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 then 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 concluded,[A] and every one was hastening to enjoy himself, every one was being swept round by a giddy 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.
[Footnote A: In consequence of which the Russian embassy was withdrawn from London, and Ivan Petrovich probably went to Paris.]
IX.
For a long time the old Lavretsky could not forgive his son for 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 himself 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 puppy 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 answer 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 daughter-in-law, and that it was contrary to the law to shelter runaway female serfs, a fact of which he considered it a duty to warn him. But afterwards, on learning the birth of his 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 sum of money.
Before Fedor was a year old, his grandmother, Anna 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 presence 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 own carriage for his daughter-in-law, calling her, for the first time, Malania Sergievna.[A] 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 Andreich looked at her in silence. She drew near and took his hand, on which her quivering lips could scarcely press a silent kiss.
[Footnote A: That is to say, no longer speaking of her as if she were still a servant.]
"Well, noble lady,"[A] he said at last,—"Good-day to you; let's go to my wife's room."
[Footnote A: Literally "thrashed-while-damp noblewoman," i.e., hastily ennobled. Much corn is thrashed in Russia before it has had time to get dry.]
He rose and bent over Fedia; the babe smiled and stretched out its tiny white hands towards him. The old man was touched.
"Ah, my orphaned one!" he said. "You have successfully pleaded your father's cause. I will not desert you, little bird."