but Maria Dmitrievna languidly walked 
 through the house, and languidly praised all she saw. 
 She looked upon her visit to Lavretsky as a mark of 
 great condescension, almost a benevolent action. She 
 smiled affably when Anton and Apraxia came to kiss 
 her hand, according to the old custom of household 
 serfs, and in feeble accents she asked for tea. 
 
 To the great vexation of Anton, who had donned a 
 pair of knitted white gloves, it was not he who handed 
 the tea to the lady visitor, but Lavretsky's hired lackey, 
 a fellow who, in the old man's opinion, had not a notion 
 of etiquette.* However, Anton had it all his own way 
 at dinner. With firm step, he took up his position be- 
 hind Madame Kalitine's chair, and he refused to give 
 up his post to any one. The apparition of visitors at 
 Vasilievskoe — a sight for so many years unknown there 
 — both troubled and cheered the old man. It v/as a 
 pleasure for him to see that his master was acquainted 
 with persons of some standing in society. 
 
1 68 Liza. 
 
 Anton was not the only person who- was agitated thai 
 day, Lemm was excited too. He had put on a short- 
 ish snuff-colored coat with pointed tails, and had tied his 
 cravat tight, he coughed incessantly, and made way for 
 every one with kindly and affable mien. As for La- 
 vretsky, he remarked with satisfaction that he remained 
 on the same friendly footing with Liza as before. As 
 soon as she arrived she cordially held out her hand to 
 him. 
 
 After dinner, Lemm took a small roll of music-paper 
 out of the tail-pocket of his coat, into which he had 
 been constantly putting his hand, and silently, with com- 
 pressed lips, placed it upon the piano. It contained a 
 romance, which he had written the day before to some 
 old-fashioned German words, in which mention was 
 made of the stars. Liza immediately sat down to the 
 piano, and interpreted the romance. Unfortunately 
 the music turned out to be confused and unpleasantly 
 constrained. It was evident that the composer had at- 
 tempted to express some deep and passionate idea, but 
 no result had been attained. The attempt remained an 
 attempt, and nothing more. Both Lavrefsky and Liza 
 felt this, and Lemm was conscious of it too. Without 
 saying a word, he put his romance back into his pocket ; 
 and, in reply to Liza's proposal to play it over again, he 
 merelj- shook his head, and said, in a tone of meaning, 
 " For the present — basta ! " then bent his head, stooped 
 his ■shoulders, and left the room. 
 
 Towards evening they all went out together to fish. 
 
Liza, 1 69 
 
 In the little lake at the end of the garden there were 
 numbers of carp and groundling. Madame Kalitine 
 harf an arm-chair set in the shade for her, near the edge 
 of the water, and a carpet was spread out under her feet 
 Anton, as an old fisherman of great experience, offered 
 her his services. Zealously did he fasten on the worms, 
 slap them with his hand, and spit upon them, and then 
 fling the line into the water himself, gracefully bending 
 forwards the whole of his body. Maria Dmitrievna had 
 already that day spoken about him to Fedor Ivanovich, 
 using the following phrase of Institute-French : — " h 
 riy a plus maintenant de ces gens comme (a cotnme autre- 
 foisP 
 
 Lemm and the two little girls went on to the dam at 
 the end of the lake. Lavretsky placed himself near 
 Liza. The fish kept continually nibbling. Every minute 
 a captured carp glistened in the air with its sometimes 
 golden, sometimes silver, sides. The little girls kept up 
 a ceaseless flow of joyful exclamations. Madame Kal- 
 itine herself two or three times uttered a plaintive cry 
 Lavretsky and Liza caught fewer fish than the others ; 
 probably because they paid less attention to their fish- 
 ing, and let their floats drift up against the edge of the 
 lake. The tall, reddish reeds murmured quietly around 
 them ; in front quietly shone the unruffled water, and 
 the conversation they carried on was quiet too. 
 
 Liza stood on the little platform [placed there for 
 the use of the washerwomen ;] Lavretsky sat on the bent 
 stem of a willow. Liza wore a white dress, fastened 
 8 
 
1 7 o Liza. 
 
 round the waist by a broad, white ribbon. From one 
 hand hung her straw hat ; with the other she, not with- 
 out some effort, supported her drooping fishhig-rod. 
 Lavretsky gazed at her pure, somewhat severe profile — 
 at the hair turned back behind her ears — at her soft 
 cheeks, the hue of which was like that of a young child's 
 ■ — and thought ; " How charming you look, standing 
 there by my lake ! " Liza did not look at him, but kept 
 her eyes fixed on the water, something which might be 
 a smile lurking about their corners. Over both Ijavret- 
 sky and Liza fell the shadow of a neighboring lime- 
 tree. 
 
 " Do you know," he began, " I have thought a great 
 deal about our last conversation, and I have come to 
 this conclusion, that you are exceedingly good." 
 
 " It certainly was not with that intention that I " 
 
 replied Liza, and became greatly confused. 
 
 "You are exceedingly good," repeated Lavretsky. 
 " I am a rough-hewn man ; but I feel that every one 
 must love you. There is Lemm, for instance : he 's 
 simply in love with you." 
 
 Liza's eyebrows did not exactly frown, but they quiv- 
 ered. This always happened with her when she heard 
 anything she did not like. 
 
 " I felt very sorry for him to-day, with his unsuccess- 
 ful romance," continued Lavretsky. " To be young and 
 to want knowledge — that is bearable. But to have grown 
 old and to fail in strength — that is indeed heavy. And the 
 worst of it is, that one doesn't know when one's strength 
 
Liza. 171 
 
 has failed. To an old man such blows are hard to bear. 
 Take care ! you've a bite — I hear," continued Lavret- 
 sky, after a short pause, " That M. Panshine has written 
 a very charming romance." 
 
 " Yes," replied Liza, " it is a small matter ; but it 
 isn't bad." 
 
 "But what is your opinion about him himself?" 
 asked Lavretsky. " Is he a good musician ? " 
 
 " I think he has considerable musical faculty. But 
 as yet he has not cultivated it as he ought." 
 
 " Just so. But is he a good man ? " 
 
 Liza laughed aloud, and looked up quickly at Fedor 
 Ivanovich. 
 
 " What a strange question ! " she exclaimed, with- 
 drawing her line from the water, and then throwing it a 
 long way in again. 
 
 " Why strange ? I ask you about him as one who 
 has been away from here a long time — as a relation." 
 
 " As a relation ? " 
 
 " Yes. I believe I am a sort of uncle of yours." 
 
 " Vladimir Nikolaevich has a good heart," said Liza. 
 " He is clever. Mamma likes him very much.'' 
 
 " But you — do you like him ? " 
 
 " He is a good man. Why shouldn't I like him ? " 
 
 " Ah ! " said Lavretsky, and became silent. A half- 
 sad, half-mocking expression played upon his face. The 
 fixed look with which he regarded her troubled Liza ; 
 but she went on smiling. 
 
 " Well, may God grant them happiness ! " he mur- 
 
172 Liza. 
 
 mured at last, as if to himself, and turned away his 
 head. 
 
 Liza reddened. 
 
 " You are wrong, Fedor Ivanovich,'' she said ; " you 
 
 are wrong in thinking But don't you like Vladimir 
 
 vanovich ? " she asked suddenly. 
 
 « No." 
 
 " Why ? " 
 
 " I think he has no heart." 
 
 The smile disappeared from Liza's hps. 
 
 " You are accustomed to judge people severely," she 
 said, after a long silence. 
 
 " I don't think so. What right have I to judge oth- 
 ers severely, I should like to know, when I stand in 
 need of indulgence myself? Or have you forgotten 
 that it is only lazy people who do not mock me ? But 
 tell me," he added, " have you kept your promise ? " 
 
 " What promise ? " 
 
 " Have you prayed for me ? " 
 
 " Yes, I prayed for you ; and I pray every day. But 
 please do not talk lightly about that.'' 
 
 LavreLsky began to assure Liza that he had never 
 dreamt of doing so — that he profoundly respected all 
 convictions. After that he took to talking about reli- 
 gion, about its significance in the history of humanity, 
 of the meaning of Christianity. 
 
 " One must be a Christian,'' said Liza, not without 
 an efFortj " not in order to recognize what is heavenly, 
 or what is earthly, but because every one must die."- 
 
Liza. 173 
 
 With an involuntary movement of surprise, Lavret- 
 sky raised his eyes to T-iza's, and met her glance. 
 
 " What does that phrase of yours mean ? " he said. 
 
 " It is not my phrase," she rephed. 
 
 " Not yours ? But why did you speak about death ? " 
 
 " I don't know. I often think about it." 
 
 " Often .? " 
 
 '' Yes." 
 
 " One wouldn't say so, looking at you now. Your 
 face seems so happy, so bright, and you smile " 
 
 " Yes. I feel very happy now,'' replied Liza simply. 
 
 Lavretsky felt inclined to seize both her hands and 
 press them warmly. 
 
 "Liza, Liza!" cried Madame Kalitine, " corhe here 
 and see what a carp 1 have caught." 
 
 "Yes, mamma,'' answered Liza, and went to hei. 
 
 But Lavretsky remained sitting on his willow stem. 
 
 " I talk to her just as if I still had an interest in 
 life," he thought. 
 
 Liza had hung up her hat on a bough when she went 
 away. It was with a strange and almost tender feeling 
 that Lavretsky looked at the hat, and at its long, slightly 
 rumpled ribbons. 
 
 Liza soon came back again and took up her former 
 position on the platform. 
 
 " Why do you think that Vladimir Nikolaevich has 
 no heart ? " she asked, a few minutes afterwards. 
 
 " I have already told you that I may be mistaken 
 However, time will reveal all." 
 
174 Liza. 
 
 Liza became contemplative. Lavretsky began to 
 talk about his mode of life at Vasilievskoe, about Mik- 
 halevich, about Anton. He felt compelled to talk to 
 Liza, to communicate to her all that went on in his heart. 
 And she listened to him so attentively, with such kindly 
 interest; the few remarks and answers she made .ap- 
 peared to him so sensible and so natural. He even 
 told her so. 
 
 Liza was astonished. " Really ? " she said. " As 
 for me, I thought I was hke my maid, Nastasia, and had 
 no words ' of my own.' She said one day to her be- 
 trothed, ' You will be sure to be bored with me. You 
 talk to me so beautifully about every thing, but T have 
 no words of my own.' " 
 
 " Heaven be praised 1 " thought Lavretsky. 
 
XXVI. 
 
 In the meantime the evening had arrived, and Maria 
 Dmitrievna evinced a desire to return home. With 
 some difficulty the little girls were torn away from the 
 lake, and got ready for the journey. Lavretsky said 
 he would accompany his guests half-way home, and or- 
 dered a horse to be saddled for him. After seeing 
 Maria Dmitrievna into her carriage he looked about for 
 Lemm ; but the old man could nowhere be found. He 
 had disappeared the moment the fishing was over. 
 Anton slammed the carriage door to, with a strength 
 remarkable at his age, and cried in a stern voice, " Drive 
 on, coachman ! " The carriage set off. Maria Dmitri- 
 evna and Liza occupied the back seats ; the two girls 
 and the maid sat in front. 
 
 The evening was warm and still, and the windows 
 were open on both sides. Lavretsky rode close by the 
 carriage on Liza's side, resting a hand on the door — he 
 had thrown the reins on the neck of his easily trotting 
 horse — and now and then exchanged two or three words 
 wim the young girl. The evening glow disappeared. 
 Night came on, but the air seemed to grow even 
 warmer than before. Maria Dmitrievna soon went to 
 sleep ; the little girls and the maid servant slept also. 
 
176 Liza. 
 
 Smoothly and rapidly the carriage rolled on. As Liza 
 bent forwards, the moon, which had only just made its 
 appearance, lighted up her face, the fragrant night aii 
 breathed on her eyes and cheeks, and she felt herself 
 happy. Her hand rested on the door of the carriage by 
 the side of Lavretsky's. He too felt himself happy as 
 he floated on in the calm warmth of the night, never 
 moving his eyes away from the good young face, listen- 
 ing to the young voice, clear even in its whispers, which 
 spoke simple, good words. 
 
 It even escaped his notice for a time that he had 
 gone more than half of the way. Then he wguld not 
 disturb Madame Kalitine, but he pressed Liza's hand 
 lightly and said, " We are friends now, are we not ? " 
 She nodded assent, and he pulled up his horse. The 
 carriage rolled on its way quietly swinging and curtsey- 
 ing. 
 
 Lavretsky returned home at a walk. The magic of 
 the summer night took possession of him. All that 
 spread around him seemed so wonderfully strange, and 
 yet at the same time so well known and so dear. Far 
 and near all was still — and the eye could see very far, 
 though it could not distinguish much of what it saw — 
 but underneath that very stillness a young and flowering 
 life made itself felt. 
 
 I^avretsky's horse walked on vigorously, swing'ng 
 itself steadily to right and left. Its great black shadow 
 moved by its side. There was a sort of secret charm in 
 the tramp of its hoofs, something strange and joyous "in 
 
Liza. 177 
 
 the noisy cry of the quails. The stars disappeared in 
 a kind of luminous mist. The moon, not yet at its full, 
 shone with s'.eady lustre. Its light spread in a blue 
 stream over the sky, and fell in a streak of vaporous 
 gold on the thin clouds which went past close at hand. 
 
 The freshness of the air called a slight moisture into 
 Lavretsky's eyes, passed caressingly over all his limbs, 
 and flowed with free current into his chest. He was 
 conscious of enjoying, and felt glad of that enjoyment. 
 " Well, we will live on still ; she has not entirely de- 
 prived us " he did not say who, or of what. Then 
 
 he began to think about Liza ; that she could scarcely 
 be in love with Panshine ; that if he had met her under 
 other circumstances— God knows what might have come 
 of it; that he understood Lamm's feelings about her 
 now, although she had " no words of her own." And, 
 moreover, that that was not true; for she had words of 
 her own. " Do not speak lightly about that," recurred 
 to Lavretsky's memory. For a long time he rode on 
 with bent head, then he slowly drew himself up repeat- 
 ing,— 
 
 " And I have burnt all that I used to worship, 
 I worship all that I used to burn — " 
 
 then he suddenly struck his horse with his whip and 
 and galloped straight away h me. 
 
 On alighting from his horse he gave a final look 
 round, a thankful smile playing involuntarily on his 
 lips. Night — si'ent, caressing night — lay on the hills 
 and dales. From its fragrant depths afar — whether 
 
178 Liza. 
 
 from heaven or from earth could not be told — there 
 poured a soft and quiet warmth. Lavretsky wished a 
 last farewell to Liza — and hastened up the steps. 
 
 The next day went by rather slowly, rain setting in 
 early in the morning. Lemm looked askance, and com- 
 pressed his lips even tighter and tighter, as if he had 
 made a vow never to open them again. When Lavret- 
 sky lay down at night he took to bed with him a whole 
 bundle of French newspapers, which had already lain 
 unopened on his table for two or three weeks. He be 
 gan carelessly to tear open their covers and to skim the 
 contents of their columns, in which, for the matter of 
 that, there was but little that was new. He was just on 
 the point of throwing them aside, when he suddenly 
 bounded out of bed as if something had stung him. 
 In the feuillefon of one of the papers our former ac- 
 quaintance, M. Jules, communicated to his readers a 
 " painful piece of intelligence." " The fascinating, fair 
 Muscovite," he wrote, " one of the queens of fashion, 
 the ornament of Parisian salons, Madame de Lavret- 
 ski," had died almost suddenly. And this news', unfor- 
 tunately but too true, had just reached him, M. Jules. 
 He was, so he continued, he might say, a friend of the 
 deceased- 
 
 Lavretsky put on his clothes, went out into the gar- 
 den, and walked up and down one of its alleys until the 
 break of day. 
 
 At breakfast, next morning, Lemm asked Lavretsky 
 to let him have horses in order to get back to town. 
 
Liza. 179 
 
 " It is time for me to return to business, that is to 
 lessons," remarked the old man. " I am only wasting 
 my time here uselessly." . 
 
 Lavretsky did not reply at once. He seemed lost 
 in a reverie. 
 
 " Very good," he said at last ; " I will go with you 
 myself." 
 
 Refusing the assistance of a servant, Lemm packed 
 his little portmanteau, growing peevish the while and 
 groaning over it, and then tore up and burnt some 
 sheets of music paper. The carriage came to the door. 
 As Lavretsky left his study he put in his pocket the 
 copy of the newspaper he had read the night before. 
 During the whole of the journey neither Lavretsky nor 
 Lemm said much. Each of them was absorbed in his 
 own thoughts, and each was glad that the other did not 
 disturb him. And they parted rather coldly, an occur- 
 rence which, for the matter of that, often occurs among 
 friends in Russia. Lavretsky drove the old man to his 
 modest dwelling. Lemm took his portmanteau with 
 him as he got out of the carriage, and, without stretch- 
 ing out lais hand to his friend, he held the portmanteau 
 before him with both hands, and, without even looking 
 at him, said in Russian, " Farewell ! " " Farewell ! " 
 echoed Lavretsky, and told the coachman to drive to his 
 apartments ; for he had taken lodgings in O. 
 
 After writing several letters, and making a hasty din- 
 ner, he went to the Kalitines'. There he found no one 
 in the drawing-room but Panshine, who told him that 
 
i8o Liza. 
 
 Maria Dmitrievna would come direcilj, and immediate 
 ly entered into conversation with him in the kindest and 
 most affable manner. Until' that day Panshine had 
 treated Lavretsky, not with haughtiness exactly, but 
 with condescension ; but Liza, in describing her excur- 
 sion of the day before, had spoken of Lavretsky as an 
 excellent and clever man. That was enough ; the " ex- 
 cellent " man must be captivated. 
 
 Panshine began by complimenting Lavretsky, giv- 
 ing him an account of the rapture with which, accord- 
 ing to him, all the Kalitine family had spoken of Vasi- 
 lievskoe ; then, according to his custom, adroitly bring- 
 ing the conversation round to himself, he began to speak 
 of his occupations, of his views concerning life, the 
 world, and the service ; said a word or two about the 
 future of Russia, and about the necessity of holding 
 the Governors of provinces in hand; joked facetiously 
 about himself in that respect, and added that he, among 
 others, had been entrusted at St. Petersburg with the 
 commission de populariser I' idee du cadastre. He spoke 
 at tolerable length, and with careless assurance, solv- 
 ing all difficulties, and playing with the most import- 
 ant administrative and political questions as a juggler 
 does with his balls. Such expressions as, " That is 
 what I should do if I were the Government," and, " You, 
 as an intelligent man, doubtless agree with me," were 
 always at the tip of his tongue. 
 
 Lavretsky listened coldly to Panshine's eloquence. 
 This handsome, clever, and unnecessarily elegant young 
 
Liza. i8i 
 
 mail, with his serene smile, his polite voice, and his in- 
 quisitive eyes, was not to his liking. Panshine soon 
 guessed, with the quick appreciation of the feelings of 
 others which was peculiar to him, that he did not confer 
 any special gratification on the person he was address- 
 ing, so he disappeared under cover of some plausible 
 excuse, having made up his mind that Lavretsky might 
 be an excellent man, but that he was unsympathetic, 
 "aigri " and, en somme, somewhat ridiculous. 
 
 Madame Kalitine arrived, accompanied by Gedeo- 
 novsky. Then came Marfa Timofeevna and Liza, and 
 after them all the other members of the family. After- 
 wards, also, there arrived the lover of music, Madame 
 Belenitsine, a thin little woman, with an ahnost childish 
 little face, pretty but worn, a noisy black dress, a parti- 
 colored fan, and thick gold bracelets. With her came 
 her husband, a corpulent man, with red cheeks, large 
 hands and feet, white eyelashes, and a smile which 
 never left his thick lips. His wife never spoke to him 
 in society ; and at home, in her tender moments, she 
 used to call him her " sucking pig." 
 
 Panshine returned ; the room became animated and 
 noisy. Such an assemblage of people was by no means 
 agreeable to Lavretsky. He was especially annoyed by 
 Madame Belenitsine, who kept perpetually staring at 
 him through her eye-glass. If it had not been for Liza 
 he would have gone away at once. He wanted to say 
 a few words to her alone, but for a long time he could 
 not obtain a fitting opportunity of doing so, and had to 
 
i8z Liza. 
 
 content himself with following her about with his eyes 
 It was with a secret joy that he did so. Never had hei 
 face seemed to him more noble and charming. She 
 appeared to great advantage in the presence of Madame 
 Belenitsine. That lady was incessantly fidgeting on 
 her chair, working her narrow shoulders, laughing af- 
 fectedly, and either all but closing her eyes or opening 
 them unnaturally wide. Liza sat still, looked straight 
 before her, and did not laugh at all. 
 
 Madame Kalitine sat down to cards with Marfa Ti- 
 mofeevna, Belenitsine, and Gedeonovsky, the latter of 
 whom played very slowly, made continual mistakes, 
 squeezed up his eyes, and mopped his face with his 
 handkerchief. Panshine assumed an air of melancholy, 
 and expressed himself tersely, sadly, and significantly 
 — altogether after the fashion of an artist who has not 
 yet had any opportunity of showing off — but in spite of 
 the entreaties of Madame Belenitsine, who coquetted 
 with him to a great extent, he would not consent to 
 sing his romance. Lavretsky's presence embarrassed 
 him. 
 
 Lavretsky himself spoke little, but the peculiar ex- 
 pression his face wore struck Liza as soon as he entered 
 the room. She immediately felt that he had something 
 to communicate to her; but, without knowing herself 
 why, she was afraid of asking him any questions. At 
 last, as she was passing into the next room to make the 
 tea, she almost unconsciously looked towards him. He 
 immediately followed her. t 
 
Liza. 183 
 
 " What is the matter with you ? " she asked, putting 
 the teapot on the samovar* 
 
 " You have remarked something, then ? " he said. 
 
 " You are different to-day from what I have seen you 
 before." 
 
 Lavretsky bent over the table. 
 
 " I wanted," he began, " to tell you a piece of news, 
 but just now it is impossible. But read the part of this 
 feuilleton which is marked in pencil," he added, giving 
 her the copy of the newspaper he had brought with 
 him. " Please keep the secret ; I will come back to-mor- 
 row morning.'' 
 
 Liza was thoroughly amazed. At that moment 
 Panshine appeared in the doorway. She put the news- 
 paper in her pocket. 
 
 " Have you read Obermann,t Lizaveta Mikhailov- 
 na ? " asked Panshine with a thoughtful air. 
 
 Liza replied vaguely as she passed out of the room, 
 and then went up-stairs. Lavretsky returned into the 
 drawing room and approached the card table. Marfa 
 Timofeevna flushed, and with her cap-strings untied, be- 
 gan to complain to him of her partner Gedeonovsky, who, 
 according to her, had not yet learnt his steps. " Card- 
 playing," she said, " is evidently a very different thing 
 from gossiping." Meanwhile Gedeonovsky never left 
 off blinking and mopping himself with his handkerchief 
 
 *Urn. 
 
 f The sentimental romance of that name, written by E. Piverl 
 de .Senancour. 
 
184 Liza. 
 
 Presently Liza returned to the drawing-room and sai 
 down in a corner. Lavretsky looked at her and she at 
 him, and each experienced a painful sensation. He 
 could read perplexity on her face, and a kind of secret re- 
 proach. Much as he wished it, he could not get a talk 
 with her, and to remain in the same room with her as a 
 mere visitor among other visitors was irksome to him. 
 so he determined to go away. 
 
 When taking leave of her, he contrived to repeal 
 that he would come next day, and he added that he 
 counted on her friendship. " Come," she replied, with 
 the same perplexed look still on her face. 
 
 After Lavretsky's departure, Panshine grew ani- 
 mated. He began to give advice to Gedeonovsky, and to 
 make mock love to Madame Belenitsine, and at last he 
 sang his romance. But when gazing at Liza, or talking 
 to her, he maintained the same air as before, one of 
 deep meaning, with a touch of sadness in it. 
 
 All that night also, Lavretsky did not sleep. Hf 
 was not unhappy, he was not agitated ; on the contrary, 
 he was perfectly calm ; but he could not sleep. He was 
 not even recalling the past. He simply looked at his 
 present life. His heart beat firmly and equably, the 
 hours flew by, he did not even think about sleeping. 
 Only at times there came into his head the thought, 
 " Surely this is not true, this is all nonsense." And 
 then he would stop short, and presently let his head fall 
 back and again betake himself to gazing into the stream 
 of his life. 
 
XXVIl. 
 
 Madame Kalitine did not receive I avretsky over 
 cordially, when he paid her a visit next day. " Ah ! 
 he's m.aking a custom of it,'' she thought. She was not 
 of herself disposed to like him very much, and Panshine, 
 who had got her thoroughly under his influence, had 
 praised him the evening before in a very astutely dis- 
 paraging manner. As she did not treat him as an hon- 
 ored guest, nor think it necessary to trouble herself 
 about one who was a relation, almost a member of the 
 family circle, before half an hour had elapsed he went 
 out into the garden. There he and Liza strolled along 
 one of the alleys, while Lenochka and Shurochka 
 played around the flower-pots at a little distance from 
 them. 
 
 Liza was as quiet as usual, but more than usually 
 pale. She took the folded leaf of the newspaper from 
 her pocket, and handed it to Lavretsky. 
 
 " That is terrible news," she said. 
 
 Lavretsky made no reply. 
 
 " But, after all, perhaps it may not be true." 
 
 " That is why I asked you not to mention it to any 
 one." 
 
 Liza walked on a little farther. 
 
1 86 Liza. 
 
 " Tell nie," she began, " are not you sorry ? — not at 
 all sorry ? " 
 
 "I don't know myself what I feel," answered I.a- 
 vretsky. 
 
 " But you loved her once ? " 
 
 " I did." 
 
 " Very much ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And yet you are not sorry for her death ? " 
 
 " It is not only now that she has become dead foi 
 me.'' 
 
 "You are saying what is sinful. Don't be angry 
 with me. You have called me your friend. A friend 
 may say anything. And it really seems terrible to me. 
 The expression on your face yesterday was not good to 
 see. Do you remember your complaining about her 
 not long ago ? And at that very time, perhaps, she 
 was already no longer among the living. It is terri- 
 ble. It is just as if it had been sent you as a punish- 
 ment.'' 
 
 Lavretsky laughed bitterly. 
 
 " You think so ? — at all events I am free now." 
 
 Liza shuddered. 
 
 " Do not speak so any more. What use is your 
 freedom to you ? You should not be thinking of that 
 now, but of forgiveness — — " 
 
 " I forgave her long ago/' in;errupted Lavretsky. 
 with an impatient gesture. 
 
 " No, I don't mean that," answered Liza, reddening; 
 
Liza. 187 
 
 " you have not understood me properly. It is you who 
 ought to strive to get pardoned." 
 
 " Who is there to pardon me ? " 
 
 " Who ? Why God. Who can pardon us except 
 God ? " 
 
 Lavretsky grasped her hand. 
 
 " Ah ! Lizaveta Mikhailovna ! " he exclaimed, " be- 
 lieve me, I have already been punished enough — I have 
 already expiated all, believe me." 
 
 " You cannot tell that," said Liza, in a low voice. 
 "You "forget. It was not long ago that you and I were 
 talking, and you were not willing to forgive her." 
 
 Both of them walked along the alley for a time in 
 silence. 
 
 " And about your daughter ? " suddenly asked Liza, 
 and then stopped short. 
 
 Lavretsky shuddered. 
 
 " Oh 1 don't disturb yourself about her. I have al- 
 ready sent off letters in all directions. The future of 
 my daughter, as you — as you say — is assured. You 
 need not trouble yourself on that score." 
 
 Liza smiled sadly. 
 
 "But you are right," continued Lavretsky. "What 
 am I to do with my freedom — what use is it to me ? " 
 
 " When did you get this paper .■' " asked Liza, witli- 
 out answering his question. 
 
 " The day after your visit." 
 
 "And have not you — have not you even shed a 
 teai ? " 
 
1 88 Liza. 
 
 " No ; I was thunderstruck. But whither should I 
 look for tears ? Should I cry over the past ? Why, all 
 mine has been, as it were, consumed with fire. Her 
 fault did not actually destroy my happiness ; it only 
 proved to me that for me happiness had never really 
 existed. What, then, had I to cry for .' Besides — who 
 knows ? — perhaps I should have been more grieved if I 
 had received this news a fortnight sooner." 
 
 "A fortnight !" replied Liza. " But what can have 
 happened to make such a difference in that fortnight ?" 
 
 Lavretsky make no reply at first, and Liza suddenly 
 grew still redder than before. 
 
 " Yes, yes ! you have guessed it ! " unexpectedly 
 cried Lavretsky. " In the course of that fortnight I 
 have learnt what a woman's heart is like when it is pure 
 and clear ; and my past life seems even farther off 
 from me than it used to be." 
 
 Liza became a little uncomfortable, and slowly 
 turned to where Lehochka and Shurochka were in the 
 flower-garden. 
 
 " But I am glad I showed you that newspaper," said 
 Lavretsky, as he followed her. " I have grown accus- 
 tomed to conceal nothing from you, and I hope you 
 will confide in me equally in return." 
 
 " Do you really ? " said Liza, stopping still. " Id 
 that case, I ought. But, no ! it is impossible.'' 
 
 " What i3 it ? Tell me— tell me ! " 
 
 " 1 really think I ought not. — However," added 
 Liza, turning to Lavretsky with a smile, " what is the 
 
Liza. 189 
 
 good of a half-confidence ? Do you know, I received a 
 letter to-day ? " 
 
 " From Panshine ? " 
 
 " Yes, from him. How did you guess that ? " 
 
 " And he asks for your hand ? " 
 
 " Yes," replied Liza, looking straight at Lavretsky 
 with serious eyes. 
 
 Lavretsky, in his turn, looked seriously at Liza. 
 
 "Well, and what answer have you made him ?" he 
 said at last. 
 
 " I don't know what to answer," replied Liza, unfold- 
 ing her arms, and letting them fall by her side. 
 
 " Why ? Do you like him ? " 
 
 " Yes, I like him ; I think he is a good man." 
 
 "That is just what you told me three days ago, and 
 in the very same words. But what I want to know is, 
 do you love him — love him with that strong, passionate 
 feeling which we usually call ' love ' ? " 
 
 " In the sense in which you understand the word — 
 No." 
 
 " You are not in love with him ? " 
 
 " No. But is that necessary ? " 
 
 " How do you mean ? " 
 
 " Mamma likes him," continued Liza. " He is 
 good ; I have no fault to find with him." 
 
 " But still you waver ? " 
 
 " Yes — and, perhaps — ^you, your words are the cause 
 of that. Do you remember what you said the day 
 before yesterday ? But all that is weakness " 
 
19° Liza. 
 
 "Oh, my child!" suddenly exclaimed Lavrelsky, 
 and his voice trembled as he spoke, " don't be fatally 
 wise — don't stigmatize as weakness the cry of your 
 heart, unwilling to give itself away without love ! Do 
 not take upon yourself so fearful a responsibility 
 towards that man, whom you do not love, and yet to 
 whom you would be about to belong.'' 
 
 " I shall only be obeying ; I shall be taking nothing 
 upon myself," began Liza. 
 
 " Obey your own heart, then. It only will tell you 
 the truth," said Lavretsky, interrupting her. " Wisdom, 
 experience — all that is mere vanity and vexation. Do 
 not deprive yourself of the best, the only real happiness 
 upon earth." 
 
 " And do you speak in that way, Fedor Ivanovich i' 
 You married for love yourself — and were you happy ? ■ 
 
 Lavretsky clasped his hands above his head. 
 
 "Ah ! do not talk about me. You cannot form any 
 idea of what a young, inexperienced, absurdly brought- 
 up boy may imagine to be love. However, why should 
 one calumniate one's self? I told you just now I had 
 never known happiness. No ! I have been happy.'' 
 
 " I think, Fedor Ivanovich," said Liza, lowering hei 
 voice — she always lowered her voice when she differed 
 from the person she was speakijig to ; besides, she felt 
 considerably agitated just then — " our happiness upon 
 earth does not depend upon ourselves " 
 
 " It does depend upon ourselves — upon ourselves : " 
 here he seized both her hands. Liza grew pale and 
 
Liza. 
 
 191 
 
 looked at him earnestly, but almost with alarm — " at 
 least if we do not ruin our own lives. For some peo- 
 ple a love match may turn out unhappily, but not for 
 you, with your calmness of temperament, with your 
 serenity of soul. I do beseech you not to marry with- 
 out love, merely from a feeiing of duty, self-denial, or 
 the like. All that is sheer infidelity, and moreover a 
 matter of calculation — and worse still. Trust my 
 words. I have a right to say this ; a right for which I 
 have paid dearly. And if your God " 
 
 At that moment Lavretsky became aware that Le- 
 nochka and Shurochka were standing by Liza's side, 
 and were staring at him with intense astonishment. He 
 dropped Liza's hands, saying hastily, " Forgive me," 
 and walked away towards the house. 
 
 " There is only one thing I have to ask you," he 
 said, coming back to Liza. " Don't make up your mind 
 directly, but wait a little, and think over what I have 
 said to you. And even if you don't believe my words, 
 but are determined to marry in accordance with the 
 dictates of mere prudence — even in that case, Mr. Pan- 
 shine is not the man you ought to marry. He must not 
 be your husband. You will promise me not to be hasty, 
 won't you ? " 
 
 Liza wished to reply, but she could not utter a single 
 word. Not that she had decided on being " hasty " — 
 but because her heart beat too strongly, and a feeling 
 resembling that of fear impeded her breathing. 
 
XXVIII. 
 
 As Lavretsky was leaving the Kalitines' house he 
 met Panshine, with whom he exchanged a cold greeting 
 Then he went home and shut himself up in his room. 
 The sensations he experienced were such as he had 
 hardly ever known before. Was it long ago that he was 
 in a condition of " peaceful torpor ? " Was it long ago 
 that he felt himself, as he had expressed it, " at the 
 very bottom of the river ? " What then had changed 
 his condition ? ^Vhat had brought him to the surface, 
 to the light of day ? Was the most ordinary and in- 
 evitable, though always unexpected, of occurrences — 
 death? Yes. But yet it was not so much his 
 wife's death, his own freedom, that he was thinking 
 about, as this — what answer will Liza give to Panshine ? 
 
 He felt that in the course of the last three days he 
 had begun to look on Liza with different eyes. He re- 
 membered how, when he was returning home and think- 
 ing of her in the silence of the night, he said to him- 
 self " If ! " This " if," by which at that time he had 
 
 referred to the past, to the impossible, now applied to 
 an actual state of things, but not exactly such a one as 
 he had then supposed. Freedom by itself was little to 
 bim now. "She will obey her mother," he thought. 
 " She will marry Panshine. But even if she refuses 
 
Liza. 
 
 193 
 
 him — will it not be just the same as far as I am con- 
 cerned ? " Passing at that moment in front of a look- 
 ing-glass, he just glanced at his face in it, and then 
 shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 Amid such thoughts as these the day passed swiftly 
 l)y. The evening arrived, and Lavretsky went to the 
 Kalitines. He walked fast until he drew near to the 
 house, but then he slackened his pace. Panshine's 
 carriage was standing before the door. " Well," thought 
 Lavretsky, as he entered the house, " I will not be self- 
 ish." No one met him in-doors, and all seemed quiet 
 in the drawing-room. He opened the door, and found 
 that Madame Kalitine was playing piquet with Pan- 
 shine. That gentleman bowed to him silently, while the 
 lady of the house exclaimed, " Well, this is an unex- 
 pected pleasure,-' and slightly frowned. Lavretsky sat 
 down beside her and began looking at her cards 
 
 " So you can play piquet ?" she asked, with a shade 
 of secret vexation in her voice, and then remarked that 
 she had thrown away a wrong card. 
 
 Panshine counted ninety, and began to take up the 
 tricks calmly and politely, his countenance the while 
 wearing a grave and dignified expression. It was thus, 
 he thought, that diplomatists ought to play. It was 
 thus, in all probability, that he used to play with some 
 influential dignitary at St. Petersburg, whom he wished 
 to impress with a favorable idea of his solidity and per- 
 spicacity. " One hundred and one, hundred and two, 
 heart, hundred and three," said the measured tones of 
 
 
194 I-iza. 
 
 his voice, and Lavretsky could not tell which it ex- 
 pressed— dislike or assurance. 
 
 '* Can't I see Marfa Timofeevna ? " asked Lavretsky, 
 observing that Panshine, with a still more dignified air 
 than before, was about to shuffle the cards ; not even a 
 trace of the artist was visible in him now. 
 
 " I suppose so. She is up-stairs in her room," an- 
 swered Maria Dmitrievna. " You can ask for her." 
 
 Lavretsky went up-stairs. He found Marfa Timo- 
 feevna also at cards. She was playing at Durachki 
 with Nastasia Carpovna. Roska barked at him, but 
 both the old ladies received him cordially. Marfa Tim- 
 ofeevna seemed in special good humor. 
 
 " Ah, Fedia ! " she said, " do sit down, there's a 
 good fellow. We shall have done our game directly. 
 Will you have some presei'ves ? Shurochka, give him a 
 pot of strawberries. You won't have any? Well, then, 
 sit there as you are. But as to smoking, you mustn't. 
 I cannot abide your strong tobacco ; besides, it would 
 make Matros sneeze." 
 
 Lavretsky hastened to assure her that he had nov 
 the slightest desire to smoke. 
 
 " Have you been down-stairs ? " asked the old lady. 
 " Whom did you find there ? Is Panshine always 
 hanging about there ? But did you see Liza ? No ? 
 She was to have come here. Why there she is — as 
 soon as one mentions her.'' 
 
 Liza came into the room, caught sight of Lavretsky 
 and blushed. 
 
Liza. 
 
 195 
 
 " I hare only come for a moment, Marfa Timofeev- 
 na," she was beginning. 
 
 " Why for a moment ? " asked the old lady. " Why 
 are all you young people so restless ? You see I have 
 a visitor there. Chat a little with him, amuse him.'' 
 
 Liza sat down on the edge of a chair, raised hei 
 eyes to Lavretsky, and felt at once that she could not 
 do otherwise than let him know how her interview with 
 Panshine had ended. But how was "that to be man- 
 aged ? She felt at the sam^e time confused and ashamed. 
 Was it so short a time since she had become acquainted 
 with that man, one who scarcely ever went to church 
 even, and who bore the death of his wife so equably ? 
 and yet here she was already communicating her se 
 crets to him. It was true that he took an interest in 
 her \ and that, on her side she trusted him, and felt 
 herself drawn towards him. But in spite of all this, she 
 felt a certain kind of modest shame — as if a stranger 
 had entered her pure maiden chamber. 
 
 Marfa Timofeevna came to her rescue. 
 
 " Well, if you will not amuse him," she said, " who 
 is to amuse him, poor fellow ? I am too old for him ; 
 he is too clever for me ; and as to Nastasia Carpovna, 
 he is too old for her. It's only boys she cares for." 
 
 " How can I amuse Fedor Ivanovich ? " said Liza. 
 " I would rather play him something on the piano, if he 
 likes," she continued irresolutely. 
 
 " That's capital. You're a clever creature," replied 
 Marfa Timofeevna. " Go down-stairs, my dears. Come 
 
196 Liza. 
 
 back again when you've done ; but just now here I'm 
 left the durachka^ so I'm savage. I must have my re- 
 venge." 
 
 Liza rose from her chair, and so did Lavretsky. As 
 she was going down-stairs, Liza stopped. 
 
 "What they say is true," she began. " The human 
 heart is full of contradictions. Your example ought to 
 have frightened me — ought to have made me distrust 
 marrying for love, and yet I " 
 
 " You've refused him ? " said Lavretsky, interrupting 
 her. 
 
 " No ; but I have not accepted him either. I told 
 him every thing — all my feelings on the subject — and I 
 asked him to wait a little. Are you satisfied ? " she 
 asked with a sudden smile ; and letting her hand skim 
 lightly along the balustrade, she ran down-stairs. 
 
 " What shall I play you ?" she asked, as she opened 
 the piano. 
 
 " Whatever you like," answered Lavretsky, taking a 
 seat where he could look at her. 
 
 Liza began to play, and went on for some time with- 
 lifting her eyes from her fingers. At last she looked at 
 Lavretsky, and stopped playing. The expression of 
 his face seemed so strange and unusual to her. 
 
 " What is the matter ? " she asked. 
 
 * In the game of durachki, the player who remains the last is 
 called the durachok or durachka, diminutive of durak, a /ool. The 
 game somewhat resembles our own " Old Bachelor " or " Old 
 Maid," 
 
Liza. 197 
 
 "Nothing," he replied. "All is well with me at 
 present. I feel happy on your account ; it makes me 
 glad to look at you — do go on." 
 
 " I think," said Liza, a few minutes later, " if he had 
 really loved me he would not have written that letter ; 
 he ought to have felt that I could not answer him just 
 now." 
 
 " That doesn't matter,'' said Lavretsky ; " what does 
 matter is that you do not love him." 
 
 " Stop ! What is that you are saying ? The image 
 of your dead wife is always haunting me, and I feel 
 afraid of you." 
 
 " Doesn't my Liza play well, Woldemar ? " Madame 
 Kalitine was saying at this moment to Panshine. 
 
 " Yes," replied Panshine, " exceedingly well." 
 
 Madame Kalitine looked tenderly at her young 
 partner; but he assumed a still more important and 
 pre-occupied look, and called fourteen kings. 
 
XXIX. 
 
 Lavretsky was no longer a very young man. He 
 could not long delude himself as to the nature of the 
 feeling with which Liza had inspired him. On that day 
 he became finally convinced that he was in love 
 with her. That conviction did not give him much 
 pleasure. 
 
 " Is it possible," he thought, " that at five-and-thirty 
 I have nothing else to do than to confide my heart a 
 second time to a woman's keeping ? But Liza is not 
 like her. She would not have demanded humiliating 
 sacrifices from me. She would not have led me astray 
 from my occupations. She would have inspired me 
 herself with a love for honorable hard work, and we 
 should have gone forward together towards some noble 
 end. Yes," he said, bringing his reflections to a close, 
 " all that is very well. But the worst of it is that she 
 will not go anywhere with me. It was not for nothing 
 that she told me she was afraid of me. And as to her 
 not being in love with Panshine — that is but a poor 
 consolation ! " 
 
 Lavretsky went to Vasilievskoe ; but he could not 
 manage to spend even four days there — so wearisome 
 did it seem to him. Moreover, he was tormented by 
 
Liza. 
 
 199 
 
 suspense. The news which M. Jules had communi- 
 cated required confirmation, and he had not yet received 
 any letters. He returned to town, and passed the even- 
 ing at the Kalitines'. He could easily see that Madame 
 Kalitine had been set against him ; but he succeeded 
 in mollifying her a little by losing some fifteen roubles 
 to her at piquet. He also contrived to get half-an-hour 
 alone with Liza, in spite of her mother having recom- 
 mended her, only the evening before, not to be too inti- 
 mate with a man " qui a un si grand ridicule." 
 
 He found a change in her. She seemed to have 
 become more contemplative. She blamed him for stop- 
 ping away ; and she asked him if he would not go to 
 church the next day — the next day being Sunday. 
 
 " Do come," she continued, before he had time to 
 answer. " We will pray together for the repose of hef 
 soul." Then she added that she did not know what she 
 ought to do — that she did not know whether she had 
 any right to make Panshine wait longer for her deci 
 sion. 
 
 " Why ? " asked Lavretsky. 
 
 " Because," she replied, " I begin to suspect by this 
 time what that decision will be." 
 
 Then she said that she had a headache, and went to 
 her room, after irresolutely holding out the ends of her 
 fingers to Lavretsky. 
 
 The next day Lavretsky went to morning service. 
 Liza was already in the church when he entered. He 
 remarked her, though she did not look towards him. 
 
20O Liza. 
 
 She prayed fervently; her eyes shone with a quiet 
 light ; quietly she bowed and lifted her head. 
 
 He felt that she was praying for him also, and a 
 strange emotion filled his soul. The people standing 
 gravely around, the familiar faces, the harmonious 
 chant, the odor of the incense, the long rays slanting 
 through the windows, the very sdmbreness of the walls 
 and arches — all appealed to his heart. It was long 
 since he had been in church — long since he had turned 
 his thoughts to God. And even now he did not utter 
 any words of prayer — he did not even pray without 
 words J but nevertheless, for a moment, if not in body, 
 at least in mind, he bowed down and bent himself hum- 
 bly to the ground. He remembered how, in the days 
 of his childhood, he always used to pray in church till 
 he felt on his forehead something like a kind of light 
 touch. " That " he used then to think, " is my guardian 
 angel visiting me and pressing on me the seal of elec- 
 tion." He looked at Liza. " It is you who have brought 
 me here," he thought. " Touch me — touch my soul ! " 
 Meanwhile, she went on quietly praying. Her face 
 seemed to him to be joyous, and once more he felt soft- 
 ened, and he asked, for another's soul, rest — for his 
 own, pardon. They met outside in the porch, and she 
 received him with a friendly look of serious happiness. 
 The sun brightly lit up the fresh grass in the church- 
 yard and the many-colored dresses and kerchiefs of the 
 women. The bells of the neighboring churches sounded 
 on high ; the sparrows chirped on the walls. Lavret- 
 
Liza. 201 
 
 sky stood by, smiling and bare-headed ; a light breeze 
 played with his hair and Liza's, and with the ends ot 
 Liza's bonnet strings. He seated Liza and her com- 
 panion Lenochka, in the carriage, gave away all the 
 change he had about him to the beggars, and then 
 strolled slowly home. 
 
XXX. 
 
 The days which followed were days of hetifiness foi 
 Lavretsky. He felt himself in a perpetual fever. 
 Every morning he went to the post, and impatiently 
 tore open his letters and newspapers ; but in none of 
 them did he find anything which could confirm or con- 
 tradict that rumor, on the truth of which he felt that so 
 much now depended. At times he grew disgusted 
 with himself. " What am I," he then would think, 
 " who am waiting here, as a raven waits for blood, for 
 certain intelligence of my wife's death ? " 
 
 He went to the Kalitines' every day ; but even there 
 he was not more at his ease. The mistress of the 
 house was evidently out of humor with him, and treated 
 him with cold condescension. Panshine showed him 
 exaggerated politeness ; Lemm had become misanthro- 
 pical, and scarcely even returned his greeting; and, 
 worst of all, Liza seemed to avoid him. Whenever she 
 happened to be left alone with him, she manifested 
 symptoms of embarrassment, instead of the frank man- 
 ner of former days. On such occasions she did not 
 know what to say to him ; and even he felt confused. 
 In the course of a few days Liza had become changed 
 from what he remembered her to have been. In hei 
 
Liza. 203 
 
 movements, in her voice, even in her laugh itself, a se- 
 cret uneasiness manifested itself — something different 
 from her former evenness of temper. Her mother, like 
 a true egotist, did not suspect anything; but Marfa 
 Timofeevna began to watch her favorite closely. 
 
 Lavretsky often blamed himself for having shown 
 Liza the newspaper he had received ; he could not help 
 being conscious that there was something in his state 
 of feeling which must be repugnant to a very delicate 
 mind. He supposed, moreover, that the change which 
 had taken place in Liza arose from a struggle with 
 herself, from her doubt as to what answer she should 
 give to Panshine. 
 
 One day she returned him a book — one of Walter 
 Scott's novels — which she had herself asked him for. 
 
 " Have you read it ? " he asked. 
 
 " No ; I am not in a mood for books just now," she 
 answered, and then was going away. 
 
 " Wait a minute," he said. " It is so long since I 
 got a talk with you alone. You seem afraid of me. Is 
 it so ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " But why ? " 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 Lavretsky said nothing for a time. 
 
 " Tell me," he began again presently ; " haven't you 
 made up your mind yet ? " 
 
 "What do you mean?" she replied, without lifting 
 her eyes from the ground. 
 
«o4 Liza. 
 
 " Surely you understand me ? " 
 
 Liza suddenly reddened. 
 
 " Don't ask me about anything ! " she exclaimed with 
 animation. " I know nothing. I don't know myself." 
 
 And she went hastily away. 
 
 The next day Lavretsky arrived at the Kalitines' after 
 dinner, and found all the preparations going on there 
 for an evening service. In a corner of the dining- 
 room, a number of small icons* in golden frames, with 
 tarnished little diamonds in the aureolas, were already 
 placed against the wall on a square table, which was 
 covered with a table-cloth of unspotted whiteness. An 
 old servant, dressed in a grey coat and wearing shoes, 
 traversed the whole room deliberately and noiselessly, 
 placed two slender candle-sticks^with wax tapers in 
 them before the icons, crossed himself, bowed, and si- 
 lently left the room. 
 
 The drawing-room was dark and empty. Lavretsky 
 went into the dining-room, and asked if it was any one's 
 name-day.t He was told in a whisper that it was not, 
 but that a service was to be performed in accordance 
 with the request of Lizaveta Mikhailovna and Marfa 
 Timofeevna. The miracle-working picture was to have 
 been brought, but it had gone to a sick person thirty 
 versts off. 
 
 * Sacred Pictures. 
 
 f A Russian keeps, not his birthday, but his name-day — that is. 
 the day set apart by the church in honor of tha saint after whonc 
 he is called. 
 
Liza. 205 
 
 Soon afterwards the priest arrived with his acolytes 
 — a middle-aged man, with a large bald spot on his 
 head, who coughed loudly in the vestibule. The ladies 
 immediately came out of the boudoir in a row, and 
 asked him for his blessing. Lavretsky bowed to them 
 in silence, and they as silently returned his greeting. 
 The priest remained a little longer where he was, then 
 coughed again, and asked, in a low, deep voice — 
 
 " Do you wish me to begin ? " 
 
 " Begin, reverend father," replied Maria Dmitri- 
 evna. 
 
 The priest began to robe. An acolyte in a surplice 
 humbly asked for a coal from the fire. The scent of 
 the incense began to spread around. The footmen and 
 the maid-servants came in from the ante-chamber and 
 remained standing in a compact body at the door. The 
 dog Roska, which, as a general rule, never came down- 
 stairs from the upper story, now suddenly made its ap- 
 pearance in the dining room. The servants tried to 
 drive it out, but it got frightened, first ran about, and 
 then lay down. At last a footman got hold of it and 
 carried it off. 
 
 The service began. Lavretsky retired into a corner. 
 His feelings were strange and almost painful. H^ 
 himself could not well define what it was that he felt. 
 Maria Dmitrievna stood in front of the rest, with an 
 arm-chair behind her. She crossed herself carelessly, 
 languidly, like a great lady. Sometimes she looked 
 round, at others she suddenly raised her eyes to- 
 
io6 Liza. 
 
 wards the ceiling. The whole affair evidently bored 
 her. 
 
 Marfa Timofeevna seerned pre-occupied. Nastasia 
 Carpovna bowed down to the ground, and raised her- 
 self up again, with a sort of soft and modest sound. 
 As for Liza, she did not stir from the spot where she 
 was standing, she dTd not change her position upon it; 
 from the concentrated expression of her face, it was 
 evident that she was praying uninterruptedly and far 
 vently. 
 
 At the end of the service she approached the crii 
 cifix, and kissed both it and the large red hand of tho 
 priest. Maria Dmitrievna invited him to take tea. He 
 threw off his stole, assumed a sort of mundane air, anci 
 went into the drawing-room with the ladies. A conv?! 
 sation began, not of a very lively nature. The pries, 
 drank four cups of tea, wiping the bald part of bi^* 
 head the while with his handkerchief, stated amon;^ 
 other things that the merchant Avoshnikof had given 
 several hundred roubles towards the gilding of the 
 church's " cumpola,'' and favored the company with an 
 unfailing cure for freckles. 
 
 Lavretsky tried to get a seat near Liza, but she 
 ■maintained her grave, almost austere air, and never 
 once looked at him. She seemed intentionally to ig- 
 nore him. A kind of serious, cold enthusiasm appeared 
 to possess her. For some reason or other Lavretsky 
 felt inclined to smile, and to utter words of jesting; but 
 Bis heart was ill at ease, and at last he went away in a 
 
Liza. 207 
 
 state of secret perplexity. There was something, he 
 felt, in Liza's mind, which he could not understand. 
 
 On another occasion, as Lavretsky was sitting in 
 the drawing-room, listening to the insinuating tones of 
 Gedeonovsky's wearisome verbiage, he suddenly turned 
 round, he knew not why, and caught the deep, attentive, 
 inquiring look of Liza's eyes. That enigmatical look 
 was directed towards him. The whole night long La- 
 vretsky thought of it. His love was not like that of a 
 boy, nor was it consistent with his age to sigh and to 
 torment himself j and indeed it was not with a feeling 
 of a merely passionate nature that Liza had inspired 
 him. But love has its sufferings for every age — and he 
 became perfectly acquainted with them. 
 
XXXI. 
 
 One day Lavretsky was as usual at the Kali tines', 
 An oveipoweringly hot afternoon had been followed by 
 such a beautiful evening that Madame Kalitine, not- 
 withstanding her usual aversion to a draught, ordered 
 all the windows and the doors leading into the garden 
 to be opened. Moreover, she announced that she was 
 not going to play cards, that it would be a sin to do so 
 in such lovely weather, and that it was a duty to enjoy 
 the beauties of nature. 
 
 Panshine was the only stranger present. Influenced 
 by the evening, and feeling a flow of artistic emotion, 
 but not wishing to sing in Lavretsky's presence, he 
 threw himself into poetry He read — and read well, 
 only with too much consciousness, and with needlessly 
 subtle distinctions — some of Lermontof's poems (Push- 
 kin had not then succeeded in getting back into fash- 
 ion). Suddenly, as if ashamed of his emotion, he be- 
 gan in reference to the well-known Duma,* to blame 
 and attack the new generation, not losing the opportu- 
 nity which the subject afforded him of setting forth how, 
 if the power lay in his hands, he would alter everything 
 his own way. 
 
 * For the poem, so-called, see note at end of chapter. 
 
Liza. 
 
 209 
 
 " Russia," he said, "has lagged behind Europe, and 
 must be driven up alongside of it. We are told that 
 ours is a young country. That is all nonsense. Be- 
 sidesj we have no inventive power. Khomakof* him- 
 self admits that we have never invented so much as a 
 mousetrap. Consequently we are obliged to imitate 
 others, whether we like it or no. 
 
 " 'We are ill,' says Lermontof, and I agree with him. 
 But we are ill because we have only half become Euro- 
 peans. With that which has wounded us we must be 
 cured." (" Le cadastre^^ thought Lavretsky.) " Among 
 us," he continued, " the best heads, les meilleures Utes, 
 have long been convinced of this. In reality, all peo- 
 ples are alike ; only introduce good institutions, and the 
 affair is settled. To be sure, one may make some 
 allowance for the existing life of the nation ; that is our 
 business, the business of the people who are " (he all 
 but said. " statesmen ") " in the public service ; but if 
 need arises, don't be uneasy. Those institutions will 
 modify that life itself." 
 
 Maria Dmitrievna admiringly agreed with him. 
 "; What a clever man to have talking in my house ! " she 
 thought. Liza kept silence, leaning back in the recess 
 of the window. Lavretsky kept silence too. Marfa 
 Timofeevna, who was playing cards in a corner with 
 her friend, grumbled something to herself. Pan shine 
 walked up and down the room, speaking well, but with 
 a sort of suppressed malice. Ii seemed as if he was 
 blaming, not so much a whole generation, as some 
 • A poet, who was one of the leaders of the Slavophile party. 
 
210 Liza. 
 
 individuals of his acquaintance. A nightingale had 
 made its home in a large lilac bush which stood in the 
 Kalitines' garden, and the first notes of its even-song 
 made themselves heard during the pauses in the elo- 
 quent harangue ; the first stars began to kindle in the 
 rose-stained sky above the motionless tops of the lime 
 trees. Presently Lavretsky rose and began to reply to 
 Panshine. A warm dispute soon commenced. 
 
 Lavretsky spoke in defence of the youth of Russia, 
 and of the capacity of the country to suffice for itself. 
 He surrendered himself and his contemporaries, but he 
 stood up for the new generation, and their wishes and 
 convictions. Panshine replied incisively and irritably, 
 declared that clever people were bound to reform every 
 thing, and at length was carried away to such an extent 
 that, forgetting his position as a chamberlain, and his 
 proper line of action as a member of the civil service, 
 he called Lavretsky a retrogade conservative, and al- 
 luded — very distantly it is true — to his false position in 
 society. Lavretsky did not lose his temper, nor did he 
 raise his voice ; he remembered that Mikhalevich also 
 had called him a retrograde, and, at the same time a 
 disciple of Voltaire ; but he calmly beat Panshine on 
 every point. He proved the impracticability of reform- 
 ing by sudden bounds, and of introducing changes 
 haughtily schemed on the heights of official self-com- 
 placency — changes which were not justified by any inti- 
 mate acquaintance with the country, nor by a living 
 faith in any ideal, not even in one of negation, and in 
 illustration of this he adduced his own education. He 
 
■Liza, 211 
 
 demanded before every thing else that the true spirit 
 of the nation should be recognized, and that it should 
 be looked up to with that humility without which no 
 courage is possible, not even that wherewith to oppose 
 falsehood. Finally he did not attempt to make any de- 
 fence against what he considered a deserved reproach, 
 that of giving way to a wasteful and inconsiderate ex- 
 penditure of both time and strength. 
 
 " All that is very fine ! " at last exclaimed Panshine 
 with vexation. " But here are you, just returned to 
 Russia ; what do you intend to do ? " 
 
 " To cultivate the soil," replied Lavretsky ; " and to 
 culitivate it as well as possible." 
 
 " No doubt that is very praiseworthy," answered 
 Panshine, " and I hear you have already had great suc- 
 cess in that line ; but you must admit that every one is 
 not fitted for such an occupation " 
 
 " Une nature poitique,^' said Maria Dmitrievna, 
 
 " certainly cannot go cultivating the soil et puis, it is 
 
 your vocation, Vladimir Nikolaevich, to do every thing 
 en grandy 
 
 This was too much even for Panshine, who grew 
 confused, and changed the conversation. He tried to 
 turn it on the beauty of the starry heavens, on Schu- 
 bert's music, but somehow his efforts did not prove suc- 
 cessful. He ended by offering to play at piquet with 
 Maria Dmitrievna. " What I on such an evening as 
 this?" she feebly objected; but then she ordered the 
 cards to be brought. 
 
 Panshine noisily tore open a new pack ; and Liza 
 
212 Liza. 
 
 and Lavietsky, as if by mutual consent, both lose from 
 their seats and placed themselves near Marfa Timofeev- 
 na. They both suddenly experienced a great feeling of 
 happiness, mingled with a sense of mutual dread, 
 which made them glad of the presence of a third per- 
 son ; at the same lime, they both felt that the uneasi- 
 ness from which they had suffered during the last few 
 days had disappeared, and would return no more. 
 
 The old lady stealthily tapped Lavretsky on the 
 cheek, screwed up her eyes with an air of pleasant ma- 
 lice, and shook her head repeatedly, saying in a whis- 
 per, " You've done for the genius — thanks ! " Then all 
 became still m the room. Nothing was to be heard but 
 the faint crackling of the wax lights, and sometimes the 
 fall of a hand on the table, or an exclamation on the score 
 of points, and the song of the nightingale which, pow- 
 erful, almost insolently loud, flowed in a great wave 
 through the window, together with the dewy freshness 
 of the night. 
 
 Note. — The following is a tolerably literal translation of the 
 poem of Lermontof 's to which allusion is made on p. 208, and 
 which created no slight sensation when it first appeared, in the year 
 1838:- 
 
 A THOUGHT. 
 
 Sorrowfully do I look upon the present generation ! Its fu- 
 ture seems either gloomy or meaningless, and meanwhile, whether 
 under the buiden of knowledge or of d )ubt. 't grows old in idle- 
 aess. 
 
Liza. 
 
 213 
 
 When scarcely out of the cradle, we reap the rich inheritance 
 of the errors of our fathers, and the results of their tardy thoughts. 
 Life soon grows wearisome for us, like a banquet at a stranger's 
 festival, like a level road leading nowhere. 
 
 In the commencement of our career, we fall away without a 
 •struggle, shamefully careless about right and wrong, shamefully timid 
 in the face of danger. 
 
 So does a withered fruit which has prematurely ripened — at- 
 tractive neither to the eye nor to the palate — hang like an alien 
 orphan among blossoms ; and the hour of their beauty is that of 
 its fall. 
 
 Our intellect has dried up in the pursuit of fruitless science, 
 while we have been concealing the purest of hopes from the know- 
 edge of those who are near and dear to us, and stifling the noble 
 utterance of such sentiments as are ridiculed by a mocking spirit. 
 
 We have scarcely tasted of the cup of enjoyment, but for all 
 that we have not husbanded our youthful strength. While we 
 were always In dread of satiety, we have contrived to drain each 
 joy of its best virtues. 
 
 No dreams of poetry, no creations of art, touch our hearts with 
 a sweet rapture. We stingily hoard up within our breasts the last 
 remnants of feeling — a treasure concealed by avarice, and which 
 remains utterly unprofitable. 
 
 We love and we hate capriciously, sacrificing nothing either to 
 our animosity or to our affection, a certain secret coldness possess- 
 ing our souls, even while a fire is raging in our veins. 
 
 The sumptuous pleasures of our ancestors weary us, as well 
 as their simple, childish diversions. Without enjoying happiness, 
 without reaping glory, we hasten onwards to the grave, casting 
 naught but unlucky glances behind us. 
 
 A saturnine crowd, soon to be forgotten, we silently pass away 
 from the world and leave no trace behind, without having handed 
 down to the ages to come a single work of genius, or even a soli- 
 Urv thought laden with meaning. 
 
214 Liza. 
 
 . And our descendants, regarding our memory with tlie severity 
 of citizens called to sit in judgment on an afTair concerning the 
 state, will allude to us with the scathing irony of a ruined son, 
 when he speaks of the father who has squandered away his pat- 
 riinusy. 
 
xxxn. 
 
 Liza had not uttered a single word during the dis- 
 pute between Lavretsky and Panshine, but she had fol- 
 lowed it attentively, and had been on Lavretsky's side 
 throughout. She cared very little about politics ; but 
 she was repelled by the self-sufficient tone of the worldly 
 official, who had never shown himself in that light be- 
 fore, and his contempt for Russia offended her. It had 
 never occurred to Liza to imagine that she was a pat- 
 riot. But she was thoroughly at her ease with the 
 Russian people. The Russian turn of mind pleased 
 her. She would chat for hours, without thinking any- 
 thing of it, with the chief of the village on her mother's 
 estate, when he happened to come into town, and talk 
 with him as if he were her equal, without any signs of 
 seigneurial condescension. All this Lavretsky knew 
 well. For his own part, he never would have cared to 
 reply to Panshine ; it was only for Liza's sake that he 
 spoke. 
 
 They said nothing to each other, and even their eyes 
 but rarely met. But they both felt that they had been 
 drawn closer together that evening, they knew that they 
 both had the same likes and dislikes. On one point 
 only were they at variance ; but Liza secretly hoped to 
 
2i6 Liza. 
 
 bring him back to God. They sat down close by Marfa 
 Timofeevna, and seemed to be following her game; 
 nay, more, did actually follow it. But, meantime, their 
 hearts grew full within them, and nothing escaped their 
 senses — for them the nightingale sang softly, and the 
 stars burnt, and the trees whispered, steeped in slum- 
 berous calm, and lulled to rest by the warmth and soft- 
 ness of the summer night. 
 
 Lavretsky gave himself up to its wave of fascination, 
 and his heart rejoiced within him. But no words can 
 express the change that was being worked within the 
 pure soul of the maiden by his side. Even for herself 
 it was a secret ; let it remain, then, a secret for all oth- 
 ers also. No one knows, no eye has seen or ever wi'' 
 see, how the grain which has been confided to the 
 earth's bosom becomes instinct with vitality, and riper* 
 into stirring, blossoming life. 
 
 Ten o'clock struck, and Marfa Timofeevna went up 
 stairs to her room with Nastasia Carpovna. Lavretskj- 
 and Liza walked about the room, stopped in front of 
 the open door leading into the garden, looked first into 
 the gloaming distance and then at each other — and 
 smiled. It seemed as if they would so gladly have 
 taken each other's hands and talked to their hearts' 
 content. 
 
 They returned to Maria Dmitrievna and Panshine, 
 whose game dragged itself out to an unusual length. 
 At length the last " king" came to an end, and Madame 
 Kalitine rose from her cushioned chair, sighing, and 
 
Liza. 
 
 217 
 
 uttering sounds of weariness the while. Panshine took 
 his hat, kissed her hand, remarked that nothing pre 
 vented more fortunate people from enjoying the night 
 or going to sleep, but that he must sit up till morning 
 over stupid papers, bowed coldly to Liza — with whom 
 he was angry, for he had not expected that she would 
 ask him to wait so long for an answer to his proposal — 
 and retired. Lavretsky went away directly after him, 
 following him to the gate, where he took leave of him. 
 Panshine aroused his coachman, poking him in the neck 
 with the end of his stick, seated himself in his droshky, 
 and drove away. But Lavretsky did not feel inclined 
 to go home, so he walked out of the town into the fields. 
 
 The night was still and clear, although there was no 
 moon. For a long time Lavretsky wandered across the 
 dewy grass. A narrow footpath lay in his way, and he 
 followed it. It led him to a long hedge, in which there 
 was a wicket gate. Without knowing why he did so, he 
 tried to push it open ; with a faint creak it did open, 
 just as if it had been awaiting the touch of his hand. 
 Lavretsky found himself in a garden, took a few steps 
 along a lime-tree alley, and suddenly stopped short in 
 utter amazement. He saw that he was in the Kalitincs' 
 garden. 
 
 A thick hazel bush close at hand flung a black patch 
 of shadow on the ground. Into this he quickly passed, 
 and there stood for some time without stirring from the 
 spot, inwardly wondering and from time to time shrug- 
 ging his shoulders. " This has not happened without 
 some purpose," he thought. 
 10 
 
2i8 Liza. 
 
 Around all was still. From the house not the 
 slightest sound reached him. He began cautiously to 
 advance. At the corner of an alley all the house sud- 
 denly burst upon him with its dusky facade. In two 
 windows only on the upper story were lights glimmer- 
 ing. In Liza's apartment a candle was burning behind 
 the white blind; and in Marfa Timofeevna's bed-room 
 glowed the red flame of the small lamp hanging in front 
 of the sacred picture, on the gilded cover of which it 
 was reflected in steady Hght. Down below, the door 
 leading on to the balcony gaped wide open. 
 
 Lavretsky sat down on a wooden bench, rested his 
 head on his hand, and began looking at that door and 
 at Liza's window. Midnight sounded in the own ; in 
 the house a little clock feebly struck twe e. The 
 watchman beat the hour with quick stroke^ on his 
 board. Lavretsky thought of nothing, expected noth- 
 ing. It was pleasant to him to feel himself near Liza, 
 to sit in her garden, and on the bench where she also 
 often sat. 
 
 The light disappeared from Liza's room. 
 
 " A quiet night to you, dear girl," whispered Lavret- 
 sky, still sitting where he was without moving, and not 
 taking his eyes off the darkened window. 
 
 Suddenly a light appeared at one of the windows of 
 the lower story, crossed to another window, and then to 
 a third. Some one was carrying a candle through the 
 room. "Can it be Liza? It cannot be," thought La- 
 vretsky. He rose. A well-known face glimmered in 
 
Liza. 2 19 
 
 the darkness, and Liza appeared in the drawing-room, 
 wearing a white dress, her hair hanging loosely about 
 her shoulders. Quietly approaching the table, she 
 leant over it, put down the candle and began looting 
 for something. Then she turned towards the garden, 
 and crossed to the open door ; presently her light, slen- 
 der, white-robed form stood still on the threshold. 
 
 A kind of shiver ran over Lavretsky's limbs, and the 
 word " Liza ! " escaped all but inaudibly from his lips. 
 
 She started, and then began to peer anxiously into 
 the darkness. 
 
 " Liza ! " said Lavretsky louder than before, and 
 came out from the shadow of the alley. 
 
 Liza was startled. For a moment .she bent forward ; 
 then she shrank back. She had recognized him. For 
 the third time he called her, and held out his hands to- 
 wards her. She passed out from the doorway and 
 came into the garden. 
 
 " You ! " she said. " You here ! " 
 
 " I — I Come and hear what I have to say,' 
 
 whispered Lavretsky; and then, taking her hand, he led 
 her to the bench. 
 
 She followed him without a word ; but her pale face, 
 her fixed look, and all her movements, testified her un 
 utterable astonishment. Lavretsky made her sit down 
 on the bench, and remained standing in front of her. 
 
 " I did not think of coming here," he began. " I 
 was led here I — I — -I love you," he ended by say- 
 ing, feeling very nervous in spite of himself. 
 
22C Liza. 
 
 Liza slowly looked up at him. It seemed as if i^ 
 had not been till that moment that she understood 
 where she was, and what was happening to her. She 
 wouM have risen, but she could not. Then she hid hei 
 face in her hands. 
 
 " Liza ! " exclaimed Lavretsky ; " Liza ! " he repeat- 
 ed, and knelt down at her feet. 
 
 A slight shudder ran over her shoulders ; she 
 pressed the fingers of her white hands closer to her 
 face. 
 
 " What is it ? " said Lavretsky. Then he heard a low 
 sound of sobbing, and his heart sank within him. He 
 understood the meaning of those tears. 
 
 " Can it be that you love me ? " he whispered, with 
 a caressing gesture of the hand. 
 
 " Stand up, stand up, Fedor Ivanovich," she at last 
 succeeded in saying. " What are we doing ? " 
 
 He rose from his knees, and sat down by her side 
 on the bench. She was no longer crying, but her eyes, 
 as she looked at him earnestly, were wet with tears. 
 
 " I am frightened ! What are we doing ? " she said 
 again. 
 
 " I love you," he repeated. " I am ready to give my 
 whole life for you." 
 
 She shuddered again, just as if something had stung 
 her, then she raised her eyes to heaven. 
 
 "That is entirely in the hands of God," she re 
 plied. 
 
 "But you love me, Liza? We are going to be 
 happy ? " 
 
Liza. 221 
 
 She let fall her eyes. He softly drew her to him- 
 self, and her head sank upon his shoulder. He bent 
 his head a little aside, and kissed her pale lips. 
 
 Half an hour later Lavretsky was again standing 
 before the garden gate. He found it closed now and 
 was obliged to get over the fence. He returned into 
 the town, and walked along its sleeping streets. His 
 heart was full of happiness, intense and unexpected ; all 
 misgiving was dead within him. " Disappear, dark 
 spirit of the Past !" he said to himself. " She loves me. 
 She will be mine." 
 
 Suddenly he seemed to hear strange triumphal 
 sounds floating in the air above his head. He stopped. 
 With greater grandeur than before the sounds went 
 clanging forth. With strong, sonorous stream did they 
 flow along — and in them, as it seemed to him, all his 
 happiness spoke and sang. He looked round. The 
 sounds came from the two upper windows of a smal' 
 house. 
 
 " Lemm ! " he exclaimed, and ran up to the door of 
 the house. " Lemm, Lemm ! " he repeated loudly. 
 
 The sounds died away, and the form of the old man, 
 wrapped in a dressing-gown, with exposed phest and 
 wildly floating hair, appeared at the window. 
 
 " Ha ! it is you," he said, with an air of importance. 
 
 " Christopher Fedorovich, what wonderful music ! 
 For heaven's sake let me in ! " 
 
 The old man did not say a word, but with a digni- 
 
222 Liza. 
 
 fied motion of the hand he threw the key of the dooi 
 out of the window into the street. Lavretsky hastily 
 ran up-stairs, entered the room, and was going to fling 
 himself into Lemm's arms. But Lemm, with a gesture 
 of command, pointed to a chair, and said sharply in 
 his incorrect Russian, " Sit down and listen," then took 
 his seat at the piano, looked round with a proud and 
 severe glance, and began to play. 
 
 Lavretsky had heard nothing like it for a long time 
 indeed. A sweet, passionate melody spoke to the 
 heart with its very first notes. It seemed all thoroughly 
 replete with sparkling light, fraught with inspiration, 
 with beauty, and with joy. As it rose and sank it 
 seemed to speak of all that is dear, and secret, and 
 holy, on earth. It spoke too of a sorrow that can never 
 end, and then it went to die away in the distant heaven. 
 
 Lavretsky had risen from his seat and remained 
 standing, rooted to the spot, and pale with rapture. 
 Those sounds entered very readily into his heart ; for it 
 had just been stirred into sensitiveness by the touch of 
 a happy love, and they themselves were glowing with 
 love. 
 
 " Play it again," he whispered, as soon as the last 
 final chord had died away. 
 
 The old man looked at him with an eagle's glance, 
 and said slowly, in his native tongue, striking his breast 
 with his hand, " It is I who wrote that, for I am a great 
 musician," and then he played once more his wonderful 
 composition. 
 
Liza. 223 
 
 There were no lights in the room, but the rays of 
 the rising moon entered obliquely through the window. 
 The listening air seemed to tremble into music, and the 
 poor little apartment looked like a sanctuary, while the 
 silvery half-light gave to the head of the old man a noble 
 and spiritual expression. 
 
 Lavretsky came up to him and embraced him. At 
 first Lemm did not respond to his embrace — even put 
 him aside with his elbow. Then he remained rigid for 
 some time, without moving any of his limbs, wearing 
 die same severe, almost repellent, look as before, and 
 only growling out twice, " Aha ! " But at last a change 
 came over him, his face grew calm, and his head was 
 no longer thrown back. Then, in reply to Lavretsky's 
 warm congratulations, he first smiled a little, and after- 
 wards began to cry, sobbing faintly, like a child. 
 
 " It is wonderful," he said, " your coming just at this 
 very moment. But I know every thing — I know all 
 about it." 
 
 " You know every thing ? " exclaimed Lavretsky in 
 astonishment. 
 
 "You have heard what I said," replied Lemm. 
 " Didn't you understand that I knew every thing ? " 
 
 Lavretsky did not get to sleep till the morning. 
 All night long he remained sitting on the bed. Neither 
 did Liza sleep. She was praying. 
 
XXXIII. 
 
 The reader knows how Lavretsky had been brought 
 up and educated. We will now say a few words about 
 Liza's education. She was ten years old when her 
 father died, who had troubled himself but little about 
 her. Overwhelmed with business, constantly absorbed 
 in the pursuit of adding to his income, a man of bilious 
 temperament and a sour and impatient nature, he never 
 grudged paying for the teachers and tutors, or for the 
 dress and the other necessaries required by his children, 
 but he could not bear " to nurse his squallers," accord- 
 ing to his own expression — and, indeed, he never had 
 any time for nursing them. He used to work, become 
 absorbed in business, sleep a little, play cards on rare 
 occasions, then work again. He often compared him- 
 self to a horse yoked to a threshing machine. " My 
 life has soon been spent," he said on his death-bed, a 
 bitter smile contracting his lips. 
 
 As to Maria Dmitrievna, she really troubled herself 
 about Liza very little more than her husband did, for 
 all that she had taken credit to herself, when speaking 
 to Lavretsky, for having educated her children herself. 
 She used to dress her like a doll, and when visitors 
 were present, she would caress her and call her a good 
 
Liza. 
 
 225 
 
 child and her darling, and that was all. Every contin- 
 uous care troubled that indolent lady. 
 
 During her father's lifetime, Liza was left in the 
 hands of a governess, a Mademoiselle Moreau, from 
 Paris ; but after his death she passed under the care of 
 Marfa Timofeevna. That lady is already known to the 
 reader. As for Mademoiselle Moreau, she was a very 
 small woman, much wrinkled, and having the manners 
 of a bird, and the character of a bird also. In her 
 youth she had led a very dissipated life ; in her old age 
 she retained only two passions — the love of dainties 
 and the love of cards. When her appetite was satiated, 
 and when she was not playing cards or talking non- 
 sense, her countenance rapidly assumed an almost 
 death-like expression. She would sit and gaze and 
 breathe, but it was plain that there was not a single idea 
 stirring in her mind. She could not even be called 
 good ; goodness is not an attribute of birds. In con- 
 sequence either of her frivolous youth or of the air of 
 Paris, which she had breathed from her childhood's 
 days, there was rooted in her a kind of universal scep- 
 ticism, which usually found expression in the words, 
 " Tout (a c' est dcs bitises." She spoke an incorrect, but 
 purely Parisian jargon, did not talk scandal, and had 
 no caprices — what more could one expect from a gov- 
 erness ? Over Liza she had but little influence. All 
 the more powerful, then, was the influence exercised 
 over the child by her nurse, Agafia Vlasievna. 
 
 That woman's story was a remarkable one. She 
 
 10* 
 
826 Liza. 
 
 sprang from a family of peasants, and was married at 
 sixteen to a peasant ; but she stood out in sliarp relief 
 against the mass of her peasant sisters. As a child, she 
 had been spoilt by her father, who had been for twenty 
 years the head of his commune, and who had made a 
 good deal of money. She was singularly beautiful, 
 and for grace and taste she was unsurpassed in the 
 whole district, and she was intelligent, eloquent, and 
 courageous. Her master, Dmitry Pestof, Madame 
 Kalitine's father, a quiet and reserved man, saw her 
 one day on the threshing-floor, had a talk with her, and 
 fell passionately in love with her. Soon after this she 
 became a widow. Pestof, although he was a married 
 man, took her into his house, and had her dressed like 
 one of the household. Agafia immediately made her- 
 self at home in her new position, just as if she had 
 never led a different kind of life. Her complexion 
 grew fairer, her figure became more rounded, and her 
 arms, under their muslin sleeves, showed " white as 
 wheat-flour," like those of a wealthy tradesman's wife. 
 The samovar never quitted her table ; she would wear 
 nothing but silks and velvets ; she slept on feather-beds 
 of down. 
 
 This happy life lasted five years ; then Dmitry Pes- 
 tof died. His widow, a lady of a kindly character, re- 
 spected the memory of her late husband too much to 
 wish to treat her rival with ignominy, especially as 
 Agafia had never forgotten herself in her presence ■, 
 but she married her to a herdsman, and sent her away 
 
Liza. 227 
 
 from her sight. Three years passed by. One hct sum- 
 mer day the lady happened to pay a visit to the cattle- 
 yard. Agafia treated her to such a cool dish of rich 
 cream; behaved herself so modestly, and looked so clean, 
 so happy, so contented with every thing, that her mis- 
 tress informed her that she was pardoned, and allowed 
 her to return into the house. Before six months had 
 passed, the lady had become so attached to her that 
 she promoted her to the post of housekeeper, and con- 
 fided all the domestic arrangements to her care. Thus 
 Agafia came back into power, and again became fair 
 and plump. Her mistress trusted her implicitly. 
 
 So passed five more years. Then misfortune came 
 a second time on Agafia. Her husband, for whom she 
 had obtained a place as footman, took to drink, began 
 to absent himself from the house, and ended by steal- 
 ing half-a-dozen of his mistress's silver spoons and 
 hiding them, till a fitting opportunity should arise for 
 carrying them off in his wife's box. The theft was 
 found out. He was turned into a herdsman again, and 
 Agafia fell into disgrace. She was not dismissed from 
 the house, but she was degraded from the position of 
 housekeeper to that of a needle-woman, and she was 
 ordered to wear a handkerchief on her head instead of 
 a cap. To every one's astonishment, Agafia bore the 
 punishment inflicted on her with calm humility. By 
 this time she was about thirty years old, all her children 
 were dead, and her husband soon afterwards died also. 
 The season of reflection had arrived for her, and she 
 
228 Liza. 
 
 did reflect. She became very silent and very devout, 
 never once letting matins or mass go unheeded by, and 
 she gave away all her fine clothes. For fifteen years 
 she led a quiet, grave, peaceful life, quarrelling with no 
 one, giving way to all. If any one spoke to her harshly, 
 she only bent her head and returned thanks for the les- 
 son. Her mistress had forgiven her long ago, and had 
 taken the ban off her — had even given her a cap off 
 her own head to wear. But she herself refused to doff 
 her handkerchief, and she would never consent to wear 
 any but a sombre-colored dress. After the death of 
 her mistress she became even more quiet and more 
 humble than before. It is easy to work upon a Rus- 
 sian's fears and to secure his attachment, but it is diffi- 
 cult to acquire his esteem ; that be will not readily give, 
 nor will he give it to every one. But the whole house- 
 hold esteemed Agafia. No one even so much as re- 
 membered her former faults ; it was as if they had been 
 buried in the grave with her old master. 
 
 When Kalitine married Maria Dmitrievna, he want- 
 ed to entrust the care of his household to Agafia ; but 
 she refused, " on account of temptation.'' He began 
 to scold her, but she only bowed low and left the 
 room. The shrewd Kalitine generally understood peo- 
 ple ; so he understood Agafia's character, and did not 
 ose sight of her. When he settled in town, he ap- 
 pointed her, with her consent, to the post of nurse to 
 Liza, who was then just beginning her fifth year. 
 
 At first Liza was frightened by the serious, even 
 
Liza. 
 
 229 
 
 severe, face of her new nurse ; but she soon became 
 accustomed to her, and learned to love her warmly. 
 The child was of a serious disposition herself. Her 
 features called to mind Kalitine's regular and finely- 
 moulded face, but her eyes were not like those of her 
 father ; they shone with a quiet light, expressive of an 
 earnest goodness that is rarely seen in children. She 
 did not care about playing with dolls ; she never laughed 
 loudly nor long, and a feeling of self-respect always 
 manifested itself in her conduct. It was not often that 
 she fell into a reverie, but when she did so there was 
 almost always good reason for it ; then she would keep 
 silence for a time, but generally ended by addressing to 
 some person older than herself a question which showed 
 that her mind had been working under the influence of 
 a new impression. She very soon got over her child- 
 ish lisp, and even before she was four years old she 
 spoke with perfect distinctness. She was afraid of her 
 father. As for her mother, she regarded her with a 
 feehng which she could scarcely define, not being afraid 
 of her, but not behaving towards her caressingly. As 
 for that, she did not caress even her nurse, although 
 she loved her with her whole heart. She and Agafia 
 were never apart. It was curious to see them togethei. 
 Agafia, all in black, with a dark handkerchief on her 
 head, her face emaciated and of a wax-like transpa- 
 rency, but still beautiful and expressive, would sit erect 
 on her chair, knitting stockings. At her feet Liza would 
 -be sitting on a little stool, also engaged in some work, 
 
230 
 
 Liza. 
 
 or, her clear eyes uplifted with a serious expression, 
 listening to what Agafia was telling her. Agafia nevei 
 told her nursery tales. With a calm and even voice, 
 she used to tell her about the life of the Blessed V irgin, 
 or the lives of the hermits and people pleasing to God, 
 or about the holy female martyrs. She would tell Liza 
 how the saints lived in the deserts ; how they worked 
 out their salvation, enduring hunger and thirst; and 
 how they did not fear kings, but confessed Christ ; and 
 how the birds of the air brought them food, and the 
 wild beasts obeyed them ; how from those spots where 
 their blood had fallen flowers sprang up. (" Were they 
 carnations ? " once asked Liza, who was very fond of 
 flowers.) Agafia spoke about these things to Liza seri- 
 ously and humbly, as if she felt that it was not for her 
 to pronounce such grand and holy words ; and as Liza 
 listened to her, the image of the Omnipresent, Omnis- 
 cient God entered with a sweet influence into her very 
 soul, filling her with a pure and reverend dread, and 
 Christ seemed to her to be close to her, and to be a 
 friend, almost, as it were, a relation. It was Agafia, 
 also, who taught her to pray. Sometimes she awoke 
 Liza at the early dawn, dressed her hastily, and secretly 
 conveyed her to, matins. Liza would follow her on tip- 
 toe, scarcely venturing to breathe. The cold, dim 
 morning light, the raw air pervading the almost empty 
 church, the very secrecy of those unexpected excur- 
 sions, the cautious return home to bed — all that combi- 
 nation of the forbidden, the strange, the . holy, thrilled 
 
Liza. 
 
 231 
 
 the young girl, penetrated to the inmost depths of hei 
 being. 
 
 Agafia never blamed any one, and she never scolded 
 Liza for any childish faults. When she was dissatishcd 
 about anything, she merely kept silence, and Liza al- 
 ways understood that silence. With a child's quick 
 instinct, she also knew well when Agafia was dissatisfied 
 with others, whether it were with Maria Dmitrievna or 
 with Kalitiue himself. 
 
 For rather more than three years Agafia waited upon 
 Liza. She was replaced by Mademoiselle Moreau ; but 
 the frivolous Frenchwoman, with her dry manner and 
 her constant exclamation, Totit (a c'est des betises I 
 could not expel from Liza's heart the recollection of 
 her much-loved nurse. The seeds that had been sown 
 had pushed their roots too far for that. After that Aga- 
 fia, although she had ceased to attend Liza, remained 
 for some time longer in the house, and often saw her 
 pupil, and treated her as she had been used to do. 
 
 But when Marfa Timofeevna entered the Kalitines' 
 house, Agafia did not get on well with her. The austere 
 earnestness of the former "wearer of the coarse petti- 
 coat." * did not please the impatient and self-willed old 
 lady. Agafia obtained leave to go on a pilgrimage, and 
 slie never came back. Vague rumors asserted that she 
 had retired into' a schismatic convent. But the impres- 
 sion left by her on Liza's heart did not disappear. Just 
 
 * The Panovnitsa , or wearer of the Panovna, a sort of pe'.ti- 
 coat made of a coarse stuff of motley hue. 
 
232 Liza. 
 
 as before, the girl went to mass, as if she weie going to 
 a festival ; and when in church prayed with enthusiasm, 
 with a kind of restrained and timid rapture, at which 
 her mother secretly wondered not a little. Even Marfa 
 Timofeevna, although she never put any constraint 
 upon Liza, tried to induce her to moderate her zeal, 
 and would not let her make so many prostrations. It 
 was not a lady-like habit, she said. 
 
 Liza was a good scholar, that is, a persevering one ; 
 she was not gifted with a profound intellect, or with 
 extraordinarily brilliant faculties, and nothing yielded to 
 her without demanding from her no little exertion. 
 She was a good pianiste, but no one else, except Lemm, 
 knew how much that accomplishment had cost her. 
 She did not read much, and she had no " words of her 
 own ; " but she had ideas of her own, and she went her 
 own way. In this matter, as well as in personal appear- 
 ance, she may have taken after her father, for he never 
 used to ask any one's advice as to what he should do. 
 
 And so she grew up, and so did her life pass, gently 
 and tranquilly, until she had attained her nineteenth 
 year. She was very charming, but she was not con- 
 scious of the fact. In all her movements, a natural, 
 somewhat unconventional, grace, revealed itself ; in her 
 voice there sounded the silver notes of early youth 
 The slightest pleasurable sensation would bring a fas- 
 cinating smile to her lips, and add a deeper light, a 
 kind of secret tenderness, to her already lustrous eyes. 
 Kind and soft-hearted, thoroughly penetrated by a feel- 
 
Liza. 233 
 
 ing of duty, and a fear of injuring any one in any way^ 
 she was attached to all whom she knew, but to no one 
 person in particular. To God alone did she consecrate 
 her love — loving Him with a timid, tender enthusiasm. 
 Until Lavretsky came, no one had troubled the calm- 
 ness of her inner life. 
 Such was Liza. 
 
XXXIV. 
 
 About the middle of the next day Lavretsky went 
 to the Kalitines'. On his way there he met Panshine, 
 who galloped past on horseback, his hat pulled low over 
 his eyes. At the Kalitines', Lavretsky was not admit- 
 ted, for the first time since he had made acquaintance 
 with the family. Maria Dmitrievna was asleep, the 
 footman declared ; her head ached. Marfa Timofeevna 
 and Lizaveta Mikhailovna were not at home. 
 
 I^avretsky walked round the outside of the garden 
 in the vague hope of meeting Liza, but he saw no one. 
 Two hours later he returned to the house, but received 
 the same answer a^ before ; moreover, the footman 
 looked at him in a somewhat marked manner. Lavret- 
 sky thought it would be unbecoming to call three times 
 in one day, so he determined to drive out to Vasiliev- 
 skoe, where, moreover, he had business to transact. 
 
 On his way there he framed various plans, each one 
 more charming than the rest. But on his arrival at his 
 aunt's estate, sadness took hold of him. He entered 
 into conversation with Anton ; but the old man, as if 
 purposely, would dwell on none but gloomy ideas. He 
 told Lavretsky how Glafira Petrovna, just before her 
 
Liza 235 
 
 death, had bitten her own hand. And then, after an 
 interval of silence, he added with a sigh, " Every man, 
 barin batyushka* is destined to devour himself." 
 
 It was late in the day before Lavretsky set out on 
 his return. The music he had heard the night before 
 came back into his mind, and the image of Liza dawned 
 on his heart in all its sweet serenity. He was touched 
 by the thought that she loved him ; and he arrived at 
 his little house in the town, tranquillized and happy. 
 
 The first thing that struck him when he entered the 
 vestibule, was a smell of patchouli, a perfume he dis- 
 liked exceedingly. He observed that a number of large 
 triinks and boxes were standing there, and he thought 
 there was a strange expression on the face of the ser- 
 vant who hastily came to meet him. _ He did not stop to 
 analyze his impressions, but went straight into the draw- 
 ing-room. 
 
 A lady, who wore a black silk dress with flounces, 
 and whose pale face was half hidden by a cambric 
 handkerchief, rose from the sofa, took a few steps to 
 meet him, bent her carefully-arranged and perfumed 
 locks — and fell ai his feet. Then for the first time, he 
 recognized her. That lady was his wife ! 
 
 His breathing stopped. He leaned against the wall. 
 
 " Do not drive me from you, Theodore ! " she said 
 in French ; and her voice cut him to the heart like a 
 knife. He looked at her without comprehending what 
 
 * Seigneur, father. 
 
236 Liza. 
 
 he saw, and yet, at the same time, he involuntarily re- 
 marked that'she had grown paler and stouter. 
 
 " Theodore ! " she continued, lifting her eyes from 
 time to time towards heaven, her exceedingly pretty 
 fingers, tipped with polished nails of rosy hue, writhing 
 the while in preconcerted agonies — " Theodore, I am 
 guilty before you — deeply guilty. I will say more — I 
 am a criminal ; but hear what I have to say. I am tor- 
 tured by remorse ; I have become a burden to myself ; 
 I can bear my position no longer. Ever so many times 
 I have thought of addressing you, but I was afraid of 
 your anger. But I have determined to break every tie 
 
 with the past puis,fai iU si malade. I was so ill,'' 
 
 she added, passing her hand across her brow and cheek, 
 " I took advantage of the report which was spread 
 abroad of my death, and I left everything. Without 
 stopping anywhere, I travelled day and night to come 
 here quickly. For a long time I was in doubt whether 
 to appear before you, my judge — paraitre devant vous 
 man juge ; but at last I determined to go to you, re- 
 membering your constant goodness. I found out your 
 address in Moscow. Believe me," she continued, quiet- 
 ly rising from the ground and seating herself upon the 
 very edge of an arm-chair, " I often thought of death, 
 and I could have found sufficient courage in my heart 
 to deprive myself of life — ah ! life is an intolerable 
 burden to me now — but the thought of my child, my 
 little Ada, prevented me. She is here now ; she is 
 asleep in the next room, poor child. -She is tired out 
 
Liza. 237 
 
 You will see her, "won't you ? She, at all events, is 
 innocent before you ; and so unfortunate — so unfortu- 
 nate ! " exclaimed Madame Lavretsky, and melted into 
 tears. 
 
 Lavretsky regained his consciousness at last. He 
 stood away from the wall, and turned towards the 
 door. 
 
 " You are going away ? " exclaimed his wife, in ac 
 cents of despair. " Oh, that is cruel 1 without saying a 
 single word to me — not even one of reproach ! This 
 contempt kills me ; it is dreadful ! " 
 
 Lavretsky stopped. 
 
 " What do you want me to say to you ? " he said in 
 a hollow tone. 
 
 " Nothing — nothing ! " she cried with animation. 
 " I know that I have no right to demand anything. I 
 am no fool, believe me. I don't hope, I don't dare 
 to hope, for pardon. I only venture to entreat you 
 to tell me what I ought to do, where I ought to live. 
 I will obey your orders like a slave, whatever they 
 may be." 
 
 " I have no orders to give," replied Lavretsky in the 
 same tone as before. " You know that all is over be- 
 tween us — and more than ever now. You can live 
 where you like ; and if your allowance is too small " 
 
 " Ah, don't say such terrible things ! " she said, in- 
 terrupting him. Forgive me, if only — if only for the 
 sake of this angel." 
 
 And having uttered these words, Varvara Pavlovna 
 
238 Liza. 
 
 suddenly rushed into the other room, and immediately 
 returned with a very tastefully-dressed little girl in hej 
 irms. Thick flaxen curls fell about the pretty little 
 rosy face and over the great black, sleepy eyes of the 
 child, who smilingly blinked at the light, and held on to 
 her mother's neck by a chubby little arm. 
 
 "Ada, vols, c'est ton phe," said Varvara Pavlovna, 
 lemoving the curls from the child's eyes, and kissing 
 her demonstratively. " Prie-le avec moV 
 
 "C'est la, papa?" the Httle girl lispingly began to 
 stammer. 
 
 "Oui, mon enfant, n'est-ce pas qtce tu Paimes?" 
 
 But the interview had become intolerable to Lavret- 
 sky. 
 
 "What melodrama is it just such a scene occurs 
 in ? " he muttered, and left the room. 
 
 Varvara Pavlovna remained standing where she was 
 for some time, then she slightly shrugged her shoulders, 
 took the little girl back into the other room, undressed 
 her, and put her to bed. Then she took a book and 
 sat down near the lamp. There she waited about an 
 hour, but at last she went to bed herself. 
 
 "Eh bien, madame I " asked her maid, — a Frenchwo- 
 man whom she had brought with her from Paris, — as 
 she unlaced her stays. 
 
 "£/i bien, Justine!" replied Varvara Pavlovna. 
 " He has aged a great deal, but I think he is just as 
 good as ever. Give me my gloves for the night, and 
 get the gray dress, the high one, ready for to-morrow 
 
Liza. 239 
 
 morning — and don't forget the mutton cutlets for Ada. 
 To be sure it will be difficult to get them here, but we 
 must try." 
 
 " A la guerre comme d la guerre I " replied Justine as 
 she put o'Jt the light. 
 
XXXV. 
 
 For more than two hours Lavretsky wandered about 
 the streets. The night he had spent in the suburbs of 
 Paris came back into his mind. His heart seemed rent 
 within him, and his brain felt vacant and as it were 
 numbed, while the same set of evil, gloomy, mad 
 thoughts went ever circling in his mind. " She is alive ; 
 she is here," he whispered to himself with constantly 
 recurring amazement. He felt that he had lost Liza. 
 Wrath seemed to suffocate him. The blow had too 
 suddenly descended upon him. How could he have 
 so readily beUeved the foolish gossip of z. feuilleton, a 
 mere scrap of paper ? " But if I had not believed it," 
 he thought, " what would have been the difference ? I 
 should not have known that Liza loves me. She would 
 not have known it herself." He could not drive the 
 thought of his wife out of his mind ; her form, her 
 voice, her eyes haunted him. He cursed himself, he 
 cursed every thing in the world. 
 
 Utterly tired out, he came to Lemm's house before 
 the dawn. For a long time he could not get the door 
 opened; at last the old man's nightcapped head ap- 
 peared at the window. Peevish and wrinkled, his face 
 bore scarcely any resemblance to that which, austerely 
 
Liza. 241 
 
 inspire-d. had looked royally down upon LavretsRy 
 twenty-fcur hours before, from all the height of its ar- 
 tistic grandeur. 
 
 " What do you want ? " asked Lemm. " I cannot play 
 every night. I have taken a tisaneP 
 
 But Lavretsky's face wore a strong expression which 
 could not escape notice. The old man shaded his eyes 
 with his hand, looked hard at his nocturnal visitor, and 
 let him in. 
 
 Lavretsky came into the room and dropped on a 
 chair. The old man remained standing before him, 
 wrapping the skirts of his motley old dressing-gown 
 around him, stooping very much, and biting his lips. 
 
 " My wife has come," said Lavretsky, with drooping 
 head , and then he suddenly burst into a fit of involun- 
 tary laughter. 
 
 Lemm's face expressed astonishment, but he pre- 
 served a grave silence, only wrapping his dressing-gown 
 tighter around him. 
 
 " I suppose you don't know," continued Lavretsky. 
 "I supposed — I saw in a newspaper that she was 
 dead." 
 
 " O — h ! Was it lately you saw that ? " asked Lemm. 
 
 "Yes." 
 " O — h 1 " repeated the old man, raising his eyebrows, 
 " and she has come here ? " 
 
 "Yes. She is now in my house, and I — I am a 
 most unfortunate man." 
 
 And he laughed again. 
 II 
 
24.2 Liza. 
 
 " You are a most unfortunate man," slowly repeated 
 Lemm. 
 
 "Christophor Fedorovich," presently said Lavret- 
 sky, " will you undertake to deliver a note ? " 
 
 " Ilm ! To whom, may I ask ? " 
 
 " To Lizav " 
 
 "Ah! yes,, yes, I understand. Very well. But 
 when must the note be delivered ? " 
 
 " To-morrow, as early as possible." 
 
 " Hm ! I might send my cook, Katrin. No, I will 
 go myself." 
 
 " And will you bring me back the answer ? " 
 
 "I will." 
 
 Lemm sighed. 
 
 " Yes, my poor young friend," he said, " you cer- 
 tainly are — a most unfortunate young man." 
 
 Lavretsky wrote a few words to Hza, telling her 
 of his wife's arrival, and begging her to make an 
 appointment for an interview. Then he flung him- 
 self on the narrow sofa, with his face to the wall. 
 The old man also lay down on his bed, and there 
 long tossed about, coughing and swallowing mouthfuls 
 of his tisane. 
 
 The morning came ; they both arose — strange were 
 the looks they exchanged. Lavretsky would have 
 liked to kill himself just then. Katrin the cook 
 brought them some bad coffee, and then, when eight 
 o'clock struck, Lemm put on his hat and went out, say- 
 ing that he was to have given a lesson at the Kalitines' 
 
Liza. 243 
 
 at ten o'clock, but that he would find a fitting excuse 
 for going there sooner. 
 
 Lavretsky again threw himself on the couch, and 
 again a bitter laugh broke out from the depths of his 
 heart. He thought of how his wife had driven him out 
 of the house ; he pictured to himself Liza's position, 
 and then he shut his eyes, and wrung his hands above 
 ' his head. 
 
 At length Lemm returned and brought him a scrap of 
 paper, on which Liza had traced the following words in 
 pencil : " We cannot see each other to-day ; perhaps we 
 may to-morrow evening. Farewell." Lavretsky thanked 
 Lemm absently and stiffly, and then went home. 
 
 He found his wife at breakfast. Ada, with her hair 
 all in curl-papers, and dressed in a short white frock 
 with blue ribbons, was eating a mutton cutlet. Varvara 
 Pavlovna rose from her seat the moment Lavretsky 
 entered the room, and came towards him with an ex- 
 pression of humility on her face. He asked her to fol- 
 low him into his study, and when there he shut the door 
 and began to walk up and down the room. She sat 
 down, folded her hands, and began to follow his move- 
 ments with eyes which were still naturally beautiful, 
 besides having their lids dyed a little. 
 
 For a long time Lavretsky could not begin what he 
 had to say, feeling that he had not complete mastery 
 over himself. As for his wife, he saw that she was not 
 at all afraid of him, although she looked as if she might 
 at any moment go off into a fainting fit. 
 
244 Liza. 
 
 " Listen, Madame/' at last he began, breathing with 
 difficulty, and at times setting his teeth hard. " There 
 is no reason why we should be hypocritical towards each 
 other. I do not believe in your repentance ; but even 
 if it were genuine, it would be impossible for me to re- 
 join you and live with you again." 
 
 Varvara Pavlovna bit her lips and half closed her 
 eyes. "That's dislike," she thought. "It's all over. 
 I'm not even a woman for him." 
 
 " Impossible," repeated Lavretsky, and buttoned his 
 coat. " I don't know why you have been pleased to 
 honor me by coming here. Most probably you are out 
 of funds." 
 
 " Don't say that — you wound my feelings," whis- 
 pered Varvara Pavlovna. 
 
 " However that may be, you are still, to my sorrow, 
 my wife. I cannot drive you away, so this is what I 
 propose. You can go to Lavriki — to-day if you like — 
 and live there. There is an excellent house there, as 
 you know. You shall have every thing you can want, 
 besides your allowance. Do you consent .' " 
 
 Varvara Pavlovna raised her embroidered handker- 
 chief to her face. 
 
 " I have already told you," she said, with a nervous 
 twitching of her lips, " that I will agree to any arrange- 
 ment you may please to make for me. At present I 
 have only to ask you — will you at least allow me to 
 thank you for your generosity ? " 
 
 " No thanks, I beg of you — we shall do much bettet 
 
Liza. 24; 
 
 without them," hastily exclaimed Lavretsky. " Then,' 
 he added, approaching the door, I may depend upon — ' 
 
 " To-morrow I will be at Lavriki," replied Varvara 
 Pavlovna, rising respectfully from her seat. But Fedoi 
 
 Ivanich " (" She no longer familiarly called him 
 
 Theodore). 
 
 " What do you wish to say ? " 
 
 " I am aware that I have not yet in any way deserved 
 forgiveness. But may I hope that, at least, in time " 
 
 "Ah, Varvara Pavlovna," cried Lavretsky, inter- 
 rupting her, "you are a clever woman; but I, too, am 
 not a fool. I know well that you have no need of for- 
 giveness. Besides, I forgave you long ago ; but there 
 has always been a gulf between you and me." 
 
 " I shall know how to submit," answered Varvara 
 Pavlovna, and bowed her head. " I have not forgotten 
 my fault. I should not have wondered if I had learnt 
 that you had even been glad to hear of my death," she 
 added in a soft voice, with a slight wave of her hand 
 towafds the newspaper, which was lying on the table 
 where Lavretsky had forgotten it. 
 
 Lavretsky shuddered. The feuilleton had a pencil 
 mark against it. Varvara Pavlovna gazed at him with 
 an expression of even greater humility than before on 
 her face. She looked very handsome at that moment. 
 Her grey dress, made by a Parisian milliner, fitted 
 closely to her pliant figure, which seemed almost like 
 that of a girl of seventeen. Her soft and slender neck, 
 circled by a white collar, her bosom's gentle movement 
 
246 Liza. 
 
 under the influence of her steady breathing, her arms 
 and hands, on which she wore neither bracelets nor 
 rings, her whole figure, from her lustrous hair to the tip 
 of the scarcely visible bottine, all was so artistic ! 
 
 Lavretsky eyed her with a look of hate, feeling 
 hardly able to abstain from crying brava, hardly able to 
 abstain from striking her down — and went away. 
 
 An hour later he was already on the road to Vasili- 
 evskoe, and t\¥o hours later Varvara Pavlovna ordered 
 the best carriage on hire in the town to be got for her, 
 put on a simple straw hat with a black veil, and a mod- 
 est mantilla, left Justine in charge of Ada, and went to 
 the Kalilines'. From the inquiries Justine had made, 
 Madame Lavretsky had learnt that her husband was in 
 the habit of going there every day. 
 
XXXVI. 
 
 The day on which Lavretsky's wife arrived in O. — 
 a sad day for him — ^was also a day of trial for Liza, 
 Before she had had time to go down-stairs and say 
 good morning to her mother, the sound of a horse's 
 hoofs was heard underneath the window, and, with a se- 
 cret feeling of alarm, she saw Panshine ride into the 
 court-yard. " It is to get a definite answer that he has 
 come so early," she thought ; and she was not deceived. 
 After taking a turn through the drawing-room, he pro- 
 posed to go into the garden with her ; and when there 
 he asked her how his fate was to be decided. 
 
 Liza summoned up her courage, and told him that 
 she could not be his wife. He listened to all she had 
 to say, turning himself a little aside, with his hat 
 pressed down over his eyes. Then, with perfect polite- 
 ness, but in an altered tone, he asked her if that was 
 her final decision, and whether he had not, in some 
 way or other, been the cause of such a change in her 
 ideas. Then he covered his eyes with his hand for a 
 moment, breathed one quick sigh, and took his hand 
 away from his face. 
 
 " I wanted to follow the beaten track," he said sad- 
 ly ; "I wanted to choose a companion for myself ac- 
 
24S Liza. 
 
 cording to the dictates of my heart. But I see that it is 
 not to be. So farewell to my fancy ! " 
 
 He made Liza a low bow, and went back into the 
 house. 
 
 She hoped he would go away directly ; but he went 
 to her mother's boudoir, and remained an hour with 
 her. As he was leaving the house he said to Liza, 
 " Voire mere vous appelle : Adieu d, jamais I " then he got 
 on his horse, and immediately set off at full gallop. 
 
 On going to her mother's room, Liza found her in 
 tears. Panshine had told her about his failure. 
 
 " Why should you kill me ? Why should you kill me ? " 
 Thus did the mortified widow begin her complaint. 
 " What better man do you want ? Why is he not fit to 
 be your husband .' A chamberlain ! and so disinter- 
 ested 1 Why, at Petersburg he might marry any of the 
 maids of honor ! And I — I had so longed for it. And 
 how long is it since you changed your mind about 
 him ? Wherever has this cloud blown from ? — for it 
 has never come of its own accord. Surely it isn'* that 
 wiseacre ? A prettj' adviser you have found, if that's 
 the case ! " 
 
 " And as for him, my poor, dear friend," continued 
 Maria Dmitrievna, " how respectful he was, how atten- 
 tive, even in the midst of his sorrow I He has promised 
 not to desert me. Oh, I shall never be able to bear 
 this I Oh, my head is beginning to ache dreadfully ! 
 Send Palashka here. You will kill me, if you don't 
 think better of it. Do you hear .? " And then, after 
 
Liza. 249 
 
 having told Liza two or three times that she was un- 
 grateful, Maria Dmitrievna let her go away. 
 
 Liza went to her room. But before she had had a 
 moment's breathing-time after her scene with Panshine 
 and with her mother, another storm burst upon her, 
 and that from the quarter from which she least ex 
 pected it. 
 
 Marfa Timofeevna suddenly came into her room, and 
 immediately shut the door after her. The old lady's 
 face was palej her cap was all awry; her eyes were 
 flashing, her lips quivering. Liza was lost in astonish- 
 ment. She had never seen her shrewd and steady 
 aunt in such a state before. 
 
 " Very good, young lady ! " Marfa Timofeevna began 
 to whisper, with a broken and trembling voice. " Very 
 
 good ! Only who taught that, my mother Give me 
 
 some water ; I can't speak." 
 
 "Do be calm, aunt. What is the matter?" said 
 Liza, giving her a glass of water. "Why, I thought 
 you didn't like M. Panshine yourself." 
 
 Marfa Timofeevna pushed the glass away. " I can't 
 drink it. I should knock out my last teeth, if I tried. 
 What has Panshine to do with it ? Whatever have we 
 to do with Panshine ? Much better tell me who taught 
 you to make appointments with people at night. Eh, 
 my mother ! " 
 
 Liza turned very pale. 
 
 " Don't try to deny it, please," continued Marfa 
 Timofeevna. " Shurochka saw it all herself, and told 
 II* 
 
250 Liza. 
 
 me. I've had to forbid her chattering, but she nevei 
 tells lies." 
 
 " I am not going to deny it, aunt," said Liza, in a 
 scarcely audible voice. 
 
 " Ah, ah ! Then it is so, my mother. You made an 
 appointment with him, that old sinner, that remarkably 
 sweet creature ! " 
 
 « No." 
 
 " How was it, then ? " 
 
 " I came down to the drawirig-room to look for a 
 book. He was in the garden ; and he called me." 
 
 " And you went ? Very good, indeed ! Perhaps you 
 love him, then "i " 
 
 " I do love him," said Liza quietly. 
 
 " Oh, my mothers ! She does love him ! " Here 
 Marfa Timofeevna took off her cap. " She loves a 
 married man ! Eh ? Loves him ! " 
 
 " He had told me " began Liza. 
 
 "What he had told you, this Httle hawk? Eh, 
 what ? " 
 
 " He had told me that his wife was dead." 
 
 Marfa Timofeevna made the sign of the cross. 
 "The kingdom of heaven be to her," she whispered. 
 " She was a frivolous woman. But don't let's think 
 about that. So that's how it is. I see, he's a widower. 
 Oh yes, he's going ahead. He has killed one wife, and 
 now he's after a second. A nice sort of person he is, 
 to be sure. But, niece, let me tell you this, in my young 
 days things of this kind used to turn out very badly for 
 
Liza. 251 
 
 girls. 'Don't be angry with me, my mother. It's only 
 fools who are angry with the truth. I've even told 
 them not to let him in to see me to-day. I love him, 
 but I shall never forgive him for this. So he is a wid 
 ower ! Give me some water. But as to your putting 
 Panshine's nose out of joint, why I think you're a good 
 girl for that. But don't go sitting out at night with men 
 creatures. Don't make me wretched in my old age, 
 and remember that I'm not altogether given over to 
 
 fondling. I can bite, too A widower ! " 
 
 Marfa Timofeevna went away, and Liza sat down in 
 a corner, and cried a long time. Her heart was heavy 
 within her. She had not deserved to be so humiliated. 
 It was not in a joyous manner that love had made itself 
 known to her. It was for the second time since yester- 
 day morning that she was crying now. This new and 
 unlooked-for feeling had only just sprung into life with- 
 in her heart, and already how dearly had she had to 
 pay for it, how roughly had other hands dealt with hei 
 treasured secret ! She felt ashamed, and hurt, and un- 
 happy; but neither doubt nor fear troubled her, and 
 Lavretsky became only still dearer to her. She had hes- 
 itated so long as she was not sure of her own feelings ; 
 but after that interview, after that kiss — she could no 
 longer hesitate. She knew now that she loved, and that 
 she loved earnestly, honestly ; she knew that her's was 
 a firm attachment, one which would last for her whole 
 life. As for threats, she did not fear them. She feh 
 that this tie was one which no violence could break 
 
XXXVII. 
 
 Maria Dmitrievna was greatly embarrassed when 
 she was informed that Madame Lavretsky was at the 
 door. She did not even know whether she ought to re- 
 ceive her, being afraid of offending Lavretsky ; but at 
 last curiosity prevailed. " After all," she thought, " she 
 is a relation, too." So she seated herself in an easy 
 chair, and said to the footman, " Show her in." 
 
 A few minutes went by, then the door was thrown 
 open, and Varvara Pavlovna, with a swift and almost 
 noiseless step, came up to Maria Dmitrievna, and, 
 without giving her time to rise from her chair, almost 
 went down upon her knees before her. 
 
 " Thank you, aunt," she began in Russian, speaking 
 softly, but in a tone of deep emotion. " Thank you ; I 
 had not even dared to hope that you would condescend 
 so far. You are an angel of goodness." 
 
 Having said this, Varvara Pavlovna unexpectedly 
 laid hold of one of Maria Dmitrievna's hands, gently 
 pressed it between her pale-lilac Jouvin's gloves, and 
 then lifted it respectfully to her pouting, rosy lips. 
 Maria Dmitrievna was entirely carried away by the sight 
 of such a handsome and exquisitely dressed woman 
 
Liza. 253 
 
 almost at her feet, and did not know what position to 
 assume. She felt half inclined to draw back her hand, 
 half inclined to make her visitor sit down, and to say 
 something affectionate to her. She ended by rising 
 from her chair and kissing Varvara's smooth and per- 
 fumed forehead. 
 
 Varvara appeared to be totally overcome by that 
 kiss. 
 
 " How do you do ? bonjour" said Maria Dmitrievna. 
 
 " I never imagined however, I'm really delighted to 
 
 see you. You will understand, my dear, it is not my 
 business to be judge between a man and his wife." 
 
 " My husband is entirely in the right," said Varvara 
 Pavlovna, interrupting her, "I alone am to blame." 
 
 "Those are very praiseworthy sentiments, very," 
 said Maria Dmitrievna. " Is it long since you arrived ? 
 Have you seen him ? But do sit down.'' 
 
 " I arrived yesterday," answered Varvara Pavlovna, 
 seating herself on a chair in an attitude expressive of 
 humility. " I have seen my husband, and I have spoken 
 with him." 
 
 " Ah ! Well, and what did he say ? " 
 
 "I was afraid that my coming so suddenly might 
 make him angry," continued Varvara Pavlovna ; " but.he 
 did not refuse to see me." 
 
 " That is to say, he has not Yes, yes, I under- 
 stand," said Maria Dmitrievna. " It is only outwardly 
 that he seems a little rough ; his heart is really soft." 
 
 " Fedor Ivanovich has not pardoned me. He did 
 
254 
 
 Liza. 
 
 not want to listen to me. But he has been good enough 
 to let me have Lavriki to live in." 
 
 " Ah, a lovely place ! " 
 
 " I shall set off there to-morrow, according to his 
 desire. But I considered it a duty to pay you a visit 
 first." 
 
 " I am very, very much obliged to you my dear. One 
 ought never to forget one's relations. But do you know 
 I am astonished at your speaking Russian so well. 
 
 est Honnant." 
 
 Varvara Pavlovna smiled. 
 
 " I have been too long abroad, Maria Dmitrievna, I 
 am well aware of that. But my heart has always been 
 Russian, and I have not forgotten my native land." 
 
 " Yes, yes. There's nothing like that. Your hus- 
 band certainly didn't expect you in the least. Yes, 
 trust my experience — la patrie avant tout. Oh ! please 
 let me ! What a charming mantilla you have on 1 " 
 
 " Do you like it ? " Varvara took it quickly off her 
 shoulders. " It is very simple ; one of Madame Bau- 
 dran's." 
 
 " One can see that at a glance. How lovely, and in 
 what exquisite taste ! I feel sure you've brought a 
 number of charming things with you. How I should 
 like to see them ! " 
 
 " All my toilette is at your service, dearest aunt. 
 
 1 might show your maid something if you liked. I 
 have brought a maid from Paris, a wonderful needle- 
 woman." 
 
Liza. 255 
 
 " You are exceedingly good, my dear. But, really, 
 I haven't the conscience ^" 
 
 « Haven't the conscience 1 " repeated Varvara Pav- 
 lovna, in a reproachful tone. " If you wish to make 
 me happy, you will dispose of me as if I belonged to 
 you." 
 
 Maria Dmitrievna fairly gave way. 
 
 « Vous Ues charmante^'' she said. But why don't you 
 take off your bonnet and gloves ? " 
 
 " What ! You allow me ? " asked Varvara Pavlovna, 
 gently clasping her hands with an air of deep emotion. 
 
 " Of course. You will dine with us, I hope. I — I 
 will introduce my daughter to you." (Maria Dmitrievna 
 felt embarrassed for a moment, but then, " Well, so be 
 it," she thought.) " She happens not to be quite well 
 to-day.' 
 
 "Oh! ma tante, how kind you are!" exclaimed 
 Varvara Pavlovna, lifting her handkerchief to her eyes. 
 
 At this moment the page announced Gedeonovsky's 
 arrival, and the old gossip came in smiling, and bowing 
 profoundly. Maria Dmitrievna introduced him to her 
 visitor. At first he was somewhat abashed, but Var- 
 vara Pavlovna behaved to him with such coquettish 
 respectfulness that his ears soon began to tingle, and 
 amiable speeches and gossiping stories began to flow 
 uninterruptedly from his lips. 
 
 Varvara Pavlovna Ustened to him, slightly smiling at 
 times, then by degrees she too began to talk. She 
 spoke in a modest way about Paris, about her travels, 
 
256, Liza. 
 
 about Baden ; she made Maria Dmitrievna laugh two 
 or three times, and each time she uttered a gentle sigh 
 afterwards, as if she were secretly reproaching herself 
 for her unbecoming levity; she asked leave to bring 
 Ada to the house ; she took off her gloves, and with her 
 smooth white hands she pointed out how and where 
 flounces, ruches, lace, and so forth, were worn ; she 
 promised to bring a bottle of new English scent — the 
 Victoria essence — and was as pleased as a child when 
 Maria Dmitrievna consented to accept it as a present ; 
 and she melted into tears at the remembrance of the 
 emotion she had experienced when she heard the first 
 Russian bells. 
 
 " So profoundly did they sink into my very heart," 
 she said. 
 
 At that moment Liza came into the room. 
 
 All that day, ever since the moment when, cold with 
 dismay, Liza had read Lavretsky's note, she had been 
 preparing herself for an interview with his wife. She 
 foresaw that she would see her, and she determined 
 not to avoid her, by way of inflicting upon herself a 
 punishment for what she considered her culpable hopes. 
 The unexpected crisis which had taken place in her 
 fate had profoundly shaken her. In the course of about 
 a couple of hours her face seemed to have grown thin. 
 But she had not shed a single tear. " It is what you 
 deserve," she said to herself, repressing, though not 
 without difficulty, and at the cost of considerable agita- 
 tion, certain bitter thoughts and evil impulses which 
 
Liza. 257 
 
 "rightened her as they arose in her mind. "Well, I 
 Tiust go," she thought, as soon as she heard of Madame 
 Lavretsky's arrival, and she went. 
 
 She stood outside the drawing-room door for a long 
 :irae before she could make up her mind to open it. At 
 last, saying to herself, " I am guilty before her," she en- 
 ered the room, and forced herself to look at her, even 
 forced herself to smile. Varvara Pavlovna came- for- 
 ward to meet her as soon as she saw her come in, and 
 made her a slight, but still a respectful salutation. 
 
 "Allow me to introduce myself," she began, in an 
 insinuating tone. " Your mamma has been so indul- 
 gent towards me that I hope that you too will be — good 
 to me." 
 
 The expression of Varvara Pavlovna's face as she ut- 
 tered these last words, her cunning smile, her cold and, at 
 the same time, loving look, the movements of her arms 
 ind shoulders, her very dress, her whole being, aroused 
 iuch a feeling of repugnance in Liza's mind that she 
 ibsolutely could not answer her, and only by a strong 
 sffort could succeed in holding out her hand to her. 
 'This young lady dislikes me," thought Varvara Pav- 
 ,0 /na, as she squeezed Liza's cold fingers, then, turning 
 to Maria Dmitrievna, she said in a half whisper. " Mais 
 'Me est dUicieuse ! " 
 
 "Liza, faintly reddened. In that exclamation she 
 seemed to detect a tone of irony and insult. However, 
 she detei mined not to trust to that impression, and she 
 took her seat at her embroidery frame near the window. 
 
258 Liza. 
 
 Even there Varvara Pavlovna would not leave her in 
 peace. She came to her, and began to praise her clev- 
 erness and taste. Liza's heart began to beat with pain- 
 ful force. Scarcely could she master her feelings, 
 scarcely could she remain sitting quietly in her place. 
 It seemed to her as if Varvara Pavlovna knew all and 
 were mocking her with secret triumph. Fortunately for 
 her, Gedeonovsky began to talk to Varvara and diverted 
 her attention. Liza bent over her frame and watched 
 her without being observed. " That woman," she 
 thought, " was once loved by him.'''' But then she im- 
 mediately drove out of her mind even so much as the 
 idea of Lavretsky. She felt her head gradually begin- 
 ning to swim, and she was afraid of losing command 
 over herself. Maria Dmitrievna began to talk about 
 music. 
 
 " I have heard, my dear," she began, " that you are 
 a wonderful virtuosa." 
 
 " I haven't played for a long time," replied Varvara 
 Pavlovna, but she immediately took her seat at the piano 
 and ran her fingers rapidly along the keys. " Do you 
 •ish me to play ? " 
 
 " If you will do us that favor." 
 
 Varvara Pavlovna played in a masterly style a bril- 
 liant and difficult study by Herz. Her performance 
 was marked by great power and rapidity. 
 
 " A sylphide I " exclaimed Gedeonovsky. 
 
 " It is wonderful ! " declared Maria Dmitrievna. " 1 
 must confess you have fairly astonished me, Varvara 
 
Liza. 259 
 
 Pavlovna," calling that lady by her name for the first 
 time. "Why you might give concerts. We have a 
 musician here, an old German, very learned and quite 
 an original. He gives Liza lessons. You would simply 
 make him go out of his mind." 
 
 -' Is Lizaveta Mikhailovna also a musician ? " asked 
 Madame Lavretsky, turning her head a little towards 
 her. 
 
 " Yes ; she doesn't play badly, and she is very fond 
 of music. But what does that signify in comparison 
 with you ? But we have a young man here besides. 
 You really must make his acquaintance. He is a thor- 
 ough artist in feeling, and he composes charmingly. 
 He is the only person here who can fully appreciate 
 you." 
 
 " A young man ? " said Varvara Pavlovna. " What 
 is he ? Some poor fellow ? " 
 
 "I beg your pardon. He is the leading cavalier 
 here, and not here only — et ct, Piters bourg— a. chamber- 
 lain, received in the best society. You surely must 
 have heard of him — "Vladimir Nikolaevich Panshine. 
 He is here on government business — a future minis- 
 ter ! " 
 
 " And an artist too ? " 
 
 "An artist in feeUng, and so amiable. You shall 
 see him. He has been here a great deal for some time 
 past. I asked him to come this evening. I hope he 
 will come," added Maria Dmitrievna with a slight sigh 
 and a bitter smile. 
 
26o Liza. 
 
 lAzz understood the bidden meaning of that smile, 
 but she had other things to think about then. 
 
 " And he's young ? " repeated Varvara Pavlovna, 
 lightly modulating from key to key. 
 
 " Twenty-eight years old — and a most pleasing exte- 
 rior. Un jeune homme accompliP 
 
 " A model young man, one may say," remarked Ge- 
 deonovsky. 
 
 Varvara Pavlovna suddenly began to play a noisy 
 waltz by Strauss, beginning with so loud and quick a trill 
 that Gedeonovsky fairly started. Right in the middle of 
 the waltz she passed abruptly into a plaintive air, and 
 ended with the Fra poco out of Lucia. She had sud- 
 denly remembered that joyful music was not in keep- 
 ing with her position. 
 
 Maria Dmitrievna was deeply touched by the air 
 from Lucia, in which great stress was laid upon the sen- 
 timental passages. 
 
 " What feeling ! " she whispered to Gedeonovsky. 
 
 " A Sylphide I " repeated Gedeonovsky, lifting his 
 eyes to heaven. 
 
 The dinner hour arrived. Marfa Timofeevna did 
 not come down from up-stairs until the soup was already 
 placed ou the table. She behaved very coldly to Var- 
 vara Pavlovna, answering her amiable speeches with 
 broken phrases, and never even looking at her. Var- 
 vara soon perceived that there was no conversation to 
 . be got out of that old lady, so she gave up talking to 
 her. On the other hand Madame Kalitine became still 
 
Liza. 261 
 
 more caressing in her behavior towards her guest. She 
 was vexed by her aunt's rudeness. 
 
 After all, it was not only Varvara that the old lady 
 would not look at. She did not once look at Liza 
 either, although her eyes almost glowed with a meaning 
 light. Pale, almost yellow, there she sat, with com- 
 pressed lips, looking as if she were made of stone, and 
 would eat nothing. 
 
 As for Liza, she seemed calm, and was so in reality. 
 Her heart was quieter than it had been. A strange 
 callousness, the callousness of the condemned, had 
 come over her. 
 
 During dinner Varvara Pavlovna said little. She 
 seemed to have become timid again, and her face wore 
 an expression of modest melancholy. Gedeonovsky 
 was the only person who kept the conversation alive, 
 relating several of his stories, though from time to time 
 he looked timidly at Marfa Tiraofeevna and coughed. 
 That cough always seized him whenever he was going 
 to embellish the truth in her presence. But this time 
 she did not meddle with him, never once interrupted 
 him. 
 
 After dinner it turned out that Varvara Pavlovna 
 was very fond of the game of preference. Madame 
 Kalitine was so pleased at this that she felt quite touched 
 and inwardly thought, " Why, what a fool Fedor Ivano- 
 vich must be ! Fancy not having been able to compre 
 hend such a woman ! " 
 
 She sat down to cards with Varvara and Gedeonov 
 
262 Liza. 
 
 sky ; but Marfa Timofeevna carried off Liza to her room 
 upstairs, saying that the girl " had no face left," ami 
 she was sure her head must be aching. 
 
 "Yes, her head aches terribly," said Madame Kali 
 tine, addressing Varvara Pavlovna, and rolling her eyes. 
 "I often have such headaches myself." 
 
 " Really ! " answered Varvara Pavlovna. 
 
 Liza entered her aunt's room, and sank on a chair 
 perfectly worn out. For a long time Marfa Timofeevna 
 looked at her in silence, then she quietly knelt down 
 before her, and began, still quite silently, to kiss her 
 hands — first one, and then the other. 
 
 Liza bent forwards and reddened — then she began 
 to cry ; but she did not make her aunt rise, nor did she 
 withdraw her hands from her. She felt that she had no 
 right to withdraw them — had no right to prevent the old 
 lady from expressing her sorrow, her sympathy — from 
 asking to be pardoned for what had taken place the day 
 before. And Marfa Timofeevna could not sufficiently 
 kiss those poor, pale, nerveless hands; while silent 
 tears poured down from her eyes and from Liza's too. 
 And the cat, Matros, purred' in the large chair by the 
 side of the stocking and the ball of worsted ; the long, 
 thin flame of the little lamp feebly wavered in front of 
 the holy picture ; and in the next room, just the other 
 side of the door, stood Nastasia Carpovna, and furtively 
 wiped her eyes with a check pocket-handkerchief, rolled 
 up into a sort of ball. 
 
XXXVIII. 
 
 Down-stairs, meanwhile, the game of preference 
 rent on. Maria Dmitrievna was winning, and was in 
 I very good humor. A servant entered and announced 
 Panshine's arrival. Maria Dmitrievna let fall her cards, 
 ind fidgeted in her chair. Varvara Pavlovna looked at 
 ler with a half-smile, and then turned her eyes towards 
 he door. 
 
 Panshine appeared in a black dress-coat, buttoned 
 dl the way up, and wearing a high English shirt-collar. 
 ' It was painful for me to obey ; but, you see, I have 
 ;ome;" that was what was expressed by his serious 
 'ace, evidently just shaved for the occasion. 
 
 " Why, Valdemar ! " exclaimed Maria Dmitrievna, 
 'you used always to come in without being announced." 
 
 Panshine made no other reply than a look, and 
 )owed politely to Maria Dmitrievna, but did not kiss 
 ler hand. She introduced him to Varvara Pavlovna. 
 ie drew back a pace, bowed to her with the same 
 loliteness and with an added expression of respectful 
 [race, and then took a seat at the card-table. 'I'he 
 ;ame soon came to an end. Panshine asked after Liz- 
 iveta Mikhailovna, and expressed his regret at hearing 
 
264 Liza. 
 
 that she was not quite well. Then he began to con- 
 verse with Varvara Pavlovna, weighing every word care- 
 fully and emphasizing it distinctly in true diplomatic 
 style, and, when she spoke, respectfully hearing her an- 
 swers to the end. But the seriousness of his diplomatic 
 tone produced no effect upon Varvara Pavlovna, who 
 would have nothing to do with it. On the contrary, she 
 looked him full in the face with a sort of smiling earn- 
 estness, and in talking with him seemed thoroughly at 
 her ease, while her delicate nostrils lightly quivered, 
 as though with suppressed laughter. 
 
 Maria Dmitrievna began to extol Varvara's clever- 
 ness. Panshine bent his head politely,- as far as his 
 shirt-collar permitted him, declared that he had already 
 been convinced of the exceptional nature of her talents, 
 aiid all but brought round the conversation to the sub- 
 ject of Metternich himself. Varvara Pavlovna half- 
 closed her velvety eyes, and, having said in a low voice, 
 " But you are an artist also, un confrere^'' added still 
 lower, " Venez ! " and made a sign with her head in 
 tlie direction of the piano. This single word, " Venez I " 
 so abruptly spoken, utterly changed Panshine's appear 
 ance, as if by magic, in a single moment. His care- 
 worn air disappeared, he began to smile, he became an- 
 imated, he unbuttoned his coat, and, saying "I am an 
 artist 1 Not at all ; but you, I hear, are an artist in- 
 deed," he followed Varvara Pavlovna to the piano. 
 
 " Tell him to sing the romance, ' How the moon 
 floats,' " exclaimed Maria Dmitrievna. 
 
Liza. 265 
 
 " You sing ? " asked Varvara Pavlovna, looking at 
 him with a bright and rapid glance. " Sit down there." 
 
 Panshine began to excuse himself. 
 
 " Sit down," she repeated, tapping the back of the 
 chair in a determined manner. 
 
 He sat down, coughed, pulled up his shirt-collar, 
 and sang his romance. 
 
 " Charmaitt^'' said Varvara Pavlovna. " You sing 
 admirably — vous avez du style. Sing it again." 
 
 She went round to the other side of the piano, and 
 placed herself exactly opposite Panshine. He repeated 
 his romance, giving a melodramatic variation to his 
 voice. Varvara looked at him steadily, resting her 
 elbows on the piano, with her white hands on a level 
 with her lips. The song ended, " Charmant / Char- 
 mante idee" she said, with the quiet confidence of a 
 connoisseur. " Tell me, have you written anything for 
 a woman's voice — a mezzo-soprano ? " 
 
 " I scarcely write anything," answered Panshine. 
 " I do so only now and then — between business hours. 
 But do you sing ? " 
 
 " Oh yes ! do sing us something," said Maria Dmi 
 trievna. 
 
 Varvara Pavlovna tossed her head, and pushed hei 
 hair back from her flushed cheeks. Then, addressing 
 Panshine, she said — ■ 
 
 " Our voices ought to go well together. Let us sing 
 * duet. Do you know ' Son geloso,' or ' La d darem,' or 
 ' Afira la bianca luna ? ' " 
 
266 Liza. 
 
 " I used to sing ' Mira la bianca luna,' " answered 
 I'anshine ; but it was a long time ago. I have forgot- 
 ten it now." 
 
 " Never mind, we will burn it over first by way of 
 experiment. Let me come there." 
 
 Varvara Pavlovna sat down to the piano. Pan- 
 shine stood by her side. They hummed over the duet, 
 Varvara Pavlovna correcting him several times ; then 
 they sang it out loud, and afterwards repeated it twice 
 — "JIftra la bianca lu-u-unay Varvara's voice had lost 
 its freshness, but she managed it with great skill. At 
 first Panshine was nervous, and sang rather false, but 
 afterwards he experienced an artistic glow ; and, if he 
 did not sing faultlessly, at all events he shrugged his 
 shoulders, swayed his body to and fro, and from time 
 to time lifted his hand aloft, like a genuine vocalist. 
 
 Varvara Pavlovna afterwards played two or three lit- 
 tle pieces by Thalberg, and coquettishly chanted a 
 French song. Maria Dmitrievna did not know how to 
 express her delight, and several times she felt inclined 
 to send for Liza. Gedeonovsky, too, could not find 
 words worthy of the occasion, and could only shake his 
 head. Suddenly, however, and quite unexpectedly, he 
 yawned, and only just contrived to hide his mouth with 
 his hand. 
 
 That yawn did not escape Varvara's notice. She 
 suddenly turned her back upon the piano, saying, 
 " Assez de musique comme (a; let us talk a little," and 
 crossed her hands before her. 
 
Liza. 26) 
 
 " Oui, asiez de musique^'' gladly repeated Panshine, 
 and began a conversation with her — a brisk and airy 
 conversation, carried on in French. " Exactly as if it 
 were in one of the best Paris drawing-rooms," thought 
 Maria Dmitrievna, listening to their quick and supple 
 talk. 
 
 Panshine felt completely happy. He smiled, and 
 his eyes shone. At first, when he happened to meet 
 Maria Dmitrievna's eyes, he would pass his hand across 
 his face and frown and sigh abruptly, but after a time 
 he entirely forgot her presence, and gave himself up 
 unreservedly to the enjoyment of a half-fashionable, 
 half-artistic chat. 
 
 Varvara Pavlovna proved herself a great philospher. 
 She had an answer ready for everything; she doubted 
 nothing ; she did not hesitate at anything. It was evi- 
 dent that she had talked often and much with all kinds 
 of clever people. All her thoughts and feelings circled 
 around Paris. When Panshine made literature the sub- 
 ject of the conversation, it turned out that she, like 
 him, had read nothing ■ but French books. George 
 Sand irritated her; Balzac she esteemed, although he 
 wearied her ; to Eugene Sue and Scribe she ascribed a 
 profound knowledge of the human heart ; Dumas and 
 F^val she adored. In reality she preferred Paul de 
 Kock to all the others ; but, as may be supposed, she 
 did not even mention his name. To tell the truth, 
 literature did not interest her overmuch. 
 
 Varvara Pavlovna avoided with great skill everj 
 
268 Liza. 
 
 thing that might, even reinotelj', allude to her position. 
 In all that she said, there was not even the slightest 
 mention made of love ; on the contrary, her language 
 seemed rather to express an austere feeling with regard 
 to the allurements of the passions, and to breathe the 
 accents of disillusionment and resignation. 
 
 Panshine replied to her, but she refused to agree 
 with him. Strange to say, however, at the very time 
 when she was uttering words which conveyed what 
 was frequently a harsh judgment, the accents of those 
 very words were tender and caressing, and her eyes ex- 
 pressed What those charming eyes expressed it 
 
 would be hard to say, but it was something which 
 had no harshness about it, rather a mysterious sweet- 
 ness. Panshine tried to make out their hidden mean- 
 ing, tried to make his own eyes eloquent, but he was 
 conscious that he failed. He acknowledged that Var- 
 vara Pavlovna, in her capacity as a real lioness from 
 abroad, stood on a higher level than he ; and, therefore, 
 he was not altogether master of himself. 
 
 Varvara Pavlovna had a habit of every now and 
 then just touching the sleeve of the person with whom 
 she was conversing. These light touches greatly agi- 
 tated Panshine. She had the faculty of easily becom- 
 ing intimate with any one. Before a couple of hours 
 had passed, it seemed to Panshine as if he had known 
 her an age, and as if Liza — that very Liza whom he 
 had loved so much, and to whom he had proposed the 
 evening before — had vanished in a kind of fog. 
 
Liza. 269 
 
 Tea was brought ; the conversation became even 
 more free from restraint than before. Madame Kalitine 
 rang for the page, and told him to ask Liza to come 
 down if her headache was better. At the sound of 
 Liza's name, Panshine began to talk about self-sacrifice, 
 and to discuss the question as to which is the more 
 capable of such sacrifice — man or woman. Maria Dmi- 
 trievna immediately became excited, began to affirm 
 that the woman is the more capable, asserted that 
 she could prove the fact in a few words, got confused 
 over them, and ended with a sufficiently unfortunate 
 comparison. Varvara Pavlovna took up a sheet of mu- 
 sic, and half-screening her face with it, bent over towards 
 Panshine, and said in a whisper, while she nibbled 
 a biscuit, a quiet smile playing about her lips and 
 her eyes, f Elle rCa pas invente la poudre, la bonne dame." 
 
 Panshine was somewhat astonished, and a little 
 alarmed by Varvara's audacity, but he did not detect 
 the amount of contempt for himself that lay hid in that 
 unexpected sally, and — forgetting all Maria Dmitriev- 
 na's kindness and her attachment towards him, forget- 
 ting the dinners she had given him, the money she had 
 lent him — he replied (unhappy mortal that he was) in 
 the same tone, and with a similar smile, ^'■Je crois 
 Men 1 " and what is more he did not even say " ^e crois 
 bien I " but " J VmV ben 1 " 
 
 Varvara Pavlovna gave him a friendly look, and rose 
 from her seat. At that moment Liza entered the room, 
 Marfa Timofeevna had tried to prevent her going bu; 
 
2 70 Liza. 
 
 in vain. Liza was resolved to endure her trial to the 
 end. Varvara Pavlovna advanced to meet her, at.ended 
 by Panshine, whose face again wore its former diplo- 
 matic expression. 
 
 " How are you now ? " asked Varvara. 
 
 " I am better now, thank you," replied Liza. 
 
 " We have been passing the time with a little mu- 
 sic," said Panshine. " It is a pity you did not hear 
 Varvara Pavlovna. She sings charmingly, en artiste, 
 consomniee. " 
 
 " Come here, ?«« chere^'' said Madame Kalitine's 
 voice. 
 
 With childlike obedience, Varvara immediately went 
 to her, and sat down on a stool at her feet. Maria 
 Dmitrievna had called her away, in order that she might 
 leave her daughter alone with Panshine, if only for a 
 moment. She still hoped in secret that Liza would 
 change her mind. Besides this, an idea had come into 
 her mind, which she wanted by all means to express. 
 
 " Do you know," she whispered to Varvara Pavlovna, 
 " I want to try and reconcile you and your husband. I 
 cannot promise to succeed, but I will try. He esteems 
 me very much, you know." 
 
 Varvara slowly looked up at Maria Dmitrievna, and 
 gracefully clasped her hands together. 
 
 " You would be my saviour, ma tante," she said, with 
 a sad voice. " I don't know how to thank you properly 
 for all your kindness ; but I am too guilty before Fedoi 
 Ivanovich. He cannot forgive me." 
 
Liza. 11 } 
 
 " But did you actually — in reality — ? " began Maria 
 Dmitrievna, with lively curiosity. 
 
 "Do not ask me,'' said Varvara, interrupting her, 
 
 and then looked down. " I was young, light headed 
 
 However, I don't wish to make excuses for myself." 
 
 " Well, in spite oi all that, why not make the attempt ? 
 Don't give way to despair," replied Maria Dmitrievna, 
 and was going to tap her on the cheek, but looked at 
 her, and was afraid. " She is modest and discreet," 
 she thought, " but, for all that, a lionne still ! " 
 
 "Are you unwell ? " asked Panshine, meanwhile. 
 
 " I am not quite well," replied Liza. 
 
 "I understand," he said, after rather a long silence, 
 "Yes, I understand." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 " I understand," significantly repeated Panshine, 
 who simply was at a loss for something to say. 
 
 Liza felt confused, but then she thought, " What 
 does it matter ? " 
 
 Meanwhile Panshine assumed an air of mystery and 
 maintained silence, looking in a different direction with 
 ' a grave expression on his face. 
 
 " Why I fancy it must be past eleven ! " observed 
 Maria Dmitrievna. Her guests understood the hint and 
 began to take leave. Varvaii was obliged to promise 
 to come and dine to-morrow, and to bring Ada with her. 
 Gedeonovsky, who had all but gone to sleep as he sat 
 in a corner, offered to escort her home. Panshine 
 bowed gravely to all the party ; afterwards, as he stood 
 
272 Liza. 
 
 on the steps after seeing Varvara into her carriage, he 
 gave her hand a gentle pressure, and exclaimed, as she 
 drove away, " Au revoir!" Gedeonovsky sat by her 
 side in the carriage, and all the way home she amused 
 herself by putting the tip of her little foot, as if by ac- 
 cident, on his foot. He felt abashed, and tried to make 
 her complimentary speeches. She tittered, and made 
 eyes at him when the light from the street lamps shone 
 into the carriage. The waltz she had played rang in her 
 ears and excited her. Wherever she might be she had 
 only to imagine a ball-room and a blaze of light, and 
 swift circling round to the sound of music, and her heart 
 would burn within her, her eyes would glow with a 
 strange lustre, a smile would wander around her lips, 
 a kind of bacchanalian grace would seem to diffuse 
 itself over her whole body. 
 
 When they arrived at her house Varvara lightly 
 bounded from the carriage, as only a lionne could bound, 
 turned towards Gedeonovsky, and suddenly burst out 
 laughing in his face. 
 
 "A charming creature," thought the councillor of 
 state, as he made his way home to his lodgings, where 
 his servant was waiting for him with a bottle of opodel- 
 doc. " It's as well that I'm a steady man But why 
 
 did she laugh ? " 
 
 All that night long Marfa Timofeevna sat watching 
 by Liza's bedside. 
 
XXXIX. 
 
 Lavretsky spent a day and a half at Vasilievskoe, 
 wandering about the neighborhood almost all the time. 
 He could not remain long in any one place. His grief 
 goaded him on. He experienced all the pangs of a 
 ceaseless, impetuous, and impotent longing. He re- 
 membered the feeling which had come over him the day 
 after his first arrival. He remembered the resolution 
 he had formed then, and he felt angrily indignant with 
 himself What was it that had been able to wrest him 
 aside from that which he had acknowledged as his duty, 
 the single problem of his future life ? The thirst after 
 happiness — the old thirst after happmess. " It seems 
 that Mikhalevich was right after all," he thought. '■ You 
 wanted to find happiness in life once more," he said to 
 himself. " You forgot that for happiness to visit a man 
 even once is an undeserved favor, a steeping in luxury. 
 Your happiness was incomplete^ — was false, you may 
 say. Well, show what right you have to true and com- 
 plete happiness 1 Look around you and see who Is 
 happy, who enjoys his life ! There is a peasant going 
 to the field to mow. It may be that he is satisfied with 
 his lot. But what of that ? Would you be willing to 
 exchange lots with him ? Remember your own mother. 
 
274 Liza. 
 
 How exceedingly modest were her wishes, and yet what 
 sort of a lot fell to her share ! You seem to have only 
 been boasting before Panshine, when you told him that 
 you had come into Russia to till the soil. It was to run 
 after the girls in your old age that you came. Tidings 
 of freedom reached you, and you flung aside every 
 thing, forgot every thing, ran like a child after a butter- 
 fly." 
 
 In the midst of his reflections the image of Liza 
 constantly haunted him. By a violent effort he tried to 
 drive it away, and along with it another haunting face, 
 other beautiful but ever malignant and hateful features. 
 
 Old Anton remarked that his master was not quite 
 himself; and, after sighing several times behind the 
 door, and several times on the threshold, he ventured 
 to go up to him, and advised him to drink something 
 hot. Lavretsky spoke to him harshly, and ordered him 
 out of the room : afterwards he told the old man he was 
 sorry he had done so; but this only made Anton sad- 
 der than he had been before. 
 
 Lavretsky could not stop in the drawing-room. He 
 fancied that his great grandfather, Andrei, was looking 
 out from his frame with contempt on his feeble de- 
 scendant. " So much for you ! You float in shallow 
 water ! " * the wry lips seemed to be saying to him. 
 " Is it possible," he thought, " that I cannot gain mas- 
 tery over myself; that I am going to yield to this 
 
 * See note to page 142. 
 
Liza. 275 
 
 this trifling affair ! " (Men who are seriously wounded 
 in a battle always think their wounds " a mere trifle ; "■' 
 when a man can deceive himself no longer, it is time 
 to give up living). " Am I really a child ? Well, yes 
 I have seen near at hand, I have almost grasped, thr 
 possibility of gaining a life -long happiness — and thei 
 it has suddenly disappeared. It is just the same in a 
 lottery. Turn the wheel a little more, and the paupei 
 would perhaps be rich. If it is not to be, it is not to 
 be — and all is over. I will betake me to my work with 
 set teeth, and I will force myself to be silent ; and I 
 shall succeed, for it is not for the first time that I take 
 myself in hand. And why have I run away ? Why do 
 I stop here, vainly hiding my head, like an ostrich ? 
 Misfortune a terrible thing to look in the face ! Non- 
 sense ! " 
 
 " Anton ! " he called loudly, '' let the tarantass be got 
 ready immediately." 
 
 " Yes," he said to himself again. " I must compel 
 myself to be silent ; I must keep myself tightly in 
 hand." 
 
 With such reflections as these Lavretsky sought to 
 assuage his sorrow ; but it remained as great and as bit- 
 ter as before. Even Apraxia, who had outHved, not 
 only her intelligence, but almost all her faculties, shook 
 her head, and followed him with sad eyes as he started 
 in the tarantass for the town. The horses galloped. 
 He sat erect and motionless, and looked straight ■' re 
 him along the road. 
 
XL. 
 
 Liza had written to Lavretsky the night before tell- 
 ing him to come and see her on this evening ; but 
 he went to his own house first. He did not find either 
 his wife or his daughter there ; and the servant told 
 him that they had both gone to the Kalitines' ! This 
 piece of news both annoyed and enraged him. " Var- 
 vara Pavlovna seems to be determined not to let me live 
 in peace," he thought, an angry feeling stirring in his 
 heart. He began walking up and down the room, 
 pushing away every moment, with hand or foot, one of 
 the toys or books or feminine belongings which fell 
 in his way. Then he called Justine, and told her to 
 take away all that " rubbish." 
 
 " Old, monsieur" she replied, with a grimace, and 
 began to set the room in order, bending herself into 
 graceful attitudes, and by each of her gestures making 
 Lavretsky feel that she considered him an uncivilized 
 bear. It was with a sensation of downright hatred that 
 he watched the mocking expression of her faded, but 
 still piquante, Parisian face, and looked at her white 
 sleeves, her silk apron, and her little cap. At last 
 he sent her av/ay, and, after long hesitation, as Varvara 
 
Liza. 2'j'j 
 
 Pavlovna did not return, he determined to go to the 
 Kalitines', and pay a visit, not to Madame Kalitine (for 
 nothing would have induced him to enter her drawing- 
 room — that drawing-room in which his wife was), but to 
 Marfa Timofeevna. He remembered that a back stair- 
 case, used by the maid-servants, led straight to her 
 room. 
 
 Lavretsky carried out his plan. By a fortunate 
 chance he met Shurochka in the court-yard, and she 
 brought him to Marfa Timofeevna. He found the old 
 lady, contrary to her usual custom, alone. She was 
 without her cap, and was sitting in a corner of the room 
 in a slouching attitude, her arms folded across her 
 breast. When she saw Lavretsky, she was much agi- 
 tated, and jumping up hastily from her chair, she began 
 going here and there about the room, as if she were 
 looking for her cap. 
 
 " Ah ! so you have come, then," she said, fussing 
 about and avoiding his eyes. " Well, good day to you ! 
 Well, what's — what's to be done ? Where were you 
 yesterday ? Well, she has come. Well — ^yes. Well, it 
 must be — somehow or other." 
 
 Lavretsky sank upon a chair. 
 
 " Well, sit down, sit down," continued the old lady. 
 " Did you come straight up-stairs ? Yes, of course. 
 •Eh ! You came to see after me ? Many thanks." 
 
 The old lady paused. Lavretsky did not know what 
 to say to her ; but she understood him. 
 
 " Liza — ^yes ; Liza was here just now," she continued 
 
2 7,8 Liza. 
 
 tying and untying the strings of her work-bag. " She 
 isn't quite well. Shurochka, where are you ? Come 
 here, my mother ; cannot you sit still a moment ? And 
 I have a headache myself. It must be that singing 
 which has given me it, and the music." 
 
 " What singing, aunt ? " 
 
 " What ? don't you know ? They have already be- 
 gun — ^what do you call them ? — duets down there. And 
 all in Italian — chi-chi and cha-cha — regular magpies. 
 With their long drawn-out notes, one would think they 
 were going to draw one's soul out. It's that Panshine, 
 and your wife too. And how quickly it was all ar- 
 ranged ! Quite without ceremony, just as if among 
 near relations. However, one must say that even a 
 dog will try to find itself a home somewhere. You 
 needn't die outside if folks don't chase you away from 
 their houses." 
 
 " I certainly must confess I did not expect this," an- 
 swered Lavretsky. " This must have required consider- 
 able daring." 
 
 " No, my dear, it isn't daring with her, it is calcu- 
 lation. However, God be with her ! They say you are 
 going to send her to Lavriki. Is that true ? " 
 
 "Yes; I am going to make over that property to 
 her." 
 
 " Has she asked you for money ? " 
 
 « Not yet." 
 
 " Well, that request won't be long in coming. But 
 — I haven't looked at you till now — are you well ? " 
 
Liza. 279 
 
 "Quite well." 
 
 " Shurochka ! " suddenly exclaimed the old lady. 
 " Go and tell Lizaveta Mikhailovna — that is — no — ask 
 her Is she down-stairs ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Well, yes. Ask her where she has put my book 
 She will know all about it." 
 
 " Very good." 
 
 The old lady commenced bustling about again, and 
 began to open the drawers in her commode. Lavretsky 
 remained quietly sitting on his chair. 
 
 Suddenly light steps were heard on the staircase — 
 and Liza entered. 
 
 Lavretsky stood up and bowed. Liza remained 
 near the door. 
 
 " Liza, Lizochka," hurriedly began Marfa Timofeev- 
 na, " where have you — where have you put my book ? " 
 
 " What book, aunt ? " 
 
 " Why, good gracious ! that book. However, I 
 didn't send for you — but it's all the same. What are 
 you all doing down-stairs ? Here is Fedor Ivanovich 
 come. How is your headache ? " 
 
 " It's of no consequence." 
 
 " You always say, ' It's of no consequence.' What 
 are you all doing down below i" — having music again ? " 
 
 " No — They are playing cards." 
 
 " Of course ; she is ready for anything. Shurochka, 
 I see you want to run out into the garden. Be off! " 
 
 " No, I don't Marfa Timofeevna " 
 
zSo Liza. 
 
 " No arguing, if you please. Be off. Nastasia Car- 
 povna has gone into the garden by herself. Go and 
 keep her company. You should show the old lady re- 
 spect." 
 
 Shurochka left the room. 
 
 " But where is my cap ? Wherever can it have got 
 to ? » 
 
 " Let me look for it," said Liza. 
 
 " Sit still, sit still ! My own legs haven't dropped off 
 yet. It certainly must be in my bed-room." 
 
 And Marfa Timofeevna went away, after casting 
 a side-glance at Lavretsky. At first she left the door 
 open, but suddenly she returned and shut it again from 
 the outside. 
 
 Liza leant back in her chair and silently hid her 
 face in her hands. 
 
 Lavretsky remained standing where he was. 
 
 " This is how we have had to see each other ! " he 
 said at last. 
 
 Liza let her hands fall from before her face. 
 
 " Yes," she replied sadly, " we have soon been pun- 
 ished." 
 
 " Punished ! " echoed Lavretsky. " For what have 
 you, at all events, been punished ? " 
 
 Liza looked up at him. -Her eyes did not express 
 either sorrow or anxiety ; but they seemed to have 
 become smaller and dimmer than they used to be. Her 
 face was pale ; even her slightly-parted lips had lost 
 their color. 
 
Liza. 281 
 
 Lavretsky's heart throbbed with pity and with love 
 
 " You have written to me that all is over," he whis- 
 pered. " Yes, all is over — before it had begun." 
 , "All that must be forgotten," said Liza. "I am 
 glad you have come. I was going to write to you ; but 
 it is better as it is. Only we must make the most of 
 these few minutes. Each of us has a duty to fulfil. 
 You, Fedor Ivanovich, must become reconciled with 
 your wife." 
 
 " Liza 1 " 
 
 "I entreat you to let it be so. By this alone can 
 
 expiation be made for for all that has taken place. 
 
 Think over it, and then you will not refuse my re- 
 quest." 
 
 " Liza 1 for God's sake ! You ask what is impos- 
 sible. I am ready to do every thing you tell me ; but 
 
 to be reconciled with her now I I consent to every 
 
 thing, I have forgotten every thing; but I cannot do 
 violence to my heart. Have some pity ; this is cruel ! " 
 
 " But I do not ask you to do what is impossible. 
 Do not live with her if you really cannot do so. But be 
 reconciled with her," answered Liza, once more hiding 
 her face in her hands. " Remember your daughter j 
 and, besides, do it for my sake." 
 
 " Very good," said Lavretsky between his teeth. 
 " Suppose I do this — in this I shall be fulfilling my 
 duty ; well, but you — in what does your duty con- 
 sist > " 
 
 " That I know perfectly well." 
 
282 Liza. 
 
 Lavretsky suddenly shuddered. 
 
 " Surely you have not made up your mind to marry 
 Panshine ? " he asked. 
 
 " Oh, no ! " replied Liza, with an almost impercepfi 
 ble smile. 
 
 " Ah ! Liza, Liza ! " exclaimed Lavretsky, " how hap- 
 py we might have been ! " 
 
 Liza again looked up at him. 
 
 " Now even you must see, Fedor Ivanovich, that 
 happiness does not depend upon ourselves, but upon 
 God." 
 
 " Yes, because you " 
 
 The door of the next room suddenly opened, and 
 Marfa Timofeevna came in, holding her cap in her 
 hand. 
 
 " I had trouble enough to find it," she said, standing 
 between Liza and Lavretsky ; " I had stuffed it away 
 myself. Dear me, see what old age comes to ! But, af- 
 ter all, youth is no better. Well, are you going to Lav- 
 riki with your wife ? " she added, turning to Fedor Ivan- 
 ovich. 
 
 " To Lavriki with her ? I ? — I don't know," he add- 
 ed, after a short pause. 
 
 '' Won't you pay a visit down stairs ? " 
 
 " Not to-day." 
 
 " Well, very good ; do as you please. But you, 
 Liza, ought to go down-stairs, I think. Ah ! my dears, 
 I've forgotten to give any seed to my bullfinch too. 
 Wait a minute ; I will be back directly." 
 
Liza. 283 
 
 And Marfa Timofeevna ran out of the room -jvith- 
 out even having put on her cap. 
 
 Lavretsky quickly drew near to Liza. 
 
 " Liza," he began, with an imploring voice, " we are 
 about to part for ever, and my heart is very heavy. 
 Give me your hand at parting." 
 
 Liza raised her head. Her wearied, almost lustre 
 less eyes looked at him steadily. 
 
 " No," she said, and drew back the hand she had 
 half held out to him. " No, Lavretsky " (it was the 
 first time that she called him by this name), " I will not 
 give you my hand. Why should I ? And now leave 
 me, I beseech you. You know that I love you — Yes, I 
 love you 1 " she added emphatically. " But no — no ; " 
 and she raised her handkerchief to her lips. 
 
 " At least, then, give me that handkerchief — — " 
 
 The door creaked. The handkerchief glided down 
 to Liza's knees. Lavretsky seized it before it had time 
 to fall on the floor, and quickly hid it away in his pock- 
 et ; then, as he turned round, he encountered the glance 
 of Marfa Timofeevna's eyes. 
 
 " Lizochka, I think your mother is calling you," said 
 the old lady. 
 
 Liza immediately got up from her chair, and left 
 the room. 
 
 Marfa Timofeevna sat down again in her cornei. 
 Lavretsky was going to take leave of her. 
 
 " Fcdia," she said, abruptly. 
 
 " What, Aunt ? " 
 
284 Liza. 
 
 " Are you an honorable man ? " 
 
 « What ? " 
 
 " I ask you — Are you an honorable man ? " 
 
 " I hope so.'' 
 
 " Hm ! Well, then, give me your word that you arc 
 going to behave like an honorable man." 
 
 " Certainly. But why do you ask that ? " 
 
 " I know why, perfectly well. And so do you, too, 
 my good friend.* As you are no fool, you will under- 
 stand why I ask you this, if you will only think over it 
 a little. But now, good-bye, my dear. Thank you for 
 coming to see me ; but remember what I have said, Fe- 
 dia ; and now give me a kiss. Ah, my dear, your bur- 
 den is heavy to bear, I know that. But no one finds 
 his a light one. There was a time when I used to envy 
 the flies. There are creatures, I thought, who live hap- 
 pily in the world. But one night I heard a fly singing 
 out under a spider's claws. So, thought I, even they 
 have their troubles. What can be done, Fedia ? But 
 mind you never forget what you have said to me. And 
 now leave me — leave me." 
 
 Lavretsky left by the back door, and had almost 
 reached the street, when a footman ran after him and 
 said, " Maria Dmitrievna told me to ask you to come to 
 her." 
 
 " Tell her I cannot come just now," began Lavretsky. 
 
 " She told me to ask you particularly," continued the 
 footman. " She told me to say that she was alone." 
 * Literally, " my foster father," or " my benefactor." 
 
Liza. 285 
 
 " Then her visitors have gone away ? " asked Lav- 
 retsky. 
 
 " Yes," replied the footman, with something like a 
 grin on his face. 
 
 Lavretsky shrugged his shoulders, and followed him 
 into the house. 
 
XLI. 
 
 Mari \ Dmitrievna was alone in her boudoir. She 
 was sitting in a large easy-chair, sniffing Eau-de-Co- 
 logne, v/ith a little table by her side, on which was a 
 glass containing orange -flower water. She was evident- 
 ly excited, and seemed nervous about something. 
 
 Lavretsky came into the room. 
 
 " You wanted to see me," he said, bowing coldly. 
 , " Yes," answered Maria Dmitrievna, and then sh'* 
 drank a little water. " I heard that you had gone 
 straight up-stairs to my aunt, so I told the servants 
 to ask you to come and see me. I want to have a talk 
 with you. Please sit down." 
 
 Maria Dmitrievna took breath. " You know that 
 your wife has come," she continued. 
 
 " I am aware of that fact," said Lavretsky. 
 
 " Well — yes — that is — I meant to say that she has 
 been here, and I have received her. That is what 1 
 wanted to have the explanation about with you, Fedor 
 Ivanovich. I have deserved, I may say, general respect, 
 thank God! and I wouldn't, for all the world, do 
 any thing unbecoming. But, although I saw beforehand 
 that it would be disagreeable to you, Fedor Ivanich, yet 
 I couldn't make up my mind to refuse her. She is a re 
 
Liza. 287 
 
 lation of mine — through you. Only put yourself into 
 my position. What right had I to shut my door in her 
 face ? Surely you must agree with me." 
 
 " You are exciting yourself quite unnecessarily, 
 Maria Dmitrievna," replied Lavretsky. "You have 
 done what is perfectly right. I am not in the least 
 angry. I never intended to deprive my wife of the 
 power of seeing her acquaintances. I did not come to 
 see you to-day simply because I did not wish to meet 
 her. That was all." 
 
 " Ah ! how glad I am to hear you say that, Fedor 
 Ivanich ! " exclaimed Maria Dmitrievna. " However, I 
 always expected as much from your noble feelings. 
 But as to my being excited, there's no wonder in that. 
 I am a woman and a mother. And your wife — of 
 course I cannot set myself up as a judge between you 
 and her, I told her so herself; but she iS'Such a charm- 
 ing person that no one can help being pleased with 
 her." 
 
 Lavretsky smiled and twirled his hat in his hands. 
 
 "And there is something else that I wanted to 
 say to you, Fedor Ivanich," continued Maria Dmitriev- 
 na, drawing a little nearer to him. " If you had only 
 seen how modestly, how lespectfully she behaved! 
 Really it was perfectly touching. And if you had only 
 heard how she spoke of you ! ' I,' she said, ' am alto- 
 gether guilty before him.' ' I,' she said, ' was not able 
 to appreciate him.' ' He,' she said, ' is an angel, not a 
 mere man.' I can assure you that's what she said — ' an 
 
2 88 Liza. 
 
 angel.' She is so penitent — I do solemnly declare I 
 have never seen any one so penitent." 
 
 " But tell me, Maria Dmitrievna,'' said Lavretsky, 
 " if I may be allowed to be so inquisitive. I hear that 
 Varvara Pavlovna has been singing here. Was it in 
 one of her penitent moments that she sang, or how — ? " 
 
 " How can you talk like that and not feel ashamed 
 of yourself? She played and sang simply to give me 
 pleasure, and because I particularly entreated her, al- 
 most ordered her to do so. I saw that she was unhap- 
 py, so unhappy, and I thought how I could divert her a 
 little ; and besides that, I had heard that she had so 
 much talent. Do show her some pity, Fedor Ivanich — 
 she is utterly crushed — only ask Gedeonovsky — broken 
 down entirely, tout-a-fait. How can you say such 
 things of her ? " 
 
 Lavretsky merely shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " And besides, what a little angel your Adochka is ! 
 What a charming little creature ! How pretty she is ! 
 and how good ! and how well she speaks French ! And 
 she knows Russian too. She called me aunt in Rus- 
 sian. And then as to shyness, you know, almost al; 
 children of her age are shy ; but she is not at all so 
 It's wonderful how like you she is, Fedor Ivanich — 
 eyes, eyebrows, in fact you all over — absolutely you. / 
 don't usually like such young children, I must confess 
 but I am quite in love with your little daughter." 
 
 " Maria Dmitrievna," abruptly said Lavretsky, " ai 
 .ow me to inquire why you are saying all this to me ? " 
 
Liza. 289 
 
 " Why ? " — Maria Dmitrievna again had recourse to 
 her Eau-de-Cologne and drank some water — " why I 
 say this to you, Fedor Ivanich, is because — you see 
 1 am one of your relations, I take a deep interest in 
 you. I know your heart is excellent. Mark my words, 
 mon cousin — at all events I am a woman of experience, 
 and I do not speak at random. Forgive, do forgive 
 your wife ! " (Maria Dmitrievna's eyes suddenly filled 
 with tears.) " Only think — youth, inexperience, and 
 perhaps also a bad example — hers was not the sort of 
 mother to put her in the right way. Forgive her, Fe- 
 dor Ivanich ! She has been punished enough." 
 
 The tears flowed down Maria Dmitrievna's cheeks. 
 She did not wipe them away ; she was fond of weeping. 
 Meanwhile Lavretsky sat as if on thorns. " Good 
 God ! " he thought, " what torture this is ! What a day 
 this has been for me ! " 
 
 " You do not reply," Maria Dmitrievna recom- 
 menced : " how am I to understand you ? Is it possible 
 that you can be so cruel ? No, I cannot believe that. 
 ^ feel that my words have convinced you. Fedor Ivan- 
 ich, God will reward you for your goodness ! Now 
 from my hands receive your wife ! " 
 
 Lavretsky jumped up from his chair scarcely know 
 ing what he was doing. Maria Dmitrievna had risen 
 also, and had passed rapidly to the other side of the 
 screen, from behind which she brought out Madame 
 Lavretsky. Pale, half lifeless, with downcast eyes, that 
 lady seemed as if she had surrendered her whole power 
 13 
 
290 Liza. 
 
 of thinking or willing for herself, and had given hen 1/ 
 over entirely into the hands of Maria Dmitrievna. 
 
 Lavretsky recoiled a pace. 
 
 " You have been there all this time ! " he exclaimed. 
 
 " Don't blame her," Maria Dmitrievna hastened to 
 say. " She wouldn't have stayed for anything; but I 
 made her stay ; I put her behind the screen. She de- 
 clared that it would make you angrier than ever; but 
 I wouldn't even listen to her. I know you better than she 
 does. Take then from my hands your wife ! Go to 
 him, Varvara ; have no fear ; fall at your husband's 
 feet " (here she gave Varvara's arm a pull), " and may 
 my blessing " 
 
 " Stop, Maria Dmitrievna ! " interposed Lavretsky, 
 in a voice shaking with emotion. " You seem to like 
 sentimental scenes." (Lavretsky was not mistaken ; 
 from her earliest school-days Maria Dmitrievna had al- 
 ways been passionately fond of a touch of stage effect ^ 
 " They may amuse you, but to other people they ma 
 prove very unpleasant. However, I am not going to 
 talk to you. In this scene you do not play the leading 
 part." 
 
 " What is It you want from me, Madame ? " he added, 
 turning to his wife. " Have I not done for you all that 
 I could ? Do not tell me that it was not you who got 
 up this scene. I should not believe you. You know that 
 I cannot believe you. What is it you want ? You are 
 clever. You do nothing without an object. You must 
 feel that to live with you, as I used formerly to liVe, is 
 
Liza. 291 
 
 what I am not in a position to do — not because I am 
 angry with you, but because I have become a different 
 man. I told you that the very day you returned ; and 
 at that time you agreed with me in your own mind. But, 
 l)erhaps, you wish to rehabilitate yourself in public 
 opinion. Merely to live in my house is too little for 
 you ; you want to live with me under the same roof. 
 Is it not so ? " 
 
 " I want you to pardon me," replied Varvara Pav- 
 lovna, without lifting her eyes from the ground. 
 
 " She wants you to pardon her," repeated Maria 
 Dmitrievna. 
 
 " And not for my own sake, but for Ada's," whis- 
 pered Varvara. 
 
 " Not for her own sake, but for your Ada's," repeat- 
 ed Maria Dmitrievna. 
 
 " Very good ! That is what you want ? " Lavretsky 
 just managed to say. " Well, I consent even to that." 
 
 Varvara Pavlovna shot a quick glance at him. Ma- 
 ria Dmitrievna exclaimed, " Thank God ! " again took 
 Varvara by the arm, and again began, " Take, then, 
 from my hands " 
 
 " Stop, I tell you ! " broke in Lavretsky. " I will 
 i:onsent to live with you, Varvara Pavlovna," he contin- 
 ued ; "that is to say, I will take you to .Lavriki, and 
 live with you as long as I possibly can. Then I will go 
 away ; but I will visit you from time to time. You see, 
 I do not wish to deceive you ; only do not ask for more 
 than that. You would laugh yourself, if I were to ful- 
 
292 
 
 Liza. 
 
 fil the wish of our respected relative, and press you to 
 my heart — if I were to assure you that — that the past 
 did not exist, that the felled tree would again produce 
 leaves. But I see this plainly — one must submit. These 
 words do not convey the same meaning to you as to me, 
 but that does not matter. I repeat, I will live with you 
 — or, no, I cannot promise that ; but I will no longer 
 avoid you ; I will look on you as my wife again " 
 
 " At all events, give her your hand on that," said 
 Maria Dmitrievna, whose tears had dried up long ago. 
 
 " I have never yet deceived Varvara Pavlovna," an- 
 swered Lavretsky. " She will believe me as it is. I 
 will take her to Lavriki. But remember this, Varvara 
 Pavlovna. Our treaty will be considered at an end, as 
 soon as you give up stopping there. And now let me 
 go away." 
 
 He bowed to both - of the ladies, and went out 
 quickly. 
 
 " Won't you take her with you ? " Maria Dmitrievna 
 called after him. 
 
 " Let him alone," said Varvara to her in a whisper, 
 and then began to express her thanks to her, throwing 
 her arms around her, kissing her hand, saying she had 
 saved her. 
 
 Maria Dmitrievna condescended to accept her ca 
 resses, but in reality she was not contented with her ; 
 nor was she contented with Lavretsky, nor with the 
 whole scene which she had taken so much pains to ar- 
 range. There had been nothing sentimental about it 
 
Liza. 293 
 
 According to her ideas Varvara Pavlovna ought to have 
 thrown herself at her husband's feet. 
 
 " How was it you didn't understand what I meant ? " 
 she kept saying. " Surely I said to you, ' Down with 
 you ! ' " 
 
 " It is better as it is, my dear aunt. Don't disturb 
 yourself — all has turned out admirably," declared Var- 
 vara Pavlovna. 
 
 "Well, anyhow he is — as cold as ice," said Maria 
 Dmitrievna. " It is true you didn't cry, but surely my 
 tears flowed before his eyes. So he wants to shut you 
 up at Lavriki. What ! You won't be able to come out 
 even to see me ! All men are unfeeling," she ended 
 by saying, and shook her head with an air of deep 
 meaning. 
 
 " But at all events women can appreciate goodness 
 and generosity," said Varvara Pavlovna. Then, slowly 
 sinking on her knees, she threw her arms around Maria 
 Dmitrievna's full waist, and hid her face in that lady's 
 lap. That hidden face wore a smile, but Maria Dmit- 
 rievna's tears began to flow afresh. 
 
 As for Lavretsky, he returned home, shut himself 
 up in his valet's room, flung himself on the couch, and 
 lay there till the morning. 
 
XLII. 
 
 The next day was Sunday. Lavretsky was not 
 iwakened by the bells which clanged for early Mass, 
 for he had not closed his eyes all night; but they re- 
 minded him of another Sunday, when he went to church 
 ai Liza's request. He rose in haste. A certain secret 
 voice told him that to-day also he would see her there. 
 He left the house quietly, telling the servant to say to 
 Varvara Pavlovna, who was still asleep, that he would 
 be back to dinner, and then, with long steps, he went 
 where the bell called him with its dreary uniformity of 
 sound. 
 
 He arrived early ; scarcely any one was yet in the 
 church. A Reader was reciting the Hours in the choir. 
 His voice, sometimes interrupted by a cough, sounded 
 monotonously, rising and falling by turns. Lavretsky 
 placed himself at a little distance from the door. The 
 worshippers arrived, one after another, stopped, crossed 
 themselves, and bowed in all directions. Their steps 
 resounded loudly through the silent and almost empty 
 space, and echoed along the vaulted roof. An infirm 
 old woman, wrapped in a threadbare hooded cloak, knelt 
 by Lavretsky's side and prayed fervently. Her tooth- 
 less, yellow, wrinkled face expressed intense emotion. 
 
Liza. ?95 
 
 Her bloodshot eyes gazed upwards, without moving, on 
 the holy figures displayed upon the iconostasis. Her 
 bony hand kept incessantly coming out from under her 
 cloak, and making the sign of the cross — with a slow 
 and sweeping gesture, and with steady pressure of the 
 fingers on the forehead and the body. A peasant with 
 a morose and thickly-bearded face, his hair and clothes 
 all in disorder, came into the church, threw himself 
 straight down on his knees, and immediately began 
 crossing and prostrating himself, throwing back his head 
 and shaking it after each inclination. So bitter a grief 
 showed itself in his face and in all his gestures, that 
 Lavretsky went up to him and asked him what was the 
 matter. The peasant sank back with an air of distrust ; 
 then, looking at him coldly, said in a hurried voice, 
 '' My son is dead," and again betook himself to his 
 prostrations. 
 
 " What sorrow can they have too great to defy the 
 consolations of the Church ? " thought Lavretsky, and 
 he tried to pray himself. But his heart seemed heavy 
 and hardened, and his thoughts were afar off. He kept 
 waiting for Liza ; but Liza did not come. The church 
 gradually filled with people, but he did not see Liza 
 among them. Mass began, the deacon read the Gos- 
 pel, the bell sounded for the final prayer. Lavretsky 
 advanced a few steps, and suddenly he caught sight of 
 Liza. She had come in before him, but he had not ob- 
 served her till now. Standing in the space between the 
 wall and the choir, to which she had pressed as clo.se as 
 
296 Liza. 
 
 possible, she never once looked round, never moved 
 from her place. Lavretsky did not take his eyes off hei 
 till the service was quite finished ; he was bidding her a 
 last farewell. The congregation began to disperse, but 
 she remained standing there. She seemed to be wait- 
 ing for Lavretsky to go away. At last, however, she 
 crossed herself for the last time, and went out without 
 turning round. No one but a maid-servant was with 
 her. 
 
 Lavretsky followed her out of the church, and came 
 up with her in the street. She was walking very fast, 
 her head drooping, her veil pulled low over her face. 
 
 " Good-day, Lizaveta Mikhailovna," he said in a 
 loud voice, with feigned indifference. " May I accom- 
 pany you ? " 
 
 She made no reply. He walked .on by her side. 
 
 " Are you satisfied with me ? " he asked, lowering 
 his voice. " You have heard what took place yester- 
 day, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes," she answered in a whisper ; " that was 
 very good ; " and she quickened her pace. 
 
 " Then you are satisfied ? " 
 
 l,iza only made a sign of assent. 
 
 " Fedor Ivanovich," she began, presently, in a calm 
 but feeble voice, " I wanted to ask you something. Do 
 not come any more to our house. Go away soon. We 
 may see each other by-and-by — some day or other — a 
 year hence, perhaps. But now, do this for my sake. In 
 God's name, I beseech you, do what I ask 1 " 
 
Liza. 297 
 
 " I am ready to obey you in every thing, Lizaveta 
 Mikhailovna. But can it be that we must part thus ? 
 Is it possible that you will not say a single word to 
 me?" 
 
 " Fedor Ivanovich, you are walking here by my side. 
 But you are already so far, far away from me ; and not 
 only you, but " 
 
 " Go on, I entreat you ! " exclaimed Lavretsky. 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 " You will hear, perhaps But whatever it may 
 
 be, forget No, do not forget me — remember me." 
 
 " I forget you ? " 
 
 " Enough. Farewell. Please do not follow me." 
 
 " Liza " began Lavretsky. 
 
 " Farewell, farewell ! " she repeated, and then, draw- 
 ing her veil still lower over her face, she went away, 
 almost at a run. 
 
 Lavretsky looked after her for a time, and then 
 walked down the street with drooping head. Presently 
 he ran against Lemm, who also was walking along with 
 his hat pulled low over his brows, and his eyes fixed on 
 his feet. 
 
 They looked at each other for a time in silence. 
 
 " Well, what have you to say ? " asked Lavretsky at 
 last. 
 
 "What have I to say?" replied Lemm, in a surly 
 voice. " I have nothing to say. '- All is dead and we 
 are dead.' (' Alles ist todt und wir sind todt.') Do you 
 go to the right ? " 
 
298 Liza. 
 
 « Yes." 
 
 "And I am going to the left. Good-bye," 
 
 On the following morning Lavretsky took his wife 
 to lyavriki. She went in front in a carriage with Adi 
 and Justine. He followed behind in a tarantass. Dur 
 ing the whole time of the journey, the little girl never 
 stirred from the carriage-window. Every thing aston- 
 ished her : the peasant men and women, the cottages, 
 the wells, the arches over the horses' necks, the little 
 bells hanging from them, and the numbers of rooks. 
 Justine shared her astonishment. Varvara Pavlovna 
 kept laughing at their remarks and exclamations. She 
 was in excellent spirits ; she had had an explanation 
 with her husband before leaving O. 
 
 " I understand your position," she had said to him , 
 and, from the expression of her quick eyes, he could 
 see that she did completely understand his position. 
 "But you will do me at least this justice — you will allow 
 that I am an easy person to live with. I shall not ob- 
 trude myself on you, or annoy you. I only wished to 
 ensure Ada's future ; I want nothing more." 
 
 "Yes, you have attained all your ends," said Lavret- 
 sky. 
 
 " There is only one thing I dream of now ; to bury 
 myself for ever in seclusion. But I shall always re- 
 member your kindness " 
 
 " There ! enough of that ! " said "he, trying to stop 
 her. 
 
Liza. 299 
 
 " And I shall know how to respect your tranquillity 
 and your independence," she continued, bringing her 
 preconcerted speech to a close. 
 
 Lavretsky bowed low. Varvara understood that hei 
 husband silently thanked her. 
 
 The next day they arrived at Lavriki towards even- 
 ing. A week later Lavretsky went away to Moscow, 
 having left five thousand roubles at his wife's disposal ; 
 and the day after Lavretsky's departure, Panshine ap- 
 peared, whom Varvara Pavlovna had entreated not to 
 forget her in her solitude. She received him in the most 
 cordial manner ; and, till late that night, the lofty rooms 
 of the mansion and the very garden itself were enli- 
 vened by the sounds of music, and of song, and of joy- 
 ous French talk. Panshine spent three days with Var- 
 vara Pavlovna. When saying farewell to her, and 
 warmly pressing her beautiful hands, he promised to 
 return very soon — and he kept his word. 
 
LI.7A had a little room of her own on the second flooi 
 of her mother's house, a bright, tidy room, with a bed- 
 stead with white curtains in it, a small writing-table, 
 several flower-pots in the corners and in front of the 
 windows, and fixed against the wall a set of bookshelves 
 and a crucifix. It was called the nursery ; Liza had 
 been boi-n in i't. 
 
 After coming back from the church where Lavretsky 
 had seen her, she set all her things in order with even 
 more than usual care, dusted every thing, examined all 
 her papers and letters from her friends, and tied them 
 up with pieces of ribbon, shut up all her drawers, and 
 watered her flowers, giving each flower a caressing 
 touch. And all this she did deliberately, quietly, with 
 a kind of sweet and tranquil earnestness in the expres- 
 sion of her face. At last she stopped still in the mid- 
 dle of the room and looked slowly around her ; then 
 she approached the table over which hung the crucifix, 
 fell on her knees, laid her head on her clasped hands, 
 and remained for some time motionless. Presently 
 Marfa Timofeevna entered the room and fovmd her in 
 that position. Liza did not perceive her arrival. The old 
 lady went out of the room on tiptoe, and coughed loudly 
 
Liza. 301 
 
 several times' outside the door. Liza hastily rose and 
 wiped her eyes, which shone with gathered but not 
 fallen tears. 
 
 " So I see you have arranged your little cell afresh," 
 said Marfa Timofeevna, bending low over a young rose- 
 tree in one of the flower-pots. " How sweet this 
 smells ! " 
 
 Liza looked at her aunt with a meditative air. 
 
 " What was that word you used ? " she whispered. 
 
 " What word — what ? " sharply replied the old lady. 
 " It is dreadful," she continued, suddenly pulling off 
 her cap and sitting down on Liza's bed. " It is more 
 than I can bear. This is the fourth day I've been just 
 as if I were boiling in a cauldron. I cannot any longer 
 pretend I don't observe any thing. I cannot bear to see 
 you crying, to see how pale and withered you are grow- 
 ing. I cannot — I cannot." 
 
 " But what makes you say that aunt ? " said Liza. 
 " There is nothing the matter with me, I " 
 
 " Nothing ? " exclaimed Marfa Timofeevna. " Tell 
 that to some one else, not to me 1 Nothing ! But who 
 was on her knees just now ; Whose eyelashes are 
 still wet with tears ? Nothing ! Why, just look at your- 
 self, what have you done to your face? where are 
 your eyes gone ? Nothing, indeed I As if I didn't 
 know all ! " 
 
 " Give me a little time, aunt. All this will pass 
 away." 
 
 " Will pass away ' Yes, but when ? Good heavens I 
 
302 Liza. 
 
 is it possible you have loved him so much ? Why, he 
 is quite an old fellow, Lizochka ! Well, well ! I don't 
 deny he is a good man ; will not bite ; but what of that ? 
 We are all good people ; the world isn't shut up in a 
 corner, there will always be plenty of this sort of good- 
 ness." 
 
 " I can assure you all this will pass away — all this 
 has already passed away." 
 
 " Listen to what I am going to tell you, Lizochka," 
 suddenly said Marfa Timofeevna, making Liza sit down 
 beside her on the bed, smoothing down the girl's hair, 
 and setting her neckerchief straight while she spoke. 
 " It seems to you, in the heat of the moment, as if it 
 were impossible for your wound to be cwred. Ah, my 
 love, it is only death for which there is no cure. Only 
 say to yourself, ' I won't give in — so much for him ! ' 
 and you will be surprised yourself to see how well and 
 how quickly it will all pass away. Only have a little 
 patience." 
 
 " Aunt," replied Liza," it has already passed away. 
 All has passed away." 
 
 " Passed away ! how passed away ? Why your nose 
 has actually grown peaky, and yet you say — 'passed 
 away.' Passed away indeed ! " 
 
 " Yes, passed away, aunt — if only you are willing to 
 lielp me," said Liza, with unexpected animation, and 
 then threw her arms round Marfa Timofeevna's neck. 
 " Dearest aunt, do be a friend to me, do help me, don't 
 be angry with me, try to understand me " 
 
Liza. 393 
 
 " But what is all this, what is all this, my mother ^ 
 Don't frighten me, please. I shall cry out in another 
 minute. Don't look at me like that : quick, tell me what 
 is the meaning of all this ! " 
 
 " I — I want " Here Liza hid her face on Marfa 
 
 Timofeevna's breast. " I want to go into a convent," 
 she said in a low tone. 
 
 The old lady fairly bounded off the bed. 
 
 " Cross yourself, Lizochka ! gather your senses to- 
 gether ! what evir are you about ? Heaven help you ! " 
 at last she stammered out. " Lie down and sleep a lit- 
 tle, my darling. And this comes of your want of sleep, 
 dearest." 
 
 Liza raised her head ; her cheeks glowed. 
 
 '- No, aunt," she said, " do not say that. I have 
 prayed, I have asked God's advice, and I have made up 
 my mind. All is over. My life with you here is ended. 
 Such lessons are not given to us without a purpose ; 
 besides, it is not for the first time that I think of it now. 
 Happiness was not for me. Even when I did indulge 
 in hopes of happiness, my heart shuddered within me. 
 I know all, both my sins and those of others, and how 
 papa made our money. I know all, and all that I must 
 pray away, must pray away. I grieve to leave you, I 
 grieve for mamma and for Lenochka '; but there is no 
 help for it. I feel that it is impossible for me to live 
 here longer. I have already taken leave of every thing, 
 I have greeted every thing in the house for the last time. 
 Something calls me away. I am sad at heart, and ] 
 
304 Liza. 
 
 would fain hide myself away for ever Please don't 
 hinder me or try to dissuade me ; but d^ help me, or I 
 shall have to go away by myself." 
 
 Marfa Timofeevna listened to her niece with horror. 
 
 " She is ill," she thought. " She is raving. We 
 must send for a doctor ; but for whom ? Gedeonovsky 
 praised some one the other day; but then he always 
 lies — but perhaps he has actually told the truth this 
 time." 
 
 But when she had become convinced that Liza was 
 not ill, and was not raving — when to all her objections 
 Liza had constantly made the same reply, Marfa Ti- 
 mofeevna was thoroughly alarmed, and became exceed- 
 ingly sorrowful. 
 
 " But surely you don't know, my darling, what sort 
 of life they lead in convents ! " thus she began, in hopes 
 of dissuading her. " Why they will feed you on yellow 
 hemp oil, my own ; they will dress you in coarse, very 
 coarse clothing ; they will make you go out in the cold ; 
 you will never be able to bear all* this Lizochka. All 
 these ideas of yours are Agafia's doing. It is she who 
 has driven you out of your senses. But then she began 
 with living, and with living to her own satisfaction. 
 Why shouldn't you live too ? At all events, let me die in 
 peace, and then do as you please. And who on earth 
 has ever known any one go into a convent for the sake 
 of such-a-one — for a goat's beard — God forgive me — 
 for a man ! Why, if you're so sad at heart, you should 
 pay a visit to a convent, pray to a saint, order prayers 
 
Liza. 305 
 
 to be said, but don't put the black veil on your head, 
 my batyushka, my matynshka.'''' 
 
 And Marfa Timofeevna cried bitterly. 
 
 Liza tried to console her, wiped the tears from hei 
 eyes, and cried herself, but maintained her purpose un- 
 shaken. In her despair, Marfa Timofeevna tried to 
 turn threats to account, said she would reveal every 
 thing to Liza's mother ; but that too had no effect. All 
 that Liza would consent to do in consequence of the 
 old lady's urgent entreaties, was to put off the execution 
 of her plan for a half year. In return Marfa Timofeev- 
 na was obliged to promise that, if Liza had not changed 
 her mind at the end of the six months, she would her- 
 self assist in the matter, and would contrive to obtain 
 Madame Katitine's consent. 
 
 As soon as the first cold weather arrived, in spite of 
 her promise to bury herself in seclusion, Varvara Fav- 
 lovna, who had provided herself with sufficient funds, 
 migrated to St. Petersburg. A modest, but pretty set 
 of rooms had been found for her there by Panshine, 
 who had left the province of O. rather earlier than she 
 did. During the latter part of his stay in O., he had 
 completely lost Madame Kalitine's good graces. He 
 had suddenly given up visiting her, and indeed scarcely 
 stirred away from Lavriki. Varvara Pavlovna had en- 
 slaved — literally enslaved him. No other word can ex- 
 press the unbounded extent of the despotic sway she 
 exercised over him. 
 
3o6 Liza. 
 
 Lavretsky spent the winter in Moscow. In the spring 
 of the ensuing year the news reached him that Liza had 
 taken the veil in the B. convent, in one of the most re- 
 mole districts of Russia. 
 
EPILOGUK. 
 
 Eight years passed away. The spring had como 
 again 
 
 But we will first of all say a few words about the 
 fate of Mikhalevich, Panshine, and Madame Lavretsky, 
 and then take leave of them forever. 
 
 Mikhalevich, after much wandering to and fro, at last 
 hit upon the business he was fitted for, and obtained 
 the post of Head Inspector in one of the Government 
 Educational Institutes. His lot thoroughly satisfies 
 him, and his pupils " adore " him, though at the same 
 time they mimic him. Panshine has advanced high in 
 the service, and already aims at becoming the head of 
 a department. He stoops a little as he walks ; it must 
 be the weight of the Vladimir Cross which hangs from 
 his neck, tliat bends him forward. In him the official 
 decidedly preponderates over the artist now. His face, 
 though still quite young, has grown yellow, his hair is 
 thinner than it used to be, and he neither sings nor draws 
 any longer. But he secretly occupies himself with lit- 
 erature. He has written a little comedy in the style of 
 a " proverb ; " and — as every one who writes now con- 
 stantly brings on the stage some real person or some 
 actual fact — he has introduced a coquette inro it, and 
 he reads it confidentially to a few ladies who are very 
 
3oS Liza. 
 
 kind to him. But he has never married, although he 
 has had many excellent opportunities for doing so. For 
 that Varvara Pavlovna is to blame. 
 
 As for her, she constantly inhabits Paris, just as she 
 used to do. Lavretsky has opened a private account 
 for her with his banker, and has paid a sufficient suit 
 to ensure his being free from her — free from the possi- 
 bility of being a second time unexpectedly visited by 
 her. She has grown older and stouter, but she is still 
 undoubtedly handsome, and always dresses in taste. 
 Every one has his ideal. Varvara Pavlovna has found 
 hers — in the plays of M. Dumas _/?/f. She assiduously 
 frequents the theatres in which consumptive and senti- 
 mental Camelias appear on the boards ; to be Madame 
 Doche seems to her the height of human happiness. 
 She once announced that she could not wish her 
 daughter a happier fate. It may, however be expected 
 that destiny will save Mademoiselle Ada frorn that kind 
 of happiness. From being a chubby, rosy r.hild, she 
 has changed into a pale, weak-chested girl, and her 
 nerves are already unstrung. The number or Varvara 
 Pavlovna's admirers has diminished, but they have not 
 disappeared. Some of them she will, in all probability, 
 retain to the end of her days. The most ardent of 
 them in recent times has been a certain Zakurdalo- 
 Skubyrnikof, a retired officer of the guard, a man of 
 about thirty-eight years of age, wearing long mustaches, 
 and possessing a singularly vigorous frame. The 
 Frenchmen who frequent Madame Lavretsky's drp.wing 
 
Liza. 309 
 
 room call him le gros tanreau de V Ukraine. Varvara 
 Pavlovna never invites him to her fashionable parties. 
 but he is in full possession of her good graces. 
 
 And so — eight years had passed away. Again spring 
 shone from heaven in radiant happiness. Again it 
 smiled on earth and on man. Again, beneath its 
 caress, all things began to love, to flower, to sing. 
 
 The town of O. had changed but little in the cours ; 
 of these eight years, but Madame Kalitine's house had, 
 as it were, grown young again. Its freshly-painted walls 
 shone with a welcome whiteness, while the panes of its 
 open windows flashed ruddy to the setting sun. Out 
 of these windows there flowed into the street mirthful 
 sounds of ringing youthful voices, of never-ceasing 
 laughter. All the house seemed teeming with life and 
 overflowing with irrepressible merriment. As for the 
 former mistress of the house, she had been laid in the 
 grave long ago. Maria Dmitrievna died two years 
 after Liza took the veil. Nor did Marfa Timofeevna 
 long survive her niece ; they rest side by side in the 
 cemetery of the town. Nastasia Carpovna also was no 
 longer alive. During the course of several years the 
 faithful old lady used to go every day to pray at her 
 friend's grave. Then her time came, and her bones 
 also were laid in the mould. 
 
 But Maria Dmitrievna's house did not pass into the 
 hands of strangers, did not go out of her family — the 
 nest was not torn to pieces. Lenochka, who had grown 
 into a pretty and graceful girl ; her betrothed, a flaxen 
 
3 to Liza. 
 
 locked officer of hussars; Maria Dmitrievna's son, who 
 had only recently married at St. Petersburg, and had 
 now arrived with his young bride to spend the spring 
 in O. ; his wife's sister, a sixteen-year-old Institute-girl, 
 with clear eyes and rosy cheeks ; and Shurochka, who 
 had also grown up and turned out pretty — these were 
 the young people who made the walls of the Kalitine 
 house resound with laughter and with talk. Every 
 thing was altered in the house, every thing had been 
 made to harmonize with its new inhabitants. Beardless 
 young servant-lads, full of fun and laughter, had re- 
 placed the grave old domestics of former days. A 
 couple of setters tore wildly about and jumped upon 
 the couches, in the rooms up and down which Roska, 
 after it had grown fat, used to waddle seriously. In the 
 stable many horses were stalled — clean-limbed canter- 
 ers, smart trotters for the centre of the troika, fiery 
 gallopers with platted manes for the side places, riding 
 horses from the Don. The hours for breakfast, dinner, 
 and supper, were all mixed up and confounded together 
 In the words of neighbors, " Such a state of things as 
 never had been known before " had taken place. 
 
 On the evening of which we are about to speak, the 
 inmates of the Kalitine house, of whom the eldest, Len- 
 ochka's betrothed, was not more than four-and-twenty, 
 had taken to playing a game which was not of a very 
 complicated nature, but which seemed to be very amus- 
 ing to them, to judge by their happy laughter, — that of 
 running about the rooms, and trying to catch each other 
 
M^zza. 3 1 1 
 
 The dogs, too, ran about and barked; and the canaries 
 which hung up in cages before the windows, straining 
 their tliroats in rivalry, heightened the general uproar 
 by the piercing accents of their shrill singing. Just as 
 t^iis deafening amusement had reached its climax, atar- 
 antass, all splashed with mud, drew up at the front gate, 
 and a man about forty-five years old, wearing a travel- 
 ling dress, got out of it and remained standing as if be- 
 wildered. 
 
 For some time he stood at the gate without moving, 
 but gazing at the house with observant eyes ; then he 
 entered the court-yard by the wicket-gate, and slowly 
 mounted the steps. He encountered no one in the ves- 
 tibule ; but suddenly the drawing-room door was flung 
 open, and Shurochka, all rosy red, came running out of 
 the room ; and directly afterwards, with shrill cries, the 
 whole of the youthful band rushed after her. Sudden- 
 ly, at the sight of an unknown stranger, they stopped 
 short, and became silent ; but the bright eyes which 
 were fixed on him still retained their friendly expres- 
 sion, the fresh young faces did not cease to smile. 
 Then Maria Dmitrievna's son approached the visitor, 
 and politely asked what he could do for him. 
 
 " I am Lavretaky," said the stranger. 
 
 A friendly cry of greeting answered him — not that 
 all those young people were inordinately delighted at 
 the arrival of a distant and almost forgotten relative, 
 but simply because they were ready to rejoice and make 
 a noise over every pleasurable occurrence. They all 
 
312 Liza. 
 
 immediately surrounded Lavretsky. Lenochka, as his 
 old acquaintance, was the first to name herself, assuring 
 him that, if she had had a very little more time, she would 
 most certainly have recognized him ; and then she in 
 troduced all the rest of the company to him, giving 
 ihem all, her betrothed included, their familiar forms of 
 name. The whole party then went through the dining- 
 room into the drawing-room. The paper on the walls of 
 both rooms had been altered, but the furniture remained 
 just as it used to be. Lavretsky recognized the piano. 
 Even the embroidery-frame by the window remained ex- 
 actly as it had been, and in the very same position as 
 of old ; and even seemed to have the same unfinished 
 piece of work on it which had been there eight years 
 before. They placed him in a large arm-chair, and sat 
 down gravely around him. Questions, exclamations, 
 anecdotes, followed swiftly pne after another. 
 
 " What a long time it is since we saw you last ! " naive- 
 ly remarked Lenochka ; " and we haven't seen Varvara 
 Pavlovna either." 
 
 " No wonder ! " her brother hastily interrupted her 
 —" I took you away to St. Petersburg ; but Fedor Ivan- 
 jvich has lived all the time on his estate." 
 
 " Yes, and mamma too is dead, since then." 
 
 " And Marfa Timofeevna," said Shurochka. 
 
 "And Nastasia Corpovna," continued Lenochka, 
 " and Monsieur Lemm." 
 
 " What ? is Lemm dead too ? " asked Lavretsky. 
 
 " Ves," answered young Kalitine. " He went away 
 
Liza. .313 
 
 from here to Odessa Some one is said to have per- 
 suaded him to go there, and there he died." 
 
 " You don't happen to know if he left any music be 
 hind ? " 
 
 "I don't know, but I should scarcely think so." 
 
 A general silence ensued, and each one of the party 
 looked at the others. A shade of sadness swept ovei 
 all the youthful faces. 
 
 '' But Matros is alive," suddenly cried Lenochka. 
 
 " And Gedeonovsky is alive," added her brother. 
 
 The name of Gedeonovsky at once called forth a 
 merry laugh. 
 
 " Yes, he is still alive ; and he tells stories just as he 
 used to do," continued the young Kalitine — " only fan- 
 cy ! this mad-cap here " (pointing to his wife's sister the 
 Institute- girl) "put a quantity of pepper into his snuff- 
 box yesterday." 
 
 " How he did sneeze ! " exclaimed Lenochka — and 
 irrepressible laughter again broke out on all sides. 
 
 " We had news of Liza the other day," said young 
 Kalitine. And again silence fell upon all the circle. 
 " She is going on well — her health is gradually being 
 restored now." 
 
 " Is she still in the same convent ? " Lavretsky asked, 
 not without an eifort. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Does she ever write to you ? " 
 
 " No, never. We get news of her from other quar 
 ters." 
 
 14 
 
314 Liza. 
 
 A profound silence suddenly ensued. " An ai gel 
 has noiselessly flown past," they all thought. 
 
 " Won't you go into the garden ? " said Kalitine, ad 
 dressing Lavretsky. " It is very pleasant now, although 
 we have neglected it a little." 
 
 Lavretsky went into the garden, and the first thing 
 he saw there was that very bench on which he and Liza 
 had once passed a few happy moments — moments that 
 never repeated themselves. It had grown black and 
 warped, but still he recognized it, and that feeling took 
 possession of his heart which is unequalled as well for 
 sweetness as for bitterness — the feeling of lively regret 
 for vanished youth, for once familiar happiness. 
 
 He walked by the side of the young people along 
 the alleys. The lime-trees looked older than before, 
 having grown a little taller during the last eight years, 
 and casting a denser shade. All the underwood, also, 
 had grown higher, and the raspberry-bushes had spread 
 vigorously, and the hazel copse was thickly tangled. 
 From every side exhaled a fresh odor from the forest 
 and the wood, from the grass and the lilacs. 
 
 "What a capital place for a game at Puss in the 
 Corner ! " suddenly cried Lenochka, as they entered 
 upon a. small grassy lawn surrounded by lime-trees. 
 " There are just five of us." 
 
 " But have you forgotten Fedor Ivanovich ? " asked 
 her brother ; " or is it yourself you have not count- 
 ed ? " 
 
 I/enochka blushed a little. 
 
Liza. 
 
 315 
 
 " But would Fedur Ivanovich like — at his age " 
 
 she began stammering. 
 
 " Please play away," hastily interposed Lavretsky ; 
 " don't pay any attention to me. I shall feel more com- 
 fortable if I know I am not boring you. And there is 
 no necessity for your finding me something to do. We 
 old people have a resource which you don't know yet. 
 and which is better than any amusement — recollec- 
 tion." 
 
 The young people listened to Lavretsky with re- 
 spectful, though slightly humorous politeness, just as if 
 they were listening to a teacher who was reading them 
 a lesson — then they all suddenly left him, and ran off to 
 the lawn. One of them stood in the middle, the others 
 occupied the four corners by the trees, and the game 
 began. 
 
 But Lavretsky returned to the house, went into the 
 dining-room, approached the piano, and touched one of 
 the notes. It responded with a faint but clear sound, 
 and a shudder thrilled his heart within him. With that 
 note began the inspired melody, by means of which, on 
 that most happy night long ago, Lemm, the dead 
 Lemm, had thrown him into such raptures. Then 
 Lavretsky passed into the drawing-room, and did not 
 leave it for a long time. 
 
 In that room, in which he had seen Liza so often, 
 her image floated more distinctly before him ; the 
 traces of her presence seemed to make themselves felt 
 around him there. But his sorrow for her loss became 
 
3i6 Liza. 
 
 painful and crushing \ it bore with it none of the tran 
 quillity which death inspires. Liza was still living some- 
 where, far away and lost to sight. He thought of hei 
 as he had known her in actual life ; he could not recogj- 
 nize the girl he used to love in that pale, dim, ghosdy 
 form, half-hidden in a nun's dark robe, and surrounded 
 by waving clouds of incense. 
 
 Nor would Lavretsky have been able to recognize 
 himself, if he could have looked at himself as he in 
 fancy was looking at Liza. In the course of those eight 
 years his life had attained its final crisis — that crisis 
 which many people never experience, but without which 
 no man can be sure of maintaining his principles firm 
 to the last. He had really given up thinking about his 
 own happiness, about what would conduce to his own 
 interests. He had become calm, and — why should we 
 conceal the truth ? — he had aged ; and that not in face 
 alone or frame, but he had aged in mind ; for, in- 
 deed, not only is it difficult, but it is even hazardous to 
 do what some people speak of — to preserve the heart 
 young in bodily old age. Contentment, in old age, is 
 deserved by him alone who has not lost his faith in what 
 is good, his persevering strength of will, his desire for 
 active employment. And Lavretsky did deserve to be 
 contented ; he had really become a good landlord ; he 
 had really learnt how to till the soil ; and in that he la- 
 bored, he labored not for himself alone, but he had, as 
 far as in him lay the power, assured, and obtained guar- 
 antees for, the welfare of the peasantry on his estates. 
 
Liza. 317 
 
 I.avretsky went out of the house into the garden, 
 and sat down on the bench he knew so well. There — 
 on that loved spot, in sight of that house in which he 
 had fruitlessly, and for the last time, stretched forth his 
 hands towards that cup of promise in which foameJ 
 and sparkled the golden wine of enjoyment, — he, a lone- 
 ly, homeless wanderer, while the joyous cries of that 
 younger generation which had already forgotten him 
 came flying to his ears, gazed steadily at his past life. 
 
 His heart became very sorrowful, but it was free 
 now from any crushing sense of pain. He had nothing 
 to be ashamed of; he had many sources of consolation. 
 " Play on, young vigorous lives ! " he thought — and his 
 thoughts had no taint of bitterness in them—" the fu- 
 ture awaits you, and your path of life in it will be com- 
 paratively easy for you. You will not be obliged, as we 
 were, to seek out your path, to struggle, to fall, to rise 
 again in utter darkness. We had to seek painfully by 
 what rpeans we might hold out to the end — and how 
 many there were amongst us who did not hold out ! — 
 but your part is now to act, to work — and the blessing 
 of old men like me shall be with you. For my part, 
 after the day I have spent here, after tlie emotions I 
 have here experienced, nothing remains for me but to 
 l)id you a last farewell \ and, although sadly, yet with- 
 out a tinge of envy, without a single gloomy feeling, 
 to say, in sight of death, in sight of my awaiting 
 God, ' Hail, lonely old age ! Useless life, burn yourself 
 out I ' " 
 
3i8 Liza. 
 
 Lavretsky rose up quietly, and quietly went away, 
 No one observed him, no one prevented him from go- 
 ing. Louder than ever sounded the joyous cries in the 
 garden, behind the thick green walls of the lofty lime- 
 trees. Lavretsky got into his tarantass, and told his 
 coachman to drive him home without hurrying the 
 horses. 
 
 " And is that the end ? " the unsatisfied reader may 
 perhaps ask. " What became of Lavretsky afterwards ? 
 and of Liza ? " But what can one say about people 
 who are still alive, but who have already quitted the 
 worldly stage ? Why should we turn back to them ? It 
 is said that Lavretsky has visited the distant convent in 
 which Liza has hidden herself — and has seen her. As 
 she crossed from choir to choir, she passed close by 
 him — passed onwards steadily, with the quick but silent 
 step of a nun, and did not look at him. Only an al- 
 most imperceptible tremor was seen to move the eye- 
 lashes of the eye which was visible to him ; only still 
 lower did she bend her emaciated face ; and the fingers 
 of her clasped hands, enlaced with her rosary, still 
 more closely ^ompressed each other. 
 
 Of what did they both think ? what did they both 
 feel ? Who can know ? who shall tell ? Life has its 
 moments — has its feelings — to which we may be allowed 
 to allude, but on which it is not good to dwell. 
 
 THE END.